“Yes, yes… Understood, Assemblyman Park. I’ll meet you there right away.”
Han Seoyoung hung up after speaking with Park Seokji.
To get straight to the point, Goo Doseok hadn’t run away.
He had just vacated the office, that’s all.
“Director Goo is currently camping in front of the building.”
“Camping…?”
“Yes. I don’t really know why he’s there, though.”
Han Seoyoung and I headed outside together.
At the corner of the building’s premises stood an actual camping tent, like one you’d see at a campsite.
The rain was pouring heavily.
Was he really okay?
Holding umbrellas, we approached the tent.
The zipper was tightly closed.
An A4-sized sheet of paper, once taped to the entrance, had fallen off after being soaked by the rain.
Planning and Finance Division
Approval Hours: 2 PM – 5 PM
Approval only for team leaders and above
This guy…
Why on earth was he enjoying urban camping after leaving his office?
And what’s with the absurdly generous working hours of 2 PM to 5 PM?
“Director Goo Doseok, this is Manager Han.”
“……”
“Director?”
When there was no response, Han Seoyoung simply unzipped the tent.
“Director, what on earth are you doing here?”
Sensing someone’s presence, Goo Doseok abruptly kicked off his blanket and sat up.
Then, clutching the bag he had been using as a pillow, he shrank back.
“I have no money! None! If you take even this, how am I supposed to manage the rest of the campaign?!”
“?”
It was the kind of line you’d expect from an old man trying to hide money from a gambling-addicted son.
Looking closely, Goo Doseok’s appearance was downright shabby.
Worn-out sneakers, a dirty suit, disheveled hair, and a grimy face.
The inside of the tent was a mess, with scattered office supplies lying around haphazardly.
Here and there were pots and bowls to catch the rain leaking in.
“Director, what is all this? Why did you leave your perfectly fine office? And what’s with your appearance?”
“Ah… Manager Han?”
Goo Doseok calmed his startled nerves.
He muttered with a hollow look on his face.
“We’re ruined.”
“Ruined? What do you mean?”
“We’re out of money. That’s why I vacated the office—to save on rent.”
He vacated the office because of rent?
Wait, isn’t it just three months until the election?
He’s saying they’re so broke that they couldn’t afford to keep the office?
“So, the shortened approval hours were also…”
“Exactly. It’s a strategy to avoid approving as much as possible. Dressing like this is also part of the strategy. If I look pitiful, people will feel guilty asking for money.”
Goo Doseok launched into a lamentation.
He confessed that he had been evading party members to protect the remaining campaign funds.
It was unfortunate that necessary funds weren’t being allocated where needed, but at this rate, they wouldn’t even make it to election day.
“Oh dear, where are my manners? Since our candidate came all the way here, I should at least offer you a drink…”
Goo Doseok rummaged through a corner of the tent and handed over a bottle of Vita 500 that had been hidden away.
“Manager Han, would you like one too?”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“Here you go.”
“…This bottle is already open. And it’s only half full.”
“So?”
“What do you mean, ‘so’? Someone already drank from this!”
“Can’t drink leftovers? Fine, give it back. I’ll drink it myself.”
Fortunately, the drink he gave me was unopened.
At least he seems to take care of the candidate.
At that moment, Assemblyman Park Seokji arrived, late but furious.
He came in guns blazing.
“Director Goo! This is absolutely unacceptable!”
What an incredible voice.
Thanks to covering my ears, I managed to save my poor eardrums.
“How could you mismanage funds so badly that we can’t even afford snacks?”
“I told you, there’s nothing left…”
“My district’s volunteers are only there because of my personal connections! What am I supposed to do if I can’t even provide them with snacks?!”
“Well, that’s not my problem. Pay for it out of your own pocket, Assemblyman.”
“I’m over the donation limit!”
Park Seokji’s passion for loyalty was admirable.
The reason he could shout like that was because he was the party’s biggest donor.
After calming Park Seokji, Han Seoyoung turned to the director.
“How much money is left for you to be acting like this?”
Goo Doseok answered with his fingers.
He held up just one.
“One billion? That’s a bit low, but still…”
“One billion.”
This is an enormous amount of money for an individual.
However, as election funds, it’s woefully insufficient.
Our party’s budget was around 8 billion won, so it’s already been reduced to one-eighth of that.
With the remaining funds, even dreaming of major media advertisements was out of the question.
But Goo Doseok shook his head.
“Not 1 billion won?”
“No, it’s not…”
What his single finger signified was not 1 billion won.
“Then, does that mean only 100 million won is left? Assemblyman Park, what do we do?!”
“Just 100 million? Where did all the money go?”
100 million won.
A figure shocking enough to make even Park Seokji flinch.
The legally allowed cap for presidential election funds is around 58 billion won.
Even with that, there’s never enough, and controversies about illegally sourced campaign funds constantly erupt in this field.
Our party, being a “cutesy” little one, initially crafted a presidential campaign plan on a mere 8-billion-won budget.
Having only 100 million won left was genuinely terrifying.
But…
Goo Doseok shook his head again.
“?!”
“Not 100 million won…”
“What? Then are you saying there’s only 10 million won left?!”
“Ha, haha! You must be joking!”
“……”
“You’re joking, right? Tell me you’re joking! Please let it be a joke!!!”
What the hell? Seriously, just 10 million won?
At this point, what’s the difference between Goo Doseok running off with the money?
“To be precise, it’s not that we have just 10 million won left. It’s that after factoring in essential promotional material costs due to the replacement—no, the difficulties with our candidate—what remains is 10 million won. And that’s assuming the minimum budget, cutting costs wherever we can.”
Banners, posters, promotional materials, advertisements.
Without these essential items, you cannot run a presidential campaign.
No matter how much of an internet age we live in, many citizens still aren’t internet-savvy.
With only 10 million won, there’s no way to sustain the rest of the campaign.
Ultimately, we had to find more money.
There was one potential breakthrough.
“Director, according to the latest poll, our candidate’s approval rating exceeded 15%. At this rate, can’t we issue a presidential election fund?”
Presidential Election Fund.
A method of raising money by borrowing from citizens.
Participants in the fund receive their principal and interest back after the election.
In fact, most major presidential candidates finance the majority of their campaigns this way.
If you secure over 15% of the vote, 100% of the campaign costs are reimbursed.
However, Goo Doseok was skeptical.
“The highest result in the polls was 15%, but that figure was considered an outlier. Other polling agencies averaged it at around 13%. Moreover, since most of our candidate’s support comes from young voters, the actual expected vote count might be even lower.”
That was reasonable.
So reasonable, it left me speechless.
Not because a Vita500 bottle was stuck to my lips, preventing me from speaking.
“Uuuuuuugh…”
“Candidate? What are you doing?”
I sucked air through the bottle’s neck.
The bottle clung tightly to my lips.
Pop.
With a clear sound, the bottle detached.
A round mark was left around my mouth.
I’d sucked so hard my lips were swollen.
“My pretty lips are all swollen now. Don’t do that kind of silly thing again.”
“…Okay…”
I had been so deep in thought I’d lost control of my actions.
Money, money, money.
Where could we find it?
“Let’s start by raising more donations to put out this immediate fire!”
“If we manage to raise another 10 million won, that would already be a lot. Haven’t we already exhausted most of our donation sources? Even with a slight increase in approval ratings, we can’t be certain it reflects real support.”
“Sigh. This is frustrating…”
Assemblyman Park Seokji headed to the smoking area, clearly agitated.
I felt just as frustrated.
Where could we scrape up some money?
Frankly, there was nowhere left to turn.
In the end, I had no choice but to borrow more myself.
I approached Goo Doseok, who looked utterly deflated.
“By the way, I have a piggy bank. It’s got about 80 million won in it. You can use that…”
“80 million won?”
“Yeah, it’s from the allowance I saved… I was going to use it to buy toys.”
Han Seoyoung patted my head as she explained.
“That’s not 80 million won. It’s 8,000 won and 10,000 won combined.”
“…?”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but you’ve already accrued too much debt in your name.”
In fact, just the debt under my name already totaled 500 million won.
If this election fails, my political career won’t just be difficult…
No, in my current state, it’ll be the end.
At that moment, I heard the sound of squelching footsteps behind me, and a woman appeared.
“Oh dear, how shabby.”
A black umbrella.
An upright posture.
A perfectly tailored suit.
And a shining member of parliament badge.
The woman, who appeared to be in her early to mid-30s, was named Gan Sinha.
“Is this the party that’s rumored to be broke? Judging by the tent you’re using instead of an office, it seems like it is.”
Her face openly mocked us.
She was a member of parliament from the same party as Jo Seyoung, the current frontrunner in the polls. It was known that she had joined the election campaign team and held a notable position there.
“So, you’re Kang Jiwoo? You look even smaller in person. Your cute face probably helps your popularity, huh? But what happens when your intelligence becomes just as cute? Haha!”
“Watch your words when you’re talking about our candidate.”
“And who are you, little brat? Don’t you see this?”
Gan Sinha pointed to her badge.
She had earned it in the last general election, making her a first-term MP.
She was notorious for her arrogance and her habit of causing trouble.
“Someone who’s never worked near the National Assembly dares to talk back?”
“I’ve worked there before, actually.”
“What, as an intern or a low-level clerk? Just because your face got some recognition while serving Kang Jiwoo, you think you’re something now?”
“So, why are you here?”
Raindrops fell onto Gan Sinha’s shoulder.
“Your umbrella isn’t working?”
“My apologies…”
Her secretary straightened his back and adjusted the umbrella closer to her.
With her arms crossed, Gan Sinha sneered like a wasp.
“You guys need money, don’t you? Why act all high and mighty? Setting up a tent and calling it an office—you’re nothing but beggars.”
“If you’re suggesting some under-the-table deal, we’re not interested.”
“This is why I hate talking to amateurs. You need to know something to have a conversation.”
She shifted her target to me.
“Hey, Kang Jiwoo.”
Suddenly, she reached out. Her movements were rough.
“Eek!”
I tried to dodge, but Gan Sinha was quicker.
Grab!
Her grip on my forearm was shockingly strong.
“You might be an unlucky bastard, but talking to you is probably better than dealing with this airhead. You’ve run a campaign before, right? You’ve experienced a general election, even though you lost. Haha.”
I felt an instinctive aversion to Gan Sinha.
I had never liked her.
She lived up to her name, behaving like a sycophant.
She would do anything to curry favor with those above her, even if it meant harming innocent people.
I had often been her primary target, and being of a similar age, we were frequently compared.
In the end, my recognition overshadowed hers, but while I ran in a challenging district and lost, she had secured her badge in a stronghold.
“Answer me, Kang Jiwoo. What do you think?”
“Um, uh…”
“Damn it! What’s with this blank stare? Are you stupid, or just pretending to be? Hey! Answer me properly!”
“I, I don’t know…”
The anger I felt turned into fear in the body of a young girl.
Unable to counter her coarse words or shake off her rude grip, a sense of helplessness filled me, and tears began to well up.
It was then that a thunderous voice roared through the air.
“HEY!!!!!”
The overwhelming volume was impossible to ignore.
The source was Park Seokji, who had just returned from smoking a cigarette.
“EEK! Wh-what the—!”
“Who do you think you’re messing with?!!”
“P-Park Seokji?”
“HEY!!! Do I look like your friend?!! You rude little—!!”
“Did… did you just call me a little—?!”
Gan Sinha wasn’t someone who would let that slide.
She began to stir up her favorite weapon: the “misogyny frame.”
As a young MP in her 30s, this was one of her most frequently used tactics.
“HEY!!!!!”
Park Seokji’s booming voice cut through the air again.
“EEK! Wh-what the—!”
“Who do you think you’re messing with?!!”
“Ba, Park Seokji…?”
“Hey!!! Do you think I’m your friend?! You rude brat!!!”
“Did you just call me a brat?”
She was not the type to take such things lying down.
She began revving up her engine.
The “misogyny frame.”
It was a weapon often used by her, a young National Assembly member in her 30s.
But who was her opponent?
Even in his 60s, he was full of energy—Park Seokji, the indomitable veteran.
The GOAT (Greatest of All Time) of controversial remarks within the party.
And yet, a four-term assemblyman shining with experience.
“Yes! I called you a brat!! Why?! Do you have a dick?!!”
Twack!
The look on her face was as if she’d been struck by a hammer.
“A, a dick…? Did you just say ‘dick’…”
She was at a loss for words.