A Gate Opened On My First Day As A Politician - Chapter 37: North Wind (8)

– Former Vice Minister of Defense Cha Jae-kyun, who planned to overthrow the state through illegal human experimentation, was found dead in his office around 8 p.m. today.

Cha Jae-kyun was dead.

– Before we start, don’t forget to subscribe and like. Oh, yes, everyone! Did you hear about it? Human experimentation? Wow, isn’t that just insane? Seems he had some conscience, though, since he shot himself in the head…

Many cheered.

– The National Assembly strongly condemns the human experimentation and private organization orchestrated by Cha Jae-kyun. Through expanding the authority of the Monster Response Special Committee, we aim to prevent…

– In this era where all citizens are enduring pain, only the resolute judgment of the people awaits those insurrectionists who cannot control their lust for power…

Politicians waved their hands, savoring the victory.

– Assemblyman Han Seung-Moon! Could you comment briefly? Rumors say the human experiment subjects were violent criminals—is that true? And what about the test subjects who haven’t been apprehended yet…?

– The special investigation team has decided not to pursue further inquiries beyond former martial law commander Lim Yong-taek and former NIS Director Kim Doo-hwan.

Breaking news just in: former NIS Director Kim Doo-hwan has been found dead at his home. His death is presumed to be a suicide…

– Assemblyman Han Seung-Moon, who led the escape from Apgujeong and endured external pressure related to human experimentation, has been awarded the Order of National Security Merit, Tongil Medal. After the press conference, Acting President Won Ok-bun invited Assemblyman Han to her residence for a private meeting…

—

“I see my younger self in you.”

Won Ok-bun, poking at a plate of braised lotus root, spoke to me in her slow, clumsy tone. Her twisted expression made her words sound like casual remarks.

“Yes, you need guts. Politicians require such qualities as well.”

“…Thank you.”

“Yang Pan-seok did an excellent job raising you. I still vividly remember the sight of him hurling Molotov cocktails and shouting at public servants. Oh, I even met him once back in my public security days, in an interrogation room.”

Yang Pan-seok had thrown Molotovs during the Roh Tae-woo era and become a judge during Kim Young-sam’s presidency. Meanwhile, Won Ok-bun had been a prosecutor fighting gangsters during Roh Tae-woo’s reign.

In both the legal and political realms, Yang Pan-seok was about four years her junior. And in this world, four years could turn tides. It meant two or more major elections—presidential, general, or local—might have occurred in that span. Thus, Won Ok-bun referred to Yang Pan-seok casually.

“Did Yang Pan-seok say anything special?”

“…No, not really.”

“Assemblyman Han may not realize, but Assemblyman Yang holds you in high regard.”

“Yang” and “Han”—those names sounded oddly harmonious together.

Won Ok-bun contorted her face into something resembling a smile.

“Of course, I do too. These days, assemblymen are quite rare, after all.”

“…”

“Let’s see… you’re 27 now, so 31, 35, 39. Wow. By your late thirties, you’ll have served four terms. You must have high hopes for your future. You’re quite popular too.”

“…You’re too kind.”

What she really meant was that I was an ideal candidate to groom for the next generation. A perfect tool for politicians to use as their retirement plan.

“When the assemblymen gathered in the underground chamber, Yang Pan-seok suggested nurturing you. We discreetly passed some compliments to the media and prosecutors.”

I knew how powerful even a hint dropped by an assemblyman could be in this country. I nodded wearily, acknowledging her point.

“Thank you.”

“But sudden, bold moves do startle us at times. Maybe it’s my age.”

Won Ok-bun scooped more braised lotus root from her fridge, eating casually while continuing her conversation.

Her words spoken while eating seemed more weighty than those said during a formal press conference in a suit.

“Take it easy. Take it slow.”

She meant, “Don’t overstep.”

“We don’t need major political conflicts in this era. Let’s proceed safely…”

The strongman on TV was nowhere to be found.

“You can starve a hunting dog slowly, after all. Swinging the stick suddenly isn’t necessarily a bad choice, but…”

Yang Pan-seok, who had wielded Molotovs to topple the military regime during Chun Doo-hwan’s time, and Won Ok-bun, who had taken down gangsters during Roh Tae-woo’s presidency…

“People like us old folks find even holding a stick heavy these days.”

She had become someone who feared burdens and responsibilities.

“You understand what I’m saying, right?”

—

Three days flew by after Cha Jae-kyun’s suicide. I seemed to drift through time in a daze.

And now, the joint memorial service for the victims was over.

As soon as the service ended, the distinguished guests in the front row hurriedly approached the reporters, dabbing their eyes with handkerchiefs to show their grief.

I sat idly, staring at the countless portrait photos lined up. Only civilian victims were included, excluding the criminals, yet the number of frames was staggering.

Bereaved families, clad in black mourning attire, wept uncontrollably. Transparent tears running down flushed faces appeared like blood.

Avoiding the reporters, I quietly slipped out through the emergency exit.

And then.

“I-I’m sorry! I… I…!”

“…”

“I-I never… imagined… it would end like this!”

In the dim emergency stairwell, I heard the sobbing of a woman.

“…Chae-won?”

A small figure crouched with her ears covered looked up at me with tear-streaked, bloodshot eyes.

—

“…Why did you do it?”

Pi Chae-won sat in the passenger seat as I silently drove back to her dormitory.

The sunset, filtering between the buildings, seemed unusually red.

Gripping her skirt with tiny fists, Pi Chae-won remained silent for a long time before suddenly asking an unrelated question.

It didn’t need interpretation.

As the green light illuminated the street, I pressed the accelerator and, after a lengthy silence, barely managed to answer.

“I don’t know.”

Why had I done all that?

I couldn’t claim I was a populist who rejected the value of a nation maintained by the people’s sacrifice.

Nor could I say, as a humanist, that the destruction of life as a means to an end deserved no respect.

I wasn’t an altruist either.

I couldn’t say that a majority sustained by the sacrifice of a minority was justifiable.

Nor could I claim it was for political gain, as I wasn’t an egoist. I couldn’t say it was the will of the people, as I wasn’t a democrat.

I was an ambiguous person.

Most people are.

When asked to introduce themselves, most end up rambling.

That’s why people always carry business cards. In my case, I introduce myself as a National Assemblyman.

But if you asked someone to define themselves without relying on their title, few could provide an immediate answer.

This means people cannot easily define themselves with just one identity.

Aren’t we all complex creatures, living intricately tangled lives?

For that reason, I couldn’t bring myself to utter some clear, philosophical, or idealistic answer that aligned with my beliefs.

“…I just felt it wasn’t right. That’s all.”

“…”

Pi Chae-won responded with a delicate silence. As a thought occurred to me, I muttered, trying to justify my ambiguity.

“When I was young, I was incredibly sensitive to wrongdoing.”

Pi Chae-won, who had been wiping her red, tear-filled eyes, looked at me with an ironic expression.

“You know the concept of a line? That… what do you call it? I was someone sensitive to that sort of thing.”

“A line?”

“You know, like kids who throw a fit over someone cutting in line for lunch and end up fighting? That was me. Back in elementary school.”

I lazily turned the steering wheel and entered a coastal road overlooking Busan’s front sea.

The crimson sunset shimmered on the rippling waves.

“I guess it was because I was such an obedient child, always listening to my parents. If someone broke the rules, I’d lecture them as if I were an adult myself.

But after my mom held my hand and jaywalked, my thoughts changed a bit. It happened when we were grocery shopping, and the store was closed. On the way back home, despite not being in a rush, she jaywalked. It left such an impression that I remember it vividly.

Most kids remember their mom promising them tonkatsu but taking them for a shot instead. Me? I remember her jaywalking while holding my hand.

She was wearing a yellow dress. My mom was so beautiful. I think she was the only woman who could pull off a knee-length yellow dress.

She once said she acted in films when she was young. If I’m short but still good-looking, it’s all thanks to her.”

As I rambled on with a silly grin, I suddenly realized I was saying something I shouldn’t to Pi Chae-won.

Both of us were orphans, but she had lost her parents not long ago.

Talking about my mother, who I dearly missed, had made me too excited. I missed her even more now.

Sniffling, I swallowed the lump in my throat and returned to the main topic.

“Where was I…?

Right, jaywalking.

After my mom held my hand and jaywalked, I started doing it too.

There was this two-lane road without a crosswalk on my way to my after-school academy. I think I jaywalked almost daily. I jaywalked a lot.

To be precise, I learned that some everyday violations for convenience are implicitly tolerated.”

“…”

“But then, one Lunar New Year, on the way to visit my grandmother, a kid dashed out while jaywalking, and my father swerved to avoid him. He crossed the center line and collided with an oncoming truck.”

“…”

“When an accident happens, time slows down. The glass shatters. The bumper crumples. The truck barrels forward, crushing my mom and dad. And the broken seat slides back, pinning my legs. I saw all of it—like it was in slow motion.”

“…”

“That’s when I realized.”

I answered Pi Chae-won’s initial question.

“The law exists for a damn good reason.”

—

Fifteen minutes of silence filled the car.

Overwhelmed by emotions, I had spoken more harshly than intended.

It might have been childish, but considering the trouble she’d put me through, I figured we were even.

After all, she had asked for my help, leading me to trek all the way to Gangbuk. This troublemaker had been the source of all this chaos.

Still, Pi Chae-won wasn’t a seer of the future.

It felt like there was more she wanted to say, but…

“I thought… it would work out,” Pi Chae-won said, pinching her thigh, her trembling voice breaking the silence.

I continued driving in silence.

“Uncle Cheol was such a pure journalist. Vice Minister Cha Jae-kyun always cried in sorrow. And you, sir, even though you were a bit scary, told me on that rooftop that you truly wanted me to live.”

Because of my compulsive driving habits, I didn’t glance at her, but every fiber of my being focused on her faint, trembling voice.

Pi Chae-won started wiping her tears with her slightly stretched sleeves.

“Yoon-a unnie, who cried and begged to live in the hills… The NIS director, whom I glimpsed from afar… The researchers and agents who were there… None of them wanted to do something like human experimentation…!”

She confessed tearfully.

“I have good ears,” she said to me.

“I can hear people’s hearts.”

My mind went blank, and my grip on the steering wheel tightened, the veins on my hand bulging.

“If nobody wanted this, then why…”

“…”

“I thought if everyone came together and talked about it, the issue would resolve naturally…”

“…”

“How could people who sobbed about not wanting to do this pull the trigger so easily…?”

“…”

“I… I just…!”

…I don’t know.

—

Virtue does not arise from following the way.
Justice does not arise from obeying the law.
Goodness does not arise from understanding hearts.

Then, what should one follow?

I now stood in the office where Cha Jae-kyun had taken his own life. The police didn’t stop me. I was already close to the center of power.

Cha Jae-kyun never used the assigned office. Instead, he chose a modest party office and converted it into his workspace. It always felt cramped.

Why did he do that?

Every time I thought of Cha Jae-kyun, questions arose. Why did he act the way he did?

I pondered the man who was no longer here.

I sat in the chair where Cha Jae-kyun had taken his life. I could almost sense the faint metallic scent of blood lingering in the air.

And then, I finally understood why he had converted this ordinary office into his workspace.

Sitting in the chair, my gaze naturally fell upon the window.

Through the slightly oversized window, I saw the faint, glowing blue light in the sky over a city broken, crushed, and destroyed.

He had always been looking at the Gate.

Even now, monsters continued to drop from the Gate.

He saw it.

He only saw it.

At that moment, I became Cha Jae-kyun. My gaze fell on the slightly open drawer, revealing its contents.

Cigarettes.

Cha Jae-kyun had resumed smoking after decades. There was no one left to die from inhaling his cigarette smoke.

With trembling hands, I searched for a lighter.

For the first time in my life, I put a cigarette to my lips. I had used a lighter before, so it wasn’t difficult to light it.

With the cigarette in my mouth, I leaned back in the chair, imitating Cha Jae-kyun.

I took a deep breath.

“Cough! Cough…! Ack! Hhkk! Hrk…!”

The acrid smoke burned my throat, bringing tears to my eyes. I coughed violently, rubbing my stinging eyes. Even as I choked, I kept my gaze fixed on the Gate beyond the window.

If I were Cha Jae-kyun.

What would I have done in his position?

Hunters were necessary to eliminate the monsters. The human experimentation had already succeeded.

There were politicians willing to use Hunters to drive out the monsters.

And when he sent such a politician to a press conference, the man became a national hero and placed all blame on him.

In this situation, what was Cha Jae-kyun to do?

The deep, clinging sorrow and heavy burden could finally be cast off.

He had achieved everything.

Now…

“Cough…!”

I coughed miserably, tears streaming down my face. My eyes, swollen and red, narrowed in pain.

“Hic…! Cough! Hrk…!”

Perhaps Cha Jae-kyun had intentionally sent me to the press conference. He may have created a hero to take his place, shouldered all the blame, and then chosen death.

Or maybe Cha Jae-kyun was a cold-blooded man who didn’t love his family. Perhaps he was simply blinded by power, trying to deceive me, and when cornered, he took his own life.

Or maybe Cha Jae-kyun… Maybe…

I thought about Cha Jae-kyun for a long time.

But the dead do not speak, and I could never know the truth.

So, coughing pathetically from the cigarette smoke I had never tasted before, I cried endlessly.

It was just… too complicated.

I didn’t know what was right or wrong anymore. But I had to act.

Who was to blame for this mess? This godforsaken situation—whose fault was it? What should I do?

And then.

Through the window, I saw the Gate.

Monsters continued to fall from it.

At last, I understood Cha Jae-kyun.

And I wept for a long time.

—

Virtue does not arise from following the way.
Justice does not arise from obeying the law.
Goodness does not arise from understanding hearts.

Then, what should one follow?

In a world without lines, what can one follow?

Tragically, I was someone who made laws. In this wretched world, I had to create the laws that must be upheld.

I had to draw the line.

That was the duty of a National Assemblyman.

—

When an accident happens, time seems to slow.

The same goes for an era. Everyone sheds the same tears, enduring days that feel like years, bearing unspeakable pain.

A frost-like chill seeps into the bones. The death of someone leaves a deep shadow in the heart. Sorrow with no one to blame makes us miserable.

Yet the sorrowful era moved forward.

And finally, truly,

The season of the cold North Wind had arrived.