The Taste of an Uninvited Favor

Somehow they had ended up seated facing each other. Mu-young had the view of the entrance, while Kang-ho faced the inner wall. Too embarrassed for a belated greeting, Mu-young avoided his gaze as if pointedly ignoring him.

The man let out a soft chuckle and lost interest in return. He draped his coat over the next seat, then meticulously put on an apron over his dress shirt — a sight that struck her as faintly comical.

Since this was a restaurant frequented mostly by National Assembly staff, such a look wasn't unusual, but something about the man's imposing presence made it feel oddly out of place.

The truth was, the Baek Kang-ho she knew looked closer to a college student like Su-bin sitting in front of her. Come to think of it, Su-bin was exactly the age Kang-ho had been back then. The two images overlapped, and she drifted into thought for a moment.

"Isn't that man Assemblyman Baek Kang-ho?"

Su-bin had finished placing the order by himself while she was lost in her daze, and only after setting down the spoons and glasses did he ask. These habitual little gestures of thoughtfulness took after his father, Tae-seung, to a T.

"…So you know him too."

"Anyone interested in politics couldn't miss him."

Su-bin said it while glancing subtly in Kang-ho's direction behind them. Out of respect for his father, the boy dreamed of becoming a politician himself. He had chosen political science and diplomacy for his major without a second thought, and even compared to others his age, his political convictions and opinions were unusually firm.

"Noona, what do you think of that man?"

"…Me?"

Caught off guard by the sudden question, Mu-young hesitated. It was probably about his political trajectory, but the words wouldn't come easily. More than anything, she needed to tell him what kind of relationship might form between her and that man going forward — but the right moment was hard to find.

Just then, Kang-ho rose from his seat, apparently finished with his meal. His tall, imposing frame towered in the middle of the restaurant.

He shrugged off the apron, picked up his jacket, and grabbed the bill. Every one of those movements flowed as smoothly as an actor on a TV screen. This was, unmistakably, a budae-jjigae joint thick with the sharp, salty smell of stew — and yet he looked like he was shooting a solo pictorial.

"Ugh… insufferable."

She muttered her honest feelings under her breath. Su-bin took the uncharacteristic remark as a light joke and laughed in agreement.

"Your stew is here."

A staff member wheeled a cart toward their table. After setting the food down, he paused mid-way through adjusting the burner and asked, suddenly curious.

"You know the assemblyman who was sitting up front, don't you?"

"I'm sorry?"

Mu-young looked at him in puzzlement. There was no way the restaurant staff could have known that. Sensing something off, she hesitated over her answer, and the employee added why he'd thought so.

"He paid for your meal before leaving. You're not strangers, are you? Well, anyway — enjoy your food."

At this entirely unexpected gesture from Kang-ho, Mu-young shot to her feet on the spot. His party hadn't left long ago, so she figured she could still catch up and thank him properly.

"Stay here, keep eating."

Leaving Su-bin behind, Mu-young hurried out of the restaurant. If he'd already gotten in his car, he'd be long gone. Why on earth had he paid for a meal nobody asked him to cover? This kind of favor was exactly the sort of thing she hated.

Standing in front of the restaurant, Mu-young scanned the sidewalk, but nowhere could she find anyone with his silhouette. She was turning back, weighed down by a needless burden and a lingering sense of unease, when —

"Looking for me?"

So it was true that the darkest place is right under the lamp. The man was standing in the alley beside the restaurant, as if he'd known all along she would come out. Holding a bottle of water with one hand in his pocket, he somehow looked more insufferable than ever.

She knew these childish emotions would do her no good in maintaining a relationship with him going forward — and still, they refused to be tamed.

"I thought you'd left."

"I parked far away. I'm waiting until it's time to go."

In other words: don't mistake this for waiting on you. Mu-young swallowed a short laugh, rearranged her expression, and stepped up beside him.

"I heard you paid for our meal. I never expected that… Well, thank you. We enjoyed it."

She even bowed her head with impeccable courtesy. At her excessively formal manner, Kang-ho's eyes showed faint displeasure. Mu-young thought for a flash that perhaps she'd been too businesslike — but they were in public, and this kind of greeting was second nature to her, something she'd repeated countless times as a legislative aide.

"Doesn't look like an Assembly person. You two seemed close, though."

Kang-ho changed the subject in a tone asking who her companion was. Mu-young wondered whether she was obligated to answer. No — had he asked outright, she would have. It was the insinuating approach she disliked, the kind that made her feel she was the one expected to report first.

"Does asking upset you?"

When she stayed silent, Kang-ho read her mood.

"As in, you'd prefer I respect your privacy."

Marriage had been sprung on them like a lightning strike, and countless things remained undiscussed. Then again, sitting down to draft something like a contract carried its own risk. Any record left behind could someday become ammunition of one kind or another.

That was the first thing Mu-young had learned working as an aide to a politician. A position that draws a salary from the taxpayers' money and feeds at the public trough comes burdened with commensurate scrutiny and responsibility.

Petty as it sounds, you shouldn't so much as spit on the street. In an age of ubiquitous CCTV, even the smallest slip becomes grounds for attack. There are no eternal secrets in this world — so nothing should be left behind as evidence unless absolutely necessary. That readiness, first and foremost, was the posture a politician and the aides around them had to hold above all else.

"Yes. Please do."

Mu-young said it almost like a plea. It would do neither of them any good to know each other deeply. The more entangled they became, the deeper she alone would sink. From a past she could not reveal to her present purpose — she could accept anyone else knowing, but not the man standing before her.

Hearing her answer, the man stood there for a long while, silently watching her. It was hard to read the meaning in his eyes. She was confident in her ability to size up a room, yet against his flawless poker face, she couldn't help but grow tense and wary.

"Fine. Let's do that."

He agreed as though it were the simplest conclusion in the world. As if it were no trouble at all. His manner seemed so visibly relieved and unburdened that she almost wondered if this was the answer he'd wanted all along.

"And since we've met, let's line up a few dates."

"Such as…"

"When would be best to hold the sang-gyeon-rye."

Kang-ho was about to suggest they consult and coordinate with both sets of elders when Mu-young cut in.

"We'll handle that."

"How efficient of you."

At her brisk, decisive manner, another unreadable smile crossed Kang-ho's face. Then, spotting the car that had pulled up behind him, he offered a casual farewell.

Mu-young watched the man disappear toward the car, then returned inside at an appropriate interval. Kang-ho, who had caught the whole thing in the rearview mirror, tilted his head sharply to one side. He felt as if he'd bought her a meal only to take a slap for it.

"I should head to the National Assembly, correct?"

Jung Pyo asked from the driver's seat, standing in for the executive secretary. Kang-ho answered with a small nod and picked up the tablet beside him.

He was skimming through party-related articles that morning when his hand stopped at one of them. Inside a piece about university internship programs was a photo of students in their department jackets. The young man he'd just seen at the restaurant overlapped with it before he could stop himself.

"That department jacket from earlier…"

Kang-ho murmured, almost to himself.

"Pardon? Who?"

Jung Pyo glanced back briefly, mindful of the passenger behind him.

"What do you think, Chief Yoon."

"Yes?"

"A man twenty years older, or a man ten years younger — which looks more plausible to you?"

Kang-ho's question was dead serious. But it came so far out of left field that Jung Pyo had to retrace it just to confirm he was being asked in earnest.

"Neither one seems… very likely, sir?"

"Exactly."

Kang-ho agreed, setting the tablet aside with a careless toss. Neither scenario was easy to imagine. And yet with the people who orbited a woman, there was never any middle ground.

"What a peculiar taste."

He shook his head again. He needed to know which of the two mattered more to her — only then could he find and seize a weakness. Just as the woman had said, Kang-ho never felt at ease unless he held the secrets of anyone capable of influencing him. It had even bred a compulsive habit of needing to uncover everything about a person, down to the bone.

It unsettled him that she could so boldly demand respect for her privacy. And she wasn't just anyone — she was the woman who would become his wife. If anyone could affect his political life, it didn't matter who they were. No exceptions.

The last thing he needed was to be entangled with her in ways that made his skin crawl. Kang-ho suppressed an irritable sigh. Perhaps this was exactly what old man Yoon had wanted. She was a woman who occupied his attention no matter how hard he tried not to think about her. That much was certain. Starting with those inscrutable eyes — he didn't like it. Not one bit.

Trying to master his emotions, Kang-ho leaned back into the seat — and in that instant, pain that began at his lower back and spread through his whole body made him clench his fist. Was it the aftereffects flaring up again? As he rummaged through the front seat searching for painkillers, his phone rang in his pocket. When he checked the message, the furrow between his brows deepened further.