A Gate Opened On My First Day As A Politician - Chapter 14: A Big Brush for a Big Picture (2)

“…An orphanage?”

“Yes, sir. I’m not sure if it’s entirely accurate to call this a war, but there are certainly many war orphans now, aren’t there?”

Cha Jae-kyun frowned, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“That seems like something we can address after dealing with the monsters first.”

“But didn’t you say you were looking for superhumans?”

“…I did.”

“Can’t children be superhumans too?”

Instead of trying to identify whether someone is trustworthy and a superhuman, wouldn’t it be more efficient to make the superhumans trust us?

Cha Jae-kyun remained silent, deep in thought. I added more detail to the proposal.

“Of course, not every orphan we take in will be a superhuman. And not all of them will even be children.”

Like Pi Chae-won, for example.

“It wouldn’t be wrong to provide shelter for minors who have nowhere to go, would it? And for those with ‘talent,’ we could even offer jobs.”

The orphans who could absorb crystals would be deployed into the NIS or “social welfare” projects. From their perspective, it wouldn’t be a bad deal either.

Cha Jae-kyun looked at me to confirm. “Is this how you intend to manage superhumans?”

“It’s part of the foundation’s education and welfare projects,” I replied with confidence.

—

The reality is, a member of the National Assembly can’t accomplish much alone. Passing legislation requires at least 10 members, and most major decisions require hundreds. Even in this state of crisis, the basic dynamics remain unchanged.

No one’s holding audits or drafting budgets yet. But sooner or later, people will realize that the Assembly members are mere figureheads.

If I don’t want to become a puppet, I need to expand my influence—so people see me not just as an Assemblyman but as a politician.

– By establishing a superhuman contracting company, I can rebuild infrastructure, hunt monsters, and form a private network under the guise of social services—all while managing my public image and increasing my clout.
– By setting up a superhuman research hub, I can monopolize research on superhuman abilities, gain access to classified information managed as military secrets, and grow my influence further.
– By creating an orphanage, I bolster my social standing, strengthen connections with agencies like the NIS and Military Security Command, and interact with a variety of superhumans.

And on top of all that, I create jobs.

That’s politics.

Satisfied, I nodded and asked, “What do you think, Vice Minister?”

“It’s good. Very good. But…” Cha Jae-kyun tilted his head slightly, raising the key question. “Where’s the money coming from?”

I grinned and pointed at him.

“You, Vice Minister.”

I had no intention of spending my own money—primarily because I didn’t have any.

—

“The social welfare projects will operate as services commissioned by the military.

The research and development initiatives will be funded by military investments, with the research findings shared.

And the education and welfare efforts will be supported by donations from the military, which we’ll use to help the orphans find ‘jobs.’”

Cha Jae-kyun is not just the martial law commander but also the de facto commander-in-chief of the armed forces.

As such, he controls both **military operational command** (strategic orders) and **military administrative authority** (personnel, logistics, and budgets).

In other words, he controls the military’s purse strings.

“So, if you assist us, Vice Minister, everything becomes possible.”

“Let me get this straight…” Cha Jae-kyun tapped his finger on the desk.

*Tap.*

“You want to run three public-interest projects under a hastily created foundation to manage superhumans.”

*Tap.*

“You plan to bypass legal procedures using martial law commander authority.”

*Tap.*

“And while calling it a public-interest initiative, you’re essentially proposing to operate a defense contractor.”

I proudly nodded. Cha Jae-kyun continued, “In fact, it’s basically a military-industrial complex.”

A **military-industrial complex** refers to the interdependence between the military and defense contractors. In South Korea, it’s better known as…

“Assemblyman.”

“Yes?”

“Are you insane?”

…defense procurement corruption.

—

Cha Jae-kyun scowled. “I became Vice Minister for cracking down on defense corruption. I genuinely detest it.”

“I see.”

“No matter how dire the situation, this idea feels repugnant.”

He glared at me, his expression menacing.

But I didn’t flinch. This felt like a test. High-ranking individuals often gauge whether someone can handle a major responsibility by throwing them into uncomfortable situations. If I backed down now, he might just take my idea and use it himself.

Besides, he said it felt repugnant—not that he wouldn’t do it.

I smiled slyly. “So, will you not do it, Vice Minister?”

Cha Jae-kyun, who had been glaring at me, suddenly let out a dry laugh. Then, as though he had heard a great joke, he covered his mouth and chuckled uncontrollably.

Tears even welled up as he addressed me, “Representative Han Seung-Moon.”

“Yes?”

“This is all technically within my authority, isn’t it?”

– Translation: I could have done this myself, but I chose not to. Not because I couldn’t, but because I didn’t want to.

Effectively, that was an acceptance.

I bowed my head slightly, my smile widening. “Thank you, Vice Minister.”

“Either I’ve gone dull from my time in the military, or you’re extraordinarily sharp,” he mused, smiling faintly.

“I double-majored in Political Science and Economics,” I quipped. (TL Note: Ohhh, impressive. That’s why.)

He laughed again. “Bring me the paperwork this evening.”

—

“See, that’s why education is important!” I exclaimed.

“Shut up, you elitist,” Yeo Do-yeon muttered, lightly knocking my head with her knuckle as she pushed my wheelchair.

Ignoring her, I continued, “Relief, research, education, welfare—the Han Seung-Moon Foundation! It’s a masterpiece, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah. By the way, isn’t being a lawmaker supposed to be a full-time job?”

“True, but honorary positions for public interest projects are an exception to the rule.”

Of course, whether this would legally qualify as an honorary position was another matter entirely.

“And whether it’s truly for public interest? That’s another issue altogether.”

I tilted my head back in the wheelchair, grinning as Yeo Do-yeon’s face came into view upside-down.

“In this upside-down world, do you think anyone cares about that now?”

*Slap!*

“Ow!”

“Gross. Move your face away.”

“Why bother hitting me after saying it?” I grumbled, rubbing my face.

Yeo Do-yeon asked, “What exactly were you talking about earlier?”

“You didn’t get it?”

“I tuned out when all the English started.”

“Honestly, you don’t need to understand.”

“Then why’d you bring me along?”

“To show off that I have an incredible superhuman.”

“Like a prop?”

Her slap this time was much harder, but I smirked and continued talking.

“Fine, in layman’s terms: we’re creating a foundation funded by the military. It’ll run contract services, a research lab, and an orphanage, all while controlling every superhuman. Got it?”

Yeo Do-yeon nodded, then asked, “And that means what?”

“How’d you even graduate college?”

“I dropped out for my sports career, genius. You know that.”

“Ah.”

With an exaggeratedly kind voice, she whispered, “Seung-Moon.”

“Yes?”

“Remember who’s pushing this wheelchair.”

“I’m sorry.”

*Thump.*

The wheelchair bumped over a stone, jostling me. I bit my tongue and immediately complained, kicking her side gently with my heel.

“Can’t you push straight?!”

—

“Uncle’s neck is red!” Gam Ji-yoon exclaimed.

“Auntie hit me,” I replied.

“I’m telling Mom!”

“How much do you want to keep quiet?”

Pulling a crumpled bill from my pocket, I stuffed it into Ji-yoon’s hand. Chun Hwa-ran, watching, smiled as she commented, “Back to your roots, I see.”

“No, thank you for accepting,” I replied. “You’ll be in charge of R&D, Ms. Chun.”

Gam Ji-sun tilted his head curiously. “R&D? What’s that?”

“Research and development. Ms. Chun will lead superhuman studies.”

Since she was pregnant, I couldn’t send her into the field. Besides, her background in pharmaceuticals made her perfect for the role.

Gam Ji-sun chuckled, now understanding. “Ah, R&D! You should’ve just said that.”

“Ah, maybe I sounded too ‘Korean,’” I teased.

Chun Hwa-ran interjected, “Just call it research and development, please.”

“English improves with use,” I retorted.

—

We arrived at the storage room from before, filled with ammunition boxes. Yeo Do-yeon yanked the door open, revealing the shimmering crystals inside.

“Put one on the table,” I instructed.

She gave me a look that said, *Don’t you have hands?* I smirked and wiggled my leg in response.

Sighing, she placed a box on the table and opened it, revealing the softly glowing fragments within.

“Let’s take it slow. Absorb a small amount first, and if it’s safe, we’ll try with Ji-yoon.”

“What am I, a lab rat?”

“Better than dying to a monster. Slowly, one step at a time.”

—

As the surreal scene unfolded, the luminous fragments gradually absorbed into their bodies. Yeo Do-yeon held a handful of the shards and pressed them onto my face.

“…What are you doing?”

“Why isn’t it absorbing into you?”

That was strange.

“Why can’t I absorb the crystals?” I wondered aloud.

“Maybe because you’re just a disabled superhuman who can’t use powers alone?”

“Shut up, you high-school dropout.”

She smirked darkly as she continued absorbing the fragments stuck to my body. Then, with a sudden jab, she pressed her thumb hard against my thigh.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Your thighs are solid.”

“Of course, they are! I hop around on one leg all day!”

“Men need strong thighs.”

“Nothing’s sadder than a virgin making dirty jokes,” I muttered.

“What’s sadder is confusing ‘can’t’ and ‘don’t.’”

—

Before our bickering could escalate, Gam Ji-yoon piped up, parroting us with alarming cheer.

“Shut up, you jerk!”

“Ji-yoon, don’t say that!”

“Jerk!”

“That’s bad language. Bad kids use bad words—”

“Shut up!”

Yeo Do-yeon froze, her hand twitching involuntarily. I sighed, rolling my wheelchair forward.

“Ji-yoon, Uncle will give you 10,000 won if you promise never to say ‘shut up’ or ‘jerk’ again.”

“Okay!”

“Promise?”

“Promise!”

With a pinky swear to seal the deal, Yeo Do-yeon begrudgingly witnessed the agreement. She covered her face with her hand.

“You’re teaching her all the wrong things…”

—

As we headed back to the dormitory, Ji-yoon ran up to her dad, who was preparing dinner, and cheerfully declared:

“Shut up, you jerk!”