A Gate Opened On My First Day As A Politician - Chapter 28: A Nuclear-Level Incident (3)

The position of Acting President is determined by “the order of national protocol”—but only for members of the executive branch.

While figures like opposition leaders or Supreme Court justices are part of this protocol, they belong to the legislative and judicial branches respectively, and thus can never become Acting President.

This is due to the separation of powers:

– Executive
– Legislative
– Judicial

Thus, those eligible to become Acting President include:

– Prime Minister
– Ministers of Finance, Education, Science and Technology, Foreign Affairs, Unification, Justice, Defense, Interior, Culture, Food, Industry, Health, Environment, Labor, Gender Equality, Land, Oceans, and Small Business.

The strict separation of powers prohibits the legislative or judicial branches from vying for the role of Acting President.

“So, the issue is whether there’s anyone among the Cabinet Ministers suitable to take on the Acting Presidency…”

– Translation: Is there anyone remotely qualified?

“In this situation, few would want to assume the role of Acting President. It’s bound to draw immense criticism. Perhaps we should consider amending the Constitution to adopt a parliamentary system?”

– Translation: Let’s make us legislators the new head of state!

“How can you talk about constitutional amendments with just twelve people? Constitutional reform must align with public sentiment. With only twelve members remaining, our democratic legitimacy is already diminished.”

– Translation: The presidency belongs to the Democratic Party right now, right? And most ministers are Democrats too. Are you suggesting we hand it over to a Republican legislator? Over my dead body.

“But what about the proportional representation candidates waiting in line? We could immediately make them legislators to increase our numbers—”

– Translation: Let’s install some placeholders and push this through. Fellow Republicans, I need backup here. We’re seven to their five.

It was a reasonable suggestion. Under normal circumstances, if a proportional representative seat becomes vacant, the next candidate on the list takes the spot automatically.

However:

“At this point, it’s not confirmed that the legislators are dead, only that their survival is uncertain. What if a legislator returns alive after we’ve replaced them?”

– Translation: If we do that, our cozy group of twelve will lose its exclusivity!

“Assemblyman Jang has raised a valid point. According to Article 200, Clause 2 of the Public Official Election Act, succession of proportional representatives is handled by the National Election Commission. Let’s not complicate administrative procedures unnecessarily.”

– Translation: Are you nuts? Divvying this up twelve ways is plenty. Just dump the issue on the Election Commission and let them deal with it.

“Articles 201, 219, and 223 state that if legal challenges render a decision ambiguous, no by-elections are held at all. Acting hastily without clear legal precedent would only confuse the public.”

– Translation: Listen, we need to play fair. Don’t flip the table just because you want control of the game.

Legislators are highly sensitive creatures when it comes to their turf. As a group, they collectively whined and conjured excuses like seasoned lawyers.

While some play crazy for the cameras, true lunatics rarely become lawmakers. And if they do, it’s because the grind of politics eventually drives them insane.

It was fascinating to watch these sharp minds in action. If they miscalculated, they risked a backlash. For now, I remained silent, enjoying the spectacle.

Yang Pan-seok smiled warmly as he took the floor.

“Let’s eliminate the legislators from the Cabinet first. Step by step, we’ll find common ground.”

– Translation: Listen up, everyone.

Normally, the Acting President would be chosen from the Cabinet. But Korean politics, with its peculiarities, had created a problem.

On a large screen connected to his tablet, Yang Pan-seok crossed out names with an electronic pen.

The issue was this:

In Korea, legislators could also serve as ministers.

While this violated the separation of powers, the country’s semi-parliamentary system allowed it.

However, a legislator serving as a minister could not become Acting President due to the same principle of separation of powers.

The result? Most of the Cabinet members were ineligible.

“Alright, I’ve excluded those with dual roles,” Yang Pan-seok said, showing the revised list on the screen.

“Next, I’ll remove the missing and deceased.”

Although most Cabinet offices were based in Sejong City, ministers typically worked out of separate offices in Seoul. Consequently, many had perished.

– Minister of Food: A defeated presidential ally.
– Minister of Land: A professor close to the President.

“That leaves two candidates. Officially, the Minister of Food is the Acting President.”

Yang Pan-seok hummed as he explained, marking names off the list with a rhythm like a work song.

“However, the Food Minister resigned under ‘certain pressures.’”

– Translation: Cha Jae-kyun already got rid of them.

Yang drew a line through the name on the screen.

“The Land Minister has also been hospitalized for a sudden chronic illness.”

– Translation: Cha Jae-kyun took care of them too.

With both names eliminated, Yang chuckled.

“Well, this is quite the predicament!”

– Translation: Cha Jae-kyun is blocking our every move.

—

“…That day.”

Assemblywoman Won Ok-bun spoke cautiously, referring to a day that had become a collective trauma.

The day the Gate opened—on her first day in office.

“I escaped the National Assembly on my aide’s back. He’d been my companion since my days as a prosecutor 28 years ago.”

Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

“Using bizarre magic, he drove off the monsters before collapsing from massive blood loss in front of the hospital. He left me there, unconscious.”

She idly fiddled with her nails, her unpolished speech conveying a somber weight that enveloped the room.

Won Ok-bun smiled faintly—a twisted expression, distorted by nerve damage.

“Even when gangsters barged into my office with sashimi knives, I stood my ground. But politics? Politics has turned me into a coward after 17 years.”

Her self-deprecating humor was bleak.

“When that man, who shared my entire public career, died… I couldn’t stop thinking. What should I do for this country?”

A heavy silence followed.

“…”

She murmured again.

“At this rate, the country will fall apart.”

It was a chilling warning.

“After 28 years of public service, I want to truly serve the nation. But what can the National Assembly accomplish without a President?”

Yang Pan-seok responded gently.

“I deeply agree with Assemblywoman Won’s sentiments. We have two proposals; would you like to hear them?”

“Please, go ahead, Assemblyman Yang.”

“First: hold a presidential election within the next 38 days.”

Under the Public Official Election Act, a by-election must be held within 60 days if the presidency becomes vacant.

However, the Chief Justice, who chaired the National Election Commission, was dead, along with most high-ranking officials. Or they were missing.

And…

“Millions of citizens remain trapped in their homes due to monsters. When will Seoul be secure enough to hold an election?”

A fellow Assemblyman made a valid counterpoint. Yang Pan-seok nodded.

“Exactly. Such a President wouldn’t be recognized by the people. The election process itself would take much longer, leaving a prolonged administrative void.”

Now came the second proposal.

“The second: strip a legislator-minister of their Assembly seat and appoint them as Acting President.”

– Translation: Screw the rules, just push it through.

“…Can that even work?”

“There’s no reason it can’t. The sky’s already falling apart.”

No one in the room failed to understand the implication.

All eyes turned to one person.

A five-term Assemblywoman. Appointed Minister as soon as her election was confirmed.
A legend among prosecutors and a veteran of the Judicial Training Institute.
The current Minister of Justice.
Seventh in the order of succession for Acting President.

Won Ok-bun.

Yang Pan-seok made his move.

“…”

He was suggesting that Won Ok-bun resign her Assembly seat and take the position of Acting President. Naturally, everyone turned their attention to her.

It reminded me of what she had said earlier:

> “After 28 years in public service, I want to do something truly patriotic. What can the National Assembly accomplish without a President?”

– Translation: We need to create a President, no matter what.

When you think about it, it all added up.

– Translation: I want to be President.

—

Perhaps this had been Yang Pan-seok’s goal from the start. No, it definitely was. His roundabout discussion was a deliberate attempt to gauge Won Ok-bun’s intent.

I replayed the conversation in my head.

At the outset, Yang Pan-seok declared the absence of a viable candidate for Acting President.

– Translation: Ok-bun, do you want the job?

Won Ok-bun responded with the story of her aide, a loyal companion of 28 years.

– Translation: I’m willing.

Yang Pan-seok naturally built on her remarks, leading to her de facto nomination.

– Translation: Then do it.

In the end, she requested time to think it over, but her answer was already clear.

Ah, politics.

The entire lengthy meeting among the twelve members had been little more than a subtle dialogue between two major players.

For my part, I kept silent throughout the subsequent discussions.

It was a calculated move, mindful of recording devices.

Moreover, the NIS agents in military uniforms surrounding the area made eavesdropping a real possibility. A listening device wouldn’t have been out of place.

And as Yang Pan-seok had noted earlier:

> These individuals were rescued before us and had been ‘protected’ by Cha Jae-kyun before being released.

Apparently, after signing Cha Jae-kyun’s operational agreement, they had been confined to hotels under the pretense of personal protection—likely to stave off the threat of impeachment.

If Yang Pan-seok and I hadn’t preemptively addressed Cha Jae-kyun’s concerns (via the Ground Operations Command), we’d have probably ended up in hotel detention too.

Cha Jae-kyun had seized military control unchallenged, consolidating power over the Ground Operations Command, Gyeryongdae, Joint Chiefs of Staff, and even the U.S. Forces Korea.

Ironically, we had played a significant role in making that happen—by labeling everyone except Cha Jae-kyun as insurrectionists.

“…”

Yang Pan-seok and I locked eyes.

Like me, he had refrained from speaking further, despite being the one to light the fuse. There was a tacit understanding between us.

Perhaps, the coup had already succeeded.

And we were the ones who had enabled it.

—

I remained silent, wary of surveillance devices. The power Cha Jae-kyun wielded was terrifying.

Of course, there were limits.

Lines not to be crossed.

If the twelve of us conspired to impeach Cha Jae-kyun, he would undoubtedly mobilize the military. Were he to eliminate us outright, it would incite an uprising among the people.

Politics had its share of forbidden maneuvers.

And in my view—

“This seems a bit too far,” I said.

“Hmm?”

Yang Pan-seok handed me a recording device.

It contained the minutes of the underground National Assembly meeting.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Take it to Cha Jae-kyun.”

I was shocked.

“You want me to deliver this to the Martial Law Command in Gangbuk?”

Yang Pan-seok smiled mischievously.

“If you can’t stop the beast, you ride it.”

Suddenly, it all clicked.

Yang Pan-seok was deliberately stoking tensions between the National Assembly and the military, while simultaneously extending an olive branch to Cha Jae-kyun through me.

“You mentioned crossing a line?” he asked.

“…”

“My principle is to have no principles.”

He calmly placed the recorder in my hand.

“Remember what I said back when we were sailing on the Han River.”

As he patted my shoulder, he walked away.

“You’re one of my kind.”

Yang Pan-seok disappeared, leaving me frozen in place, staring at the recorder in my hand.

His scheme was simple:

Pit the National Assembly and the military against each other, while keeping a foot in both camps. Won Ok-bun would likely become the scapegoat.

On the surface, they would appear to be adversaries, but beneath it all, they would collaborate.

This wasn’t a departure from existing tactics.

It was a classic bat-like strategy—fluttering between sides.

Yet…

I couldn’t deny Yang Pan-seok’s final words.

“…Damn it.”

Was it that a bat recognizes another bat?

Or was it because I’d learned politics from Yang Pan-seok?

How ironic.

I slipped the recorder from Yang Pan-seok into my inner pocket.

Now I had two recorders in my possession.

The recorder I’d been concerned about wasn’t NIS property after all.