The Weight of Silence

"Baek Kang-ho is getting married?"

Ji-ae muttered to herself as she stepped into the waiting room. Wasn't this the man who had bristled with indignation at the mere mention of the tag that came with being Assemblyman Baek Hee-sang's grandson, hating it like a stain on his sleeve? The man who, when she'd deliberately teased him about having to bow to his grandfather's wishes and enter an arranged marriage, had shot her a cold, straight-line glare and declared he intended to die a bachelor.

And that had been mere days ago. His heart had flipped over just like that, light as a leaf? The Baek Kang-ho Ji-ae knew was not that kind of man. Even with such a formidable family behind him, he had never been a hollow figurehead.

He had genuine legislative competence and superb showmanship. Even in his first term, he'd accomplished everything essentially on his own, without the family's help. To outsiders ignorant of political realities, it might have looked like old man Baek firing off supporting volleys from behind the scenes, but Ji-ae had watched with her own two eyes and knew that wasn't the case. He was, unmistakably, a politician with real substance.

For Baek Kang-ho — who kept his family and himself so obsessively, fastidiously separate — to suddenly marry. You might understand if he'd found a love of a thousand years. His schedule barely left room to breathe, let alone date.

"Did you know about this?"

Ji-ae asked, casting the question casually toward Mu-young, who was pulling materials from the back of the room to prepare for the debate. Rumors like that spread fastest among the legislative aides, after all. She knew Mu-young wasn't the type to gossip about such things at length — but if she'd known how Mu-young felt about Baek Kang-ho, she would have given her a heads-up.

"Representative... I mean, Assemblywoman."

Mu-young came over and sat down across from her. There was something in her eyes that said she had things to say, and Ji-ae met her gaze, wondering what this was about. Then a sense of foreboding flickered through her.

"Don't tell me... no?"

She asked again with a smile, but Mu-young didn't deny it.

"I should have told you first, Assemblywoman. I'm sorry."

Ji-ae felt her smiling mouth stiffen in an instant. She should have laughed it off easily, but her body had frozen, and she simply couldn't. Nothing about this had been remotely anticipated. Why on earth... No — how could something like this have been kept so perfectly hidden?

They weren't together twenty-four hours a day, but she and Mu-young were attached at the hip daily. That she hadn't known marriage talks had passed between the two families struck Ji-ae as an even deeper shock.

'Baek Kang-ho has been coming by, they say?'

'Said he just happened to stop in on his way past.'

'His schedule today wasn't anywhere near here, though... strange, anyway.'

In that moment, a recent memory flashed through Ji-ae's mind. The day of the charity bazaar. Baek Kang-ho had appeared out of nowhere, and reports came in that he'd met with Mu-young separately — she'd even gone to find her and ask about it herself.

Had it started back then? No. That timeline was far too short. It didn't add up to say the two had been secretly seeing each other either. Such things did happen within the Assembly, but Ji-ae had known Mu-young and not Kang-ho. Besides, she'd never once imagined the two of them pairing off in that way.

There had to be another reason. She could feel that in her gut with absolute certainty.

"Does Representative Son know?"

At Ji-ae's question, Mu-young gave a brief look of acknowledgment. Come to think of it, today was a prison visit day. She hadn't reported to her own boss, because she'd already informed Tae-seung behind bars first. In that case, there was only one answer.

"Did you make some kind of deal with Baek Kang-ho?"

She asked it like a joke, because nothing else explained it. Marriage, out of the blue. Mu-young had never shown the slightest interest in that sort of thing. Even when Ji-ae offered to introduce her to decent journalists or civil servants, she'd always politely declined, saying she wanted to focus on her work.

At one point, Ji-ae had even wondered whether it was because she was carrying a flame for someone. The strongest candidate had been Representative Son Tae-seung. Older, yes — but Tae-seung was a widower, so the possibility hadn't been entirely nil.

Scandals between assemblymen old enough to be fathers and their young secretaries were a dime a dozen in Yeouido. Mu-young had originally been scouted by Tae-seung out of university, starting her career at the National Assembly as his aide. Ji-ae wasn't blind to what Tae-seung meant to her, either.

"It's nothing like that."

Mu-young denied it calmly. She couldn't lay out the whole situation for Ji-ae. It wasn't that she distrusted Assemblywoman Min — it was simply too early to speak of this deal as anything settled.

And even if the goal were achieved, if the backroom bargain ever came to light, it would deal a blow to Kang-ho's political career regardless. Being suspected of such a thing was one problem; leaving behind evidence confirming the facts was quite another.

"Then what? Were the two of you secretly dating behind my back?"

Ji-ae pressed. Only one thing surfaced in her mind: what Mu-young stood to gain from this marriage. The thing she couldn't easily confess to her. It would undoubtedly be something to do with Son Tae-seung. And if that something were release from prison — a single, heavyweight stroke...

The moment that conclusion landed, the back of Ji-ae's neck tightened. To her, Representative Son was yesterday's comrade, and a companion she still had to walk beside. But as long as she was serving as acting leader, Tae-seung's return was not a good scenario for her own political life.

Why did it have to happen now, of all times? And through the power of Lee Mu-young, a mere legislative aide at that. She couldn't show any of that in front of Mu-young, but keeping her expression in check was not easy.

"He's a good man, and our goals aligned."

That was all Mu-young would say. She had no obligation to go into further detail. That was the honest conclusion.

"Fine, you'd rather not say more. All right, I understand."

Ji-ae let it go with practiced coolness, as if accepting it, then began looking over the debate materials Mu-young had laid out. After watching her concentrate for a moment, Mu-young rose from her seat with a bottled drink in hand. She intended to take out the tumbler cup Ji-ae always kept stocked, wash it, and fill it with the beverage.

Just as Mu-young was about to step out, Ji-ae dredged up the words she'd been holding inside.

"Times like this, I can really tell — this aide of mine is Son's person through and through."

At the sudden remark, Mu-young stopped in her tracks. When she turned around, Ji-ae had set her materials down as if discarding them and met her eyes.

"I don't know what your reasons are for marrying Baek Kang-ho, and maybe you think I have no need to know. But it does sting a little."

Ji-ae said it with uncharacteristic emotion, like a grievance being aired. Because it was so unlike her usual style, even Mu-young was a little taken aback. It was nothing like the look in her eyes back when she'd said she'd hired Lee Mu-young precisely because she liked that her aide didn't talk much and kept her mouth shut. The tone now sounded almost like an accusation — why aren't you loyal to me? — and Mu-young swallowed the excuse rising in her throat.

"Is it... some other ambition of yours?"

Ji-ae asked with a thin smile, tossing it out as if in jest. Mu-young understood perfectly what she meant. It was the shared conviction of everyone on this Yeouido floor that no one who entered it came without ambition aimed upward. Suspicion like this was hardly an unfounded leap.

"And if I said I didn't, would you believe me?"

Mu-young answered with a smile of her own, in a tone that could have been a joke. Struck, yet not wounded — the blade came back unbloody, and Ji-ae simply laughed, as if she'd expected it. She had dealt with countless people since entering politics, but she'd rarely met anyone as unreadable as Mu-young.

Which was, in truth, exactly why she wanted to keep her close. As long as she never drove a knife into her back, she was the kind of talent she could put to the best possible use.

True loyalty. That might be harder to come by than the people's favor. These days, no one pledged allegiance to anyone, and a claim of having no personal ambition was the least believable excuse of all.

"Right. We're... all in the same boat here, so what does any of it mean."

Ji-ae ended the conversation as if papering over the crack, turning her eyes back to the materials. Then she made a request of Mu-young.

"The tumbler and my bag — just hand them to me."

It was her way of stopping Mu-young from bothering with the task, making clear there was no need. She added the reason right away.

"Someone might catch you at it and you'd get an earful for nothing."

Even Mu-young couldn't stand there like a fool before a remark clearly aimed at someone. She brought the tumbler and the bag over and set them beside Assemblywoman Min. At that, Ji-ae picked up the water bottle lying next to her. Even opening a bottle had always been Mu-young's job, so Ji-ae, making a show of it, tried to twist the cap open herself. But the bottle refused to give.

"Assemblywoman, let me—"

The instant Mu-young edged carefully closer, the cap suddenly gave way, and Ji-ae lost her grip on the bottle. It struck the floor, and the splashing water scattered in every direction. Of all things, Mu-young happened to be bending down toward it, and she caught a good portion of it on herself.

"Ah — I said I'd do it..."

Having effectively doused her aide in water, Ji-ae brushed at her own clothes, flustered for no good reason. Mu-young, without much fuss, first grabbed the nearest tissue box and held it out to her.

Please wipe yourself off. I'll clean this up."

"No. I've got it. You just go dry off, aide. I don't need anyone thinking I gave you a baptism by water."

Ji-ae took the entire tissue box, pulled out a fistful of tissues, and dropped them around the floor as if scattering them. Watching her push the crumpled wads this way and that with her foot, Mu-young got to her feet. Since the woman insisted on handling it herself, there seemed no need for her to step in.

"I'll just go dry off my clothes."

"All right."

Assemblywoman Min answered without even looking at her. If anything, it seemed best to leave her alone for now.

Mu-young slipped quietly out of the waiting room, then stopped at the door and drew a breath. Her damp clothes were no problem. It was only that she needed, right now, to bring her own emotions back under control.

Being shaken by something this small — it wasn't like her. Think only of the goal. That was right. Even as she reached that conclusion, another question rose before her, and frustration could not help but well up.

What exactly did she think she was doing, marrying a man who didn't recognize her? If he ever found out, later... she would be lucky if all she got from him was resentment. Wasn't I the one who abandoned you and left first? And now I'm playing the victim, hoping you'll see me?

That lingering attachment and bitterness were making Mu-young unrecognizable to herself. Until a moment ago, they had. Standing there watching him in front of another woman had been more than she could bear. The way his gaze rested, so ordinarily, on that woman — the way he looked at someone within his own line — stirred up Mu-young's memories without mercy.

Should she say now that she couldn't go through with it? That she would refuse the marriage he wanted? That there was still a chance to turn back, wasn't there?

"Why are you just standing there?"

Then she heard the familiar voice.