The Former Chaebol Heir Excels as President

Chapter 42: Vote Counting (1)

I went to vote with Woo Ah-mi in the morning, then headed to Mom’s house.

It was an important day, so the whole family gathered except for Big Oppa.

“Oppa, did you have a good dream?”

Yeonhwa, who was peeling an apple, asked.

“I was too tired to dream.”

“People dream every night but just don’t remember it. Seems like you slept well.”

“A dream is just a dream.”

I said that and gave Woo Ah-mi a glance.

It meant not to talk about the Phoenix dream.

I didn’t want to rely on a lucky omen.

“How’s Big Oppa doing?”

“He has a high chance of winning. He led by a large margin in the opinion polls, and the atmosphere is good too.”

“There’s no risk of Big Oppa getting fired. You’re the problem, Oppa.”

“I must be the most unnecessary worry in the world.”

“True. Like a tenant farmer worrying about the landlord.”

I picked up an apple slice and looked at Kang Dae‑myung.

“How’s work?”

“Yeah. It’s fun.”

“How are things with the people there?”

“Hyung-ah and the nunas treat me well. I like it.”

It was a relief to hear he was getting along without any problems.

Mom came out with coffee and asked,

“How’s the atmosphere? I heard everyone in this neighborhood is voting for you.”

“You’re saying that because I’m your son. I bet they vote differently once they’re in the booth.”

“Really?”

“It’ll be close. If turnout’s high, I might have a slight advantage.”

“I believe you will win, Hyungnim.”

Tak Min-woo, my brother-in-law, said confidently.

“Why do you think that?”

“The young employees at our company admire and like you, Hyungnim. You’ll definitely win.”

“But they can’t vote for me. They don’t live here.”

“That’s true, but it’s a fact that young people look up to you, Hyungnim. We even made a bet on your victory, and no one bet on your loss.”

“That’d be nice.”

I turned my eyes to the TV.

It was nearing noon.

As of 11 a.m., the voter turnout was 19.6%.

Yeonhwa looked worried.

“Isn’t that too low?”

“At this rate, it’ll be hard to break 60%.”

“Then wouldn’t that be bad for you, Oppa?”

“It won’t be easy.”

The turnout was lower than expected.

“Why aren’t people voting? Young people are just out having fun. Only old folks were at the polling place.”

“That’s what I’m saying! It’s their future, so they should vote. I don’t understand why they leave it up to the elderly to decide.”

“Still, Hyung-ah will win. Grandpas and grandmas like Hyung-ah.”

Kang Dae‑myung was half right and half wrong.

The elders in the neighborhood where I lived and the market liked me, but elsewhere I was lagging behind.

“Oppa, our neighborhood’s on TV.”

The TV was airing a program called “Visiting the Battlegrounds.”

They showed interviews with market merchants in Yeongdeungpo.

“This time, we need a change. A young person is running, so I’m thinking of voting.”

“Politics isn’t for just anyone. It’s different from business. I plan to vote for a candidate with power.”

The scene shifted to the subway, and two young people were interviewed.

“We need to empower the government. I hope they develop policies for the younger generation.”

“I have high expectations for someone who achieved great success in business. I believe they’ll do well in politics too.”

The broadcast aired two citizens each supporting me and Kim Bu‑seong.

The reporter continued,

“Before the opinion poll blackout period, Candidate Kim Bu‑seong led by more than 10%. But now, Candidate Kang Cheon‑myeong is closing in rapidly. This is shaping up to be a very tight race.”

Yeonhwa looked at me while watching TV.

“He had a 10% lead? Is it because he’s a three-term veteran? With your recognition, it should be neck-and-neck.”

“Opinion polls aren’t that accurate.”

I stopped myself from explaining about the ‘bullet’—it would take too long.

“I believe you’ll win, Hyungnim!”

Tak Min-woo was just as confident as before.

At first, I thought he was just saying it out of courtesy, but judging by his expression, he genuinely believed it.

I also thought I could win. The wind blowing from the ground was strong enough to lift me into the air.

The problem was the voter turnout.

It was rising far too slowly.

* * *

In the end, the overall voter turnout did not exceed 55%.

The atmosphere in the campaign office was filled with tense anticipation.

The staffer had told me to come out once the vote count’s outline was confirmed, but I wanted to stay with the supporters.

“Cheonmyeong-ah, you worked hard.”

The Daehwa Supermarket Lady, now an old grandmother, held my hand.

“Thank you so much. I know you went through a lot for me.”

“You must win, Cheonmyeong.”

“That’s right. Cheonmyeong must win.”

The Ddoli Stationery Owner also cheered me on with his usual warm smile.

“Thank you for all your help, sir. I know you gave up your business to help me.”

“There just wasn’t enough time. If we had one more week, we would’ve definitely won. We’ll win, right?”

“Of course. So many people gave their all. We’ll win.”

The Ddoli Stationery Owner ran around as if it were his own election. He introduced me to all the neighborhood acquaintances one by one, and even joined during the morning greetings at the subway station.

I greeted the supporters and exited through the emergency stairs.

5:30 p.m.

In thirty minutes, the exit poll would be released.

A staffer came up beside me.

“The turnout is disappointing, but it will still be a tight race. You’re popular among the older generation, Candidate. A lot of elderly folks visited the office.”

“I usually don’t get nervous, but today feels different.”

“At your level, Candidate, you’re being quite composed. There’s no change in your expression at all.”

“Poker face is my specialty.”

“Ha ha. That’s a very important trait for a politician.”

Just then, my smartphone rang.

It was Song Min-chae.

“Yeah, Min-chae.”

— I checked the exit poll. It shows you winning by 2%.

“How large was the sample?”

— I don’t know. But they said it was out of 700,000 overall, so maybe more than 2,000?

“Do you know the party result too?”

— The ruling party has about 130 to 150 seats.

“Got it. Thanks.”

The staffer widened his eyes and asked,

“Did the exit poll come out?”

“They say I’m ahead by 2%. It’s within the margin of error.”

“Wow! That’s really good news. We might win this.”

“Let’s wait for the result. Please head in first. I’ll stay here a bit longer.”

“Yes.”

“Please don’t mention the exit poll.”

“Understood.”

After the staffer returned, I was left alone and steadied my heart.

With a 2% margin, it would be a tight race.

Judging by the mood, it felt like I could win.

The smartphone rang again.

It was Ji Jeongseok.

— Cheonmyeong-ah! Did you hear? The exit poll shows you’re 2% ahead.

“Min-chae just called me.”

— I think you’ll win. I’ve got a strong feeling it’ll be a landslide.

“We’ll see it through to the end.”

— I’ll head to the office later.

“Okay.”

After hanging up, I went into the office.

Why had so many people come?

Leaders and members from various groups that helped with the campaign were all present.

Even the congregation from Woo Ah-mi’s church came too.

It took quite a while to greet them all.

“Candidate, please have a seat. The exit poll will be announced soon.”

I sat in a seat directly in front of the TV.

On either side of me sat the staffer and Chief Kim.

“Candidate, you’re nervous, aren’t you?”

“I feel calm.”

“Ha ha. As expected, you’re not ordinary, Candidate.”

“I think Chief is more nervous.”

Chief Kim kept shaking his leg.

“I just can’t settle down. One minute left.”

I was just as nervous. I just didn’t show it.

The countdown started on the screen.

People gathered in the office began chanting the numbers.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven...”

“Three, two, one.”

“We now announce the exit poll results. Korea Unification Party: 130 to 150 seats, People’s Union Party: 128 to 148 seats, Labor and Human Rights Party: 11 to 18 seats…”

Gasps erupted from the crowd.

The exit poll showed a close race.

The staffer looked disappointed.

“Even with the President’s unpopularity, it’s hard to win.”

“The opposing emergency committee chairman did well. They pushed forward with Kim Jong-an who raised the issue of economic democratization, Lee Sang-dong who opposed the Four Major Rivers project, and the young politician Lee Jung-seok.”

“Changing their party color to red also played a part. It projected strong reform to the public.”

“They also clearly distanced themselves from the current President, which proved effective.”

I just listened to the staffer and Chief Kim’s conversation.

“If you look at their policy platform, it’s practically the same as ours. Economic democratization, welfare society, eliminating discrimination against irregular workers, cooperation with North Korea. They’re blatantly trying to steal our votes.”

“That’s why the conservative side is advantageous in elections. When they adopt our policies, it’s easy to expand toward the center.”

“It might be hard for us to become the majority party.”

“Still, we mustn’t give up.”

On screen, captions displayed the regions where counting had begun.

Although it was still early in the count, the Korea Unification Party was leading in many areas.

Could the exit poll have been wrong?

In Yeongdeungpo, as Song Min-chae had said, I was 2% ahead in the exit poll.

A cheer erupted.

I hoped it would stay that way.

After 8 p.m., the vote count for our constituency began.

“It’s finally starting.”

It was slow.

Only about 100 votes every ten minutes.

“Why is it so slow?”

“Let’s wait. You’re more impatient than I am, Staffer.”

“You’re like a robot, Candidate. Your expression never changes.”

“There’s no reason it should.”

“Phew.”

The staffer looked at me in disbelief.

“Oh dear.”

“What is this? Was the exit poll wrong?”

Sighs echoed from all around.

Although it was still the early stage of the count, with a difference of over 500 votes, the screen showed Kim Bu-seong winning 66% of the vote.

The screen displayed Kim Bu-seong raising both hands in celebration, but it looked so awkward.

It was filmed the day before the election—why did his expression look like that?

Was Kim Bu-seong that anxious?

The staffer encouraged me.

“Candidate, there’s no need to worry. Right now, they’re counting votes from Kim Bu-seong’s strongholds. This kind of gap can’t hold.”

“Yes. No way the exit poll would be that wrong.”

That’s what I said, but I was nervous. Now that I was the candidate, I couldn’t take my eyes off the numbers.

About an hour passed.

The gap narrowed to 55% versus 32%.

Vote count rate: 8%.

Still a long way to go.

Suddenly, people started murmuring. Many of the elderly didn’t understand the vote counting system—naturally so.

The staffer stood up to explain.

“Everyone! The current vote count rate is 8%. They counted Yeouido first, which widened the gap, but we’ll catch up soon!”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re counting from the areas unfavorable to our candidate first. Once they start counting the neighborhood where our candidate lived, we’ll turn it around.”

“Is that really true?”

“Of course. Don’t worry. I’ve been through two elections—I know.”

The staffer was right.

Once the count rate hit 20%, the margin closed to 52% versus 48%.

“Wow! We caught up!”

“Let’s go! Let’s turn it around!”

The subdued mood in the office began to rise.

And then, at 10 p.m.

When the count passed 50%, the difference dropped to within 100 votes.

“We can see the turnaround coming!”

“Let’s go! Fight and win!”

“Kang Cheon‑myeong! Kang Cheon‑myeong! Kang Cheon‑myeong!”

People began clapping and chanting my name.

And 30 minutes later.

At last, we overtook them for the first time.