Power & Sex, and... 41
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My words might have been hard for Assemblyman Seo to swallow. In the last presidential election, Representative Kim had run as our party's nominee, putting up a fierce fight against the current president and securing nearly half the votes before narrowly losing. The common view was that he could easily claim the presidency next time, so my confident assertion probably struck him as odd.
"Even if there had been just a 30% chance of seizing power, I wouldn't have gone all-in like this. That would have been the rational play. But right now, neither Representative Kim nor Assemblyman Moon has a solid base—their followers are loyal, but they have zero appeal to swing voters. A presidential candidate needs to rally our side's votes and pull in the so-called independents floating in the middle. They're completely ignoring that, and that's their biggest weakness."
"So who do you think should run next time to actually win, Assemblyman Park?"
"No one!"
Assemblyman Seo's face twisted in utter bewilderment. If it wasn't Kim or Moon, then who? And for me to declare with such conviction that no one could win next time—it must have sounded absurd from his perspective. I pressed on, ignoring his reaction.
"Assemblyman Seo, what do you think an election is?"
"War. A war where lives are on the line."
"Right? But I say elections are a show."
"A show?"
"Yes. But it has to be a show backed by genuine sincerity."
"......"
"War is brutal, life-or-death combat. The people beside you could die any moment. You're always on edge, wondering if a stray bullet will take you out. In that kind of fight, if someone loses, the bystanders get dragged down too—that's the premise."
"......"
"Back in the '80s and '90s, when people resisted dictatorship, calling elections 'war' made sense. If the democratic camp lost, the dictators stayed in power, and everyone suffered under their oppression."
"......"
"But if we call elections 'war' now, what do voters think?"
"......"
"They see it as some petty squabble among politicians—nothing to do with them. Even if you 'die' in that war, only the losing candidate bites the dust."
Only then did Assemblyman Seo start nodding. It was true. Under Park Chung-hee, Chun Doo-hwan, and Roh Tae-woo's military regimes, even basic protests like the YH incident demanded risking your life for survival rights. That's why people took to the streets, pledging their lives for democratization.
But times had changed. No matter how unchecked a president's power seemed, it couldn't last beyond five years. At worst, they'd face trial and prison—that was it. At least personal safety was guaranteed now.
"The one who realized this sooner than anyone was Roh Moo-hyun. Think about it—what stands out from his presidential campaign, Assemblyman Seo?"
"......"
"I remember him strumming a guitar and singing, and vowing not to abandon his wife despite his father-in-law's collaborationist past. It was like a drama, not an election. Pure emotional appeal, showing a husband's responsibility through trials. Voters—especially women—ate it up. I think that's what powered his victory."
"......"
Assemblyman Seo stayed silent. He might have been half-convinced, but probably gearing up a counterargument. His nephew tagging along and the late-arriving Jeong-ah just listened quietly.
"But what about Representative Kim or Assemblyman Moon now? Watching them feels like Roh Moo-hyun avatars—cheap knockoffs, at best. Politics without solid political substance turns popularity into an illusion. Roh succeeded not from raw popularity first, but from unmatched political depth, amplified by his unique showmanship. Kim and Moon aren't politically mature enough yet—their popularity stunts won't win elections."
"I get what you're saying, but it's tough to hear. Kinda deflating, honestly."
"I understand. But we can't just give up in defeatist mode. If next time's impossible, prep for the one after. Korea's not going anywhere."
"So you're gearing up for the election after next, Assemblyman?"
His serious expression sharpened as he eyed me, probing my intentions.
"Not just me—Assemblyman Seo, most politicians in Korea dream of being the next-next big thing. It'll come down to who prepares best by then."
"True enough. But dreams are dreams—only a few can make them real."
Assemblyman Seo Jeong-ho spoke with a resigned calm. He'd surely entered politics dreaming of the presidency, using the National Assembly Reform Alliance as a launchpad. Approaching me was part of that too.
Anyway, to keep him as a steady ally, I needed to share some power.
"Assemblyman Seo, let's join forces properly and get to work."
I extended my hand again, and he clasped it firmly.
"We've been sitting with these young folks since morning, dumping heavy talk on them. Assemblyman, this is Jeong-ah—she's been handling my online ops since before the election."
I introduced Jeong-ah, who stood, bowed politely to Assemblyman Seo.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Jeong-ah."
After her greeting, he stood his nephew Ji-hoon up for introductions. Watching the pair, I had to admit—they looked good together. If Jeong-ah ended up with a fine young man like that, enjoying sweet romance, marriage, kids, and a pretty life... how great would that be?
"Enough heavy stuff—let's grab lunch."
I suggested lunch with his staff and ours at his office. He agreed readily, so I asked Chief Kim to book the same place we'd used with Assemblyman Park Seong-hwan's crew last time.
With Assemblyman Seo now on my path, his staff were mine to look after—they needed to see themselves as part of the team. This lunch would kick that off, and I'd keep it going.
His nephew? Jeong-ah would handle pulling him in—no worries there. He was already smitten; sly fox like her could cook him up easy.
Lunch with Assemblyman Seo's crew was a blast. Maybe he'd prepped them, but his aides were super welcoming. Ours had experience, and our clout in the assembly building wasn't negligible. No relationship issues ahead.
Back at the office post-lunch, I dove into the materials from his aides. Studying had bored me in school—why as an assemblyman now? Sigh. But to do the job right, no choice. "Know your stuff or kiss the county chief goodbye." Botch a topic out of ignorance, and you'd embarrass yourself nationwide. Couldn't slack on this.
If I ditched big politics dreams, I could coast—stick to the district, loyal to locals, snag re-election easy. But to make Koreans happy, boost our global standing, slap down those damn Japs over Dokdo, punish the ChiComs for twisting our ancient history with their Northeast Project... I had to become president. No other way. First, etch into voters' minds: Park Maru, solid assemblyman—exactly what Korea needs.
National defense study was rough—I'd barely ROTC'd to lieutenant before discharge. What did I know? Needed at least a colonel-level vet, but none around. Had to visit Inje, my old unit, meet the division commander for help.
"Hey, oppa, whatcha doin'?"
"Huh? At the office. What's up this late?"
"Pfft, missed ya, so I called. Busy?"
"Nah, but aren't you swamped lately, Suji?"
"Office ain't fully set up yet—schedule's light. I'm in Gangnam; comin' to get me?"
Quitting time anyway, head hurting—I tidied up, headed out. She called from a Cheongdam-dong café entrance, told me to come in.
"Oppa, over here!"
Suji waved, red-lined cap accenting her vibe. At her table sat a girl her age, unfamiliar.
"Hi."
"Hi. I'm Eun-ji."
"Don't think I've seen her before, huh?"
"Yeah."
"She was with me at SJ—now workin' together at the new office."
"Cool, glad for ya. Eaten dinner? If not, let's go grab some."
Eun-ji had that same bubbly charm as Suji. Idol singer, obviously—body and face spoke for themselves. A touch darker vibe than Suji, but none of my business.