As the murmurs quieted down, Seok-won slowly scanned the audience before speaking in a firm, deliberate voice.
"First, you raised concerns about safety during rocket launches. The launch site is located more than 2.6 kilometers away from Moseulpo Port, which provides a safe distance. On top of that, the launchpad is built on reclaimed land along the coast, keeping it as far from residential areas as possible to minimize any risk. Furthermore, all launches will be directed southwest, away from Gapado, ensuring that even if debris were to fall, it would land in the sea, not where people live."
At that, a bearded fisherman—one of the men who had earlier vented his frustrations at the tavern—shot to his feet, bristling with hostility.
"So you're telling us every time you launch a rocket, we can't go out to sea for days and lose our livelihood? And what about when debris damages our fishing grounds? Who's going to answer for that?"
"That's right! Do you have any idea how much we lose if we miss even a single day at sea?"
"Gapado waters are some of the richest fishing grounds around! If our fisheries are ruined, are you going to take responsibility?"
The fisherman wasn't alone. One after another, angry fishermen leapt to their feet, shouting and jabbing fingers toward the stage.
The atmosphere turned volatile in an instant. Alarmed, Section Chief Hwang Seok-jin hurriedly raised the microphone to his lips.
"Everyone, please! Calm down! If you have questions, raise your hand and wait for your turn to speak!"
But the fishermen ignored him completely, their voices growing even louder as they hurled their anger at Seok-won.
"You think tossing us a few scraps of compensation money will shut us up?"
"We don't need your damn space center—take it back to the mainland!"
"That's right!"
Instead of calming down, the uproar only swelled. Jeers and angry shouts filled the auditorium, crashing over the stage like violent waves.
Chief Hwang was visibly rattled, and even President Jung Gyu-cheol, seated in the back, sat stiff with a hardened expression, tense at the thought of things spiraling out of control.
And yet, in the middle of the storm, Seok-won stood alone at the podium without so much as a twitch.
Even as fingers jabbed and voices raged at him from every direction, he remained utterly composed—calm as the depths of the ocean.
"What's the matter? You were so full of words just a moment ago. Cat got your tongue now?"
The burly fisherman, his face flushed red with anger, jabbed a finger at him.
At that moment, Seok-won brought his palm down hard on the podium.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three short, dull strikes rang out in succession, and the clamor inside the hall died down as if someone had flipped a switch.
All eyes, including those of the burly fisherman, turned toward Seok-won standing at the podium.
His gaze swept slowly across the audience—calm to the point of seeming indifferent, yet carrying an undeniable charisma.
Wherever his eyes landed, people flinched slightly under the silent pressure.
"Wh-what the…"
"You think glaring like that is gonna scare us?"
Some tried to puff themselves up with bravado, but none could recover the same bluster as before.
Then, Seok-won spoke. His voice was steady, firm—not loud, yet it landed with striking clarity in everyone's ears.
"I fully understand your concerns and worries. For men who make their living on the rough seas, it's only natural to be anxious about the possibility of your fishing grounds being damaged."
"..."
"And yes, it's true that if a navigation ban is imposed on surrounding waters during rocket launches, you'll be unable to head out to sea, and that will inevitably cost you."
Instead of brushing off their fears with empty reassurances, he openly acknowledged the fishermen's losses. The very candor of his words left the once-defiant crowd more unsettled than before.
"What's he saying?"
"Doesn't that mean we were right all along?"
"Still, is it okay for the chairman himself to admit something so unfavorable to them?"
As murmurs spread through the hall, Seok-won continued.
"No matter how important the space center is for the future, demanding that those who have lived and worked here for generations simply endure the hardship—that is unacceptable, and it must not be allowed."
Turning his gaze directly on the burly fisherman and the others still standing, Seok-won pressed on.
"When a navigation ban is issued due to a rocket launch, we will provide compensation to the fishermen affected in those waters."
A voice shot back from the crowd:
"And just how exactly do you plan on paying that compensation?"
The man in a black beanie suddenly spoke up with a curious look.
The other fishermen, who had been wondering the same thing, turned their eyes toward Seok-won in silence.
Now that the atmosphere had settled and he had naturally taken control of the meeting, Seok-won straightened his posture and spoke into the microphone.
"We will calculate the average catch and provide compensation for each day you are unable to go out to sea. Of course, to prevent fraud, only those officially registered with the fishing cooperative will be eligible."
The fishermen nodded among themselves and muttered in agreement.
"If you just hand out compensation to anyone, freeloaders will come crawling out of the woodwork. Best to keep it regulated."
"Exactly."
"If they're paying us for the days we can't fish, that's not so bad."
"True enough."
The tension that had threatened to overturn the briefing only moments ago began to ease. Seok-won made a small hand gesture.
Yang Hyung-do, who had been standing absentmindedly by the projector while watching the scene unfold, quickly switched the slide onto the screen.
Still, concerns about falling debris damaging the fishing grounds lingered.
Seok-won raised one arm and pointed toward the screen behind him.
"What you're looking at now is a research report from the United States on the impact of rocket launch sites on nearby marine ecosystems. As you can see here, rocket launches—whether from noise or falling debris—show no significant adverse effect on the environment."
The bearded man, now calmer than before, asked, "How do we know you're not just cherry-picking data that favors your side?"
"That's a fair suspicion," Seok-won acknowledged smoothly. "But think about it logically. It's not as if rockets are launched every single day of the year. At most, it happens once every two or three months. Do you really believe such infrequent launches could devastate the fishing grounds or pollute the sea?"
"Hmm…"
The bearded man couldn't find a proper rebuttal and instead let out a low grunt.
"Now that you put it that way, it does make sense."
"Right. Every year, fierce typhoons sweep through and churn up the sea. A few rocket launches won't make much of a difference."
"Even if debris falls, once it lands in that vast ocean, it'll barely leave a trace."
As the fishermen murmured among themselves, slowly coming around, Seok-won pressed on.
"Of course, nothing in this world is perfect, and there could be unforeseen negative effects. So, to preserve the local fish population, we'll release hundreds of thousands of young fish into these waters every year."
"If they'll compensate us when we can't go out to sea, and even restock the fish, then I'd say that's not too bad."
"I agree. Doesn't sound so bad."
Even the bearded man, who had been the most combative, seemed to think Seok-won's offer wasn't unreasonable. He quietly sank back into his seat.
Just as the resistance was subsiding, a man in a worn jumper, with a fertilizer company cap pulled low over his brow, rose to his feet. It was Im Kyung-sik.
"The sea is one thing," he said, voice rough, "but what about the land?"
He raised his hands for all to see—hands hardened by decades of labor, covered in calluses and deep wrinkles.
"This soil was nothing but rocks and gravel. For over twenty years, I clawed it out with these very hands, stone by stone, until it became farmland. This land holds my blood and sweat! And now you're telling me that, lease or not, it's being snatched away in an instant? How is that even remotely fair?"
At his outcry, other farmers—who were in the same situation—sprang up with furious expressions, shouting in unison.
"During the elections, you sweet-talked us, saying the land would finally be sold to the residents! But instead of keeping that promise, you're stealing it outright? What kind of betrayal is this?"
"There's no way I'm giving up my land! They'll have to drag me out!"
In truth, during every election, regardless of party, politicians had dangled the same pledge: that farmland, once seized by the state during the Japanese occupation without proper compensation, would finally be sold to the locals who had leased and cultivated it for decades. But that promise had been broken time and again.
Now, with the sudden announcement that the Ministry of Defense was selling off the land—leaving them unable to farm it at all—the farmers' shock and rage were inevitable.
Seok-won let their anger wash over him, listening silently until the noise died down. Then, he took hold of the microphone.
"I understand how devastating it must be to suddenly lose land you've farmed for so long. That's why I want to present two options."
At his signal, Yang Hyung-do quickly advanced the slide.
An aerial photo of the Moseulpo area appeared on the large screen.
"As I mentioned earlier, we plan to integrate the underground bunkers and aircraft hangars at the old Alddreu airfield, together with the Seotal Oreum 4·3 historic sites, into a single heritage park."
The farmers, including Im Kyung-sik, fell silent, watching to see where this was headed.
Seok-won continued evenly.
"Once the park is built, it will require staff for guiding visitors and managing facilities. We will give hiring priority to the farmers whose land is being requisitioned."
"What?"
"Hiring farmers to run a park? What kind of nonsense is that?"
Just as the mood in the hall threatened to turn hostile again, Seok-won spoke up.
"These won't be temporary contracts. We'll hire you as full-time employees, guarantee job security until the age of sixty, pay an annual salary of twenty million won, and cover all four major insurances. And not only you—one member of your family may also apply."
The murmuring in the crowd stopped cold.
"Two million won a year? That's higher than the salary at most companies in Seoul, isn't it?"
"Exactly. And since he said family members can apply too, I could even call my son back from Seoul and get him a job here."
The painful aftershocks of the IMF crisis had reached even this far-off island of Jeju.
Among those gathered in the hall were plenty of farmers whose children had gone to the mainland, only to lose their jobs overnight or struggle to find work at all. Seeing their children suffer while also facing the loss of their farmland only fueled their resentment.
But Seok-won's proposal made their ears perk up.
Even Im Kyung-sik couldn't help but think of his eldest son, who had recently given him his first grandson—the apple of his eye—only to be laid off and left unemployed. His son's old salary had been 1.5 million won a month; compared to that, this new offer was far more generous.
"And for those of you who still want to farm, we'll lease out 100,000 pyeong of land near the heritage park so you can continue cultivating crops."
At that, Im Kyung-sik's eyes widened.
"Is that true?"
Seok-won smiled and nodded.
"Yes. Of course, the farmland you lease will be smaller than what you currently have, but the rent will be cut to half of what you're paying now. On top of that, separate compensation will be provided for the land that's being reclaimed."
The promise of not only significant compensation but also steady jobs—and even the chance to keep farming if they wished—quickly quieted the farmers' outrage.
But Seok-won didn't stop there. He drove the point home with one final blow.
"As part of the space center project, we'll widen the narrow local roads and build a modern, 300-bed general hospital in Moseulpo, equipped with the latest medical facilities. These won't be just for center employees—local residents will be free to use them too."
Most of those in the hall were manual laborers or elderly, so the mention of a hospital drew immediate approval.
"There's only been small private clinics around here—it'll be a huge relief to have a full hospital."
"No more traveling all the way to Jeju City or Seogwipo. Honestly, this is something we've needed for a long time."
As the mood swung in favor of the space center, members of the environmental activist group, seated to one side, suddenly intervened with anxious expressions.
"We must stop the destruction of Jeju's precious natural heritage through reckless development!"
"Don't be fooled by their sweet talk!"
"Will you just stand by as the basalt coastline is destroyed for landfill?"
As the activists shouted in unison and caused a commotion, the bearded man furrowed his brow and sprang to his feet.
"You've been making noise even before we came in—what right do you have to interfere in our local matters?"
"J-Jeju's natural…," one of the activists stammered.
Seeing the hesitating activist, other residents shot them sour looks and yelled back.
"You're not even locals—stop causing trouble and get out!"
"What qualifications do you have to be in this briefing anyway?"
"Get out of here, now!"
The fishermen rolled up their sleeves, revealing thick, muscular arms. Faced with such an imposing sight, the activist members shrank back, unable to cause any further disruption.
Standing on the podium and watching the scene unfold, Seok-won allowed himself a faint, satisfied smile.
'Looking at the atmosphere… it's all over.'