A Bombshell at the Clinic

Kang-ho fired back a single "?" at his friend's text, and when the phone call came through seconds later, he brushed it off with a few curt words. The response was a torrent of profanity flooding his message window. Judging by how much he enjoyed watching his friend vibrate with rage like this, Ju-seok was clearly not a sane man either.

Of course. That's why he's forgotten my situation and is getting worked up over that kid slinging an arm around her shoulder.

What did it matter who his wife-on-paper met? He had no intention of getting entangled with the woman, yet here he was, itching to police her. Maybe this was the petty heart of a thief — unwilling to keep a thing himself, yet resentful of anyone else touching it. He had lived his career despising that exact brand of scoundrel in politics, and the realization that he was no different from them felt like a splash of cold water to the face.

It seemed the woman had managed to dredge up his very depths and shame him into self-reflection — he supposed that was the one silver lining. He had been the one to propose this arrangement: they would be a team, and both would win. That resolve hadn't changed.

Kang-ho stared down at his friend's messages, then turned to Jeong-pyo.

"How much time do we have until the afternoon debate taping?"

"About two hours," Jeong-pyo reported, glancing straight at the schedule gap.

"Then drop me at the hospital. I have business with Lieutenant Yoon."

"Oh — yes, sir."

The sudden mention of a hospital startled Jeong-pyo, but he caught on quickly enough to where they were headed. In fact, he'd had the check-up date marked for a while now and had been about to ask when to book it. Better to use this free window anyway, he figured.

"I'll take you to the hospital, then."

Jeong-pyo swung the car around in the National Assembly parking lot. Kang-ho gazed blankly out the window instead of at his tablet. When the car retraced its route and stopped at a red light, a woman and a young man emerged into his field of view, just stepping out of a restaurant.

What truly abysmal timing. He deliberately turned his head and hit the window blind, then closed his eyes for a moment.

Perhaps because that time of year was approaching, the pain in his leg felt sharper today. Moments like these were best met with a blank mind. Nothing dragged him under faster than drowning in his own emotions.

"And here I thought you wouldn't come."

As Ju-seok approached Kang-ho seated on the exam bed, he finally unleashed the nagging he'd been saving. He'd been about to give up when even his profanity-laced texts went unanswered — and then, out of nowhere, a phone call. I'm at the hospital.

What an expensive face to maintain. Even back in his prosecutor days, Kang-ho had flashes of it, but ever since entering the National Assembly, even Ju-seok, an old friend, had to treat catching a glimpse of him like a yearly festival event.

Kang-ho never set foot in a hospital unless it was for a mandatory check-up. It would have been a blessing if he simply never needed to come, but the man was so fluent in his poker face that even Ju-seok sometimes couldn't tell whether he'd truly healed.

"Ah — ugh."

When Ju-seok twisted the ankle firmly, the man swallowed a groan. His brow creased in an instant. It was plainly visible how carelessly he'd been toughing out the pain. And yet he still pretended nothing was wrong. Infuriating.

Kang-ho never listened when he was told, please, come to the hospital if it hurts. Even through the recovery and rehabilitation after the accident, the man had a single goal: to walk again as fast as possible and escape this godforsaken hospital. For patients with major injuries, the hospital itself could become a trauma — doctors knew that all too well.

That was why a sigh escaped Ju-seok every time he saw Kang-ho. If he were just a doctor, he'd force the man to come in. But as his friend, those words didn't come easily.

"What about your painkillers?"

"Still have some left."

"Take them properly, would you?"

"I'm perfectly fine. Why would I?"

The moment the exam ended, Kang-ho rose from his seat as if nothing had happened. Who could ever win against this stubborn bravado? This was the man whose ankle bones had shattered so badly amputation was on the table — and who hadn't uttered a single word of complaint about the pain.

A diehard. The people around him back then had all called him that with one breath. And this hadn't even been in Korea — it was abroad. In a place where he couldn't even properly communicate, his memories lost, he had endured the long, grinding months of rehabilitation.

When he returned to Korea looking whole, even Ju-seok had believed he was fine. His friend recognized him; he spoke with everyone around him as if nothing had changed. But that wasn't real recovery — and while others couldn't see it, to Ju-seok's eyes it was glaringly obvious.

"Since you're here, sit for a bit."

"What lecture is it this time? I have a schedule after this. I'm busy."

When Ju-seok just glared silently at the man trying to slither away like a snake, Kang-ho apparently felt a flicker of guilt, because he shuffled over and dropped into the consultation chair. Figuring it would be nothing more than a review of his ankle scans, he kept his bored expression in place.

"Here."

Then Ju-seok held out a business card. The expression of the man looking down at it darkened to something unsettling. Kang-ho rarely showed genuine anger, so even Ju-seok hadn't seen that face in a long while.

"What is this?"

Kang-ho asked, though he knew perfectly well. Ju-seok didn't back down either.

"Try a session. This guy's a senior in the field — he's good."

A bitter smile spread across Kang-ho's lips at his friend's words.

"Your meddling… really is something. I'll accept the sentiment, though. I'm leaving."

Kang-ho stood, delivering the warning — don't cross the line — without ever saying it outright. Had it been the old days, Ju-seok would have let him go. This time, he didn't want to. He couldn't explain why, either — why he wanted so badly to recover the year the man had lost.

"Isn't the presidency your goal?"

Ju-seok reached for an offhand reason. Kang-ho let out a laugh of pure disbelief.

"So?"

"It'll cling to you like a tag. That lost year."

"Then that's just how it is."

Saying he'd refuse to let it be dug up even at the cost of his ambition — that meant the lost year was still an open wound to him, a year that had been hell itself.

The year Baek Kang-ho had lost. Ju-seok didn't know what had happened inside it either. At five years old, the boy had left to study abroad to be with his birth mother, who had divorced his father — and that chapter had ended in a horrific accident. In the car they shared, Kang-ho's mother had died instantly, and the boy had lost his memory. Exactly one year's worth of memories, the year he'd spent in America.

Hours that belonged to Baek Kang-ho alone. Declaring he would never reclaim them meant choosing to leave them sealed away forever. Ju-seok understood that resolve, and grieved it all the same. He knew better than anyone what his mother's existence had meant to him.

"There could be good memories in there too."

"And if there are, what then?"

Kang-ho batted it away like a light joke.

"What if you met a woman back there? Ever think of that?"

At the sheer absurdity of it, Kang-ho broke into an involuntary laugh. If that had really happened, surely something would have come back to him by now — if it had been something good. And even if such a thing had occurred, it would only have left pain behind too. That was why he wanted to bury it. For as long as humanly possible.

"Or should I set you up for real? A blind date, even."

"Why are you in such a state today of all days?"

"What kind of citizen looks at your death glare and trusts you with their vote?"

Ju-seok added what he considered a persuasive argument.

"An unmarried politician — you know that's a good image. You need a stable, settled image if you're planning for the future. And since you don't have it, there's chaos at our house…"

Ju-seok paused, then reluctantly surrendered the hint.

"My mother is trying to set you up with my sister."

Kang-ho's brow narrowed at that.

"Hey, I warned her as much as I could. I told her a guy like you would only leave a woman lonely — absolutely not, I said. But she went and went to see your grandfather anyway…"

"Tell her she's too late."

Without listening to another word of his friend's grievances, Kang-ho rose from his seat.

"Huh? Too late for what?"

"I'm getting married."

At the bombshell, Ju-seok's eyes went wide enough to pop.

"…What? Mar… Who? You?"

"So tell Hee-jin not to waste her energy. I'm off."

"Hey, you punk! Seriously! You're not BS-ing me, right? Who is she? What does she do? Hey — she's a decent person, isn't she? Tell me!"

No matter how Ju-seok shouted, Kang-ho just waved a hand and slipped out of the consultation room. Who knew news of a marriage would make such an effective escape route. Kang-ho left the hospital feeling lighter than he had in days.

But he'd forgotten. That his next destination was the broadcasting station.

"Kang-ho oppa— I mean, Assemblyman Baek? Are you in there?"

Hee-jin burst through the door of the debaters' green room. An announcer at the network he was visiting today, she would hardly have stayed quiet once she heard he was in the building.

She walked in with her face drained white, and his aides exchanged helpless, sidelong glances. With makeup staff still in the room, Kang-ho rose from his seat first.

"Could we take a short break?"

"Oh — yes, of course."

They had been finishing touches on his hair, but he excused himself and stepped out. Hee-jin was already glaring at him with a face on the verge of tears. Honestly, Choi Ju-seok and that jaw of his.

He'd brought that karma on himself, so he had no one to blame. And it was a conversation he'd have to have eventually. It wasn't as if he didn't know Hee-jin had carried a torch for him for years. If only to cut off the rumors, this was best said directly, and definitively.

"Oppa, is it true? You're really getting married? To whom?"

Out in the corridor outside the green room, Hee-jin couldn't hold it in any longer. She didn't even seem aware of where she was standing.

"How could you do this to me…"

Her voice wavered to the edge of sobbing, and his head began to throb. She was dressed and made up for a broadcast, yet apparently none of that registered. He was just drawing a sigh at her reckless, childish display when—

Footsteps echoed from somewhere nearby. He turned toward the sound and found two people standing there — the last two he expected. Assemblywoman Min Ji-ae, and Mu-young, carrying her bag.