8:00 p.m.
The voting for free school meals had concluded, and everyone was closely watching the final turnout.
"The final turnout did not exceed 26%," a report announced.
"So it didn't reach 33% after all," someone noted.
"They couldn't even proceed with the vote count. This vote is effectively null and void. Whether the Seoul mayor will honor his resignation promise is another matter. The ruling party has even issued a statement claiming that turnout above 25% effectively counts as a victory for them."
It wasn't entirely wrong.
Most of the 25% who voted were likely supporters of the ruling party.
If the votes were actually counted, an overwhelming number of "yes" votes would have appeared.
But that was only possible if the counting had taken place. Since no counting could be done, such claims were meaningless.
"The Seoul mayor will keep his promise. He isn't shameless enough to break his word, and given the enormous costs of this public vote, holding onto his office would be nearly impossible otherwise," one remarked.
"The total cost for this public vote was 18.2 billion won. With roughly 8.4 million eligible voters in Seoul, one could argue it only cost about 2,100 won per person," another added.
It was a weak justification.
Even if the cost per person was only 2,100 won, the total expenditure of 18.2 billion won was effectively taxpayer money thrown away.
"They might want to claim a draw since the votes weren't counted, but in reality, this was already a loss for the ruling party. You could even say it was a vote in which the Seoul mayor lost to the Seoul Superintendent of Education," someone remarked.
"Since the Seoul Office of Education strongly pushed for free school meals, I suppose that's one way to look at it," another agreed.
"So, the Seoul mayor will probably resign. How could he hold onto his position after losing to the Superintendent of Education? But the ruling party won't just stay idle either."
Politics never allowed one side to suffer defeat quietly.
Acknowledging a loss cleanly and stepping down was virtually nonexistent in Korean political history.
"Does the ruling party even have any cards to play? Attacking without evidence will just make it look like political persecution," someone questioned.
"Why would they have no cards? Everyone has some skeletons in their closet, and there's plenty of dirt on the Seoul Office of Education—on the Superintendent, to be exact," came the reply.
"Is that intel from Myeong-dong?"
The planning director oversaw all of Taewoo Group's intelligence operations.
Since he didn't know this piece of information, he had no choice but to suspect it came from the Myeong-dong network.
"It's information from various sources. Once the Seoul mayor holds the resignation press conference, the ruling party will immediately attack the Superintendent," I explained.
"They'll hit harder just to press the mayor into resigning," the director added.
"News about the Superintendent's corruption will probably get more coverage than the mayor's resignation. From our perspective, it's perfect—they'll fight it out themselves."
The conflict between the ruling party mayor and opposition-affiliated Superintendent inevitably looked like a clash between the ruling and opposition parties.
The longer the fight dragged on, the stronger the public's disgust with the two major parties would grow, giving the People's Economy Party a chance to quietly attract swing votes.
"Then all we need to do is make sure the major parties fight even harder," I concluded.
"Make sure their voices echo loudly through SNS and portals. Especially in a way that Seoul voters find extremely irritating," the director said.
"We'll start preparing immediately."
Two days later.
As promised, the Seoul mayor announced his resignation.
Shortly after, the prosecution began targeting the Seoul Superintendent of Education.
Upon receiving the news, the planning director rushed to the chairman's office and gave a detailed report.
"It appears that during the previous local elections, the Superintendent handed over as much as 200 million won in cash to unify the opposition candidate lineup," he explained.
"So it's more than just a little dirt," I remarked.
"The public reaction is already unusual. More attention is going to the Superintendent's corruption than to the mayor's resignation," the director continued.
"That's only natural. The Superintendent oversees the education of Seoul's students. This person is supposed to be the cleanest and most exemplary figure, yet they committed a massive corruption," I said.
Moreover, with the ruling party and media outlets supporting the ruling party fanning the flames, the public response would only grow hotter.
"The by-election will be held in two months. It seems the ruling party plans to focus the campaign on the Superintendent's corruption," he said.
"Even so, it won't be easy for them. The by-election was triggered by the free school meals issue, which the ruling party championed. Voters won't easily side with them," I noted.
"And I expect the opposition plans to consolidate their support through candidate unification," the director added.
Previously, the by-election ended in the opposition's favor.
But now, with the People's Economy Party entering the equation, the outcome was bound to shift.
"If the ruling and opposition parties keep fighting, the People's Economy Party stands to capture the Seoul mayoralty by default. The real focus should be next year's presidential election, not the by-election," I emphasized.
"Winning the by-election alone won't guarantee momentum into the presidential race," he cautioned.
"For now, focus on intensifying the conflict between the two major parties. Leave the follow-up to the experts," I instructed.
Next year's presidential election would ultimately favor the ruling party.
Even though the ruling party was currently losing continuously, they still had a presidential candidate capable of swaying voters, making them advantaged in the election, unlike in other contests.
However, if a major issue arose that could overshadow personality politics—one that could deal a critical blow to the ruling party—then Governor Choi Jae-seok would have a real chance of winning the presidency.
I visited Captain Kang's office for the first time in a while.
Today I'd brought a guest along for the visit.
"Isn't that Team Leader Cheon? I only ever see you at PC bangs — it's great to see you in an office!"
"Is this Kang's office? It looks like a gangster hideout."
The guest invited to Captain Kang's office was Cheon Min-jeong.
She and Captain Kang had worked together during the last local election, so they greeted each other warmly.
"Team Leader Cheon, you have a pretty good idea why I called you here, right?" Kang asked.
"Is it to run an operation similar to the last local election? It was fun, but I've already perfected the algorithm — I'm not sure you really need me," Cheon replied.
Cheon Min-jeong was a very busy employee.
She was leading more projects than could be counted on one hand. Still, she'd joined the previous election operation solely because it had been fun.
But repeating the same operation naturally dulls the excitement, and Team Leader Cheon already looked bored.
"This isn't the same operation. This time we're setting a trap to catch the other side's mistakes," Kang said.
"By 'their mistakes,' do you mean catching them in corruption, or catching them buying votes with money?" Cheon's expression changed instantly.
She was intrigued — the work sounded less like cyber public relations and more like an intelligence operation.
"Something like that. Our intel says the ruling party plans to carry out a DDoS attack for this by-election."
"A DDoS attack where, exactly?"
"They plan to attack opposition candidate promo sites and the election commission's website. The logic is that the lower the turnout, the more favorable the election will be for the ruling party."
"Will that actually work? Even if the election commission's site is down, it's not hard to find your polling place."
As Cheon Min‑jeong had said, the plan wouldn't have much practical effect.
Moreover, despite its lack of efficacy, it carried enormous risk — a lousy operation.
But elections often turn on a single percentage point, so campaigns sometimes resorted to tactics like this.
"Whether it works or not doesn't matter. The mere attempt at a DDoS attack is a terrorist act. If we can catch proof that the ruling party orchestrated it, that's enough," I said.
"I'm an expert at this kind of thing. We have several cyber‑terror specialists among our staff," Cheon replied confidently.
Captain Kang stepped forward with equal assurance. As he said, cyberwarfare was a military specialty, and Kang would be capable of collecting the necessary evidence.
"They'll launch the DDoS using zombie PCs, and they'll try to hide their identity by using IPs previously used by North Korea. Can you gather evidence?" Kang asked.
"If we plant a few lines of code, we can trace it without much difficulty. They'll probably test the election commission site a few times before the actual attack. Meanwhile, we can inject code to map the zombie PCs' pathways," Cheon explained, drawing diagrams on the whiteboard with obvious excitement.
Hearing her, Captain Kang added, "If we can trace the route, our team can monitor every move of whoever is orchestrating the DDoS. We can secure office CCTV footage if needed, even install wiretaps."
"Can you identify the DDoS ringleaders before the by‑election?" I asked.
"We already have algorithms ready, and Taewoo Group was even developing an AI to defend against DDoS attacks," Cheon said with conviction.
Deploying her on this mission was like using a butcher's cleaver to kill a chicken — overqualified, but ideal.
"All right, please take care of it. There are only two months until the by‑election. Secure the evidence as fast as possible."
"With Captain Kang's team working with us, we'll have them in under a month at the latest," Cheon promised.
If this operation succeeded, even a fraction of the ruling party's solid support could be cracked. Those votes wouldn't necessarily shift to the opposition — they were far more likely to flow to the People's Economic Party.
If that happened, Governor Choi Jaeseok's path to the Blue House would become a realistic possibility.
It was the last day of August.
President Han, who'd been busy shuttling between Japan and Europe lately, returned to Korea for a short visit.
"The euro has been jumping all over the place recently," he said.
"Every time George from the Quantum Fund speaks, the euro's value shifts. We've already made close to a twenty percent gain in the process."
An investor who could outmaneuver nations—he had earned that nickname for good reason. A single remark from him could trigger dramatic currency moves. That power was precisely why we were partnering with the Quantum Fund on this operation.
"If you want to play with billions, foreign exchange is the best tool," I observed.
"FX has been our biggest earner, but we've also made tidy profits through other channels. Especially with companies in Southern Europe, led by Greece, we've seen large returns," Han replied.
Han was employing methods reminiscent of Wall Street tactics used during the IMF era. Having lived through that time himself, he knew exactly how to extract huge returns.
"Have fun for another year, then quietly pull out," I advised.
"Is that necessary? The European fiscal crisis is likely to last at least five more years," he countered.
"There's no need to attract resentment. For now, the Quantum Fund is taking the heat, but that could change at any moment. Considering Taewoo Group's exported products to Europe, we should pull back within a year."
The campaign had begun merely to fill an empty granary. But when wealth spills out beyond the storehouse, it invites envy—and then attacks. Once you've eaten your fill, stepping away from the table is both courage and wisdom.