Broadcast Accident

It was a broadcasting accident.

『Record-breaking torrential rain. Landslides have devastated nearby mountains, forcing over 500 villagers to evacuate to temporary shelters…―』

The interruption during the disaster broadcast was nothing more than a simple accident.

A trivial mistake, if anything.

The issue wasn’t the top of the screen but the bottom.

A small circle, occupying barely one-sixteenth of the screen.

Inside it, Hong Heeju was frozen mid-sign, flipping her middle finger.

“What…!”

She was so stunned her mind went blank.

Outside the studio, the muffled sound of the producer leaping to his feet and shouting filtered faintly through the thick glass walls.

“This has never happened before…!”

Her trembling gaze was fleeting. Not knowing when the screen would recover, she resolutely continued interpreting in sign language. Her expression, focused on the prompter, didn’t waver.

But one second, two seconds, three seconds passed.

As her image, middle finger raised, lingered on the screen for nearly ten seconds, sweat began to bead on her forehead.

“I’m screwed…”

Though her hands moved steadfastly, her eyes darted around in quiet panic.

On-screen, she was still passionately signing the word mountain, vigorously gesturing as if shouting it aloud. Meanwhile, chaos reigned in the control room.

The writer was pulling her hair out, and the assistant director hurriedly nodded over frantic phone calls.

Fortunately, the screen finally transitioned to a field report.

Only then did Heeju exhale, wiping her flushed face with a trembling hand.

“Are you okay, Interpreter Hong?”

The newsroom writer approached cautiously, and Heeju numbly nodded.

“I think… I need to take my medication.”

The producer, tangled in a flurry of apologies to higher-ups, ruffled his already disheveled hair.

To sign mountain, one is supposed to extend both the middle finger and thumb. But an unfortunate glitch had left only her middle finger raised.

One could only hope the mistake would be seen as unintentional. However, loud voices often win in these situations.

Unsurprisingly, the producer’s face darkened after he ended the call.

“Heeju, I’m so sorry, but…”

Scratching his head nervously, his voice trailed off.

“―Breaking news!”

The control room door burst open with a bang as the assistant director rushed in, his urgency palpable.

“There’s a kidnapping case! The Blue House spokesperson is giving an emergency briefing!”

“What?”

“A directive just came directly from the Blue House. They’re requesting simultaneous live broadcasts across all networks!”

The producer’s expression changed instantly. Hastily grabbing the headset around his neck, he barked orders.

“Get a breaking news banner up! Have Anchor Park transition smoothly to the briefing!”

The screen shifted to a deep navy background.

A blue podium bearing the Blue House emblem appeared.

Standing tall behind it was the Blue House spokesperson, his commanding presence erasing the earlier turmoil like waves washing away footprints.

Dressed impeccably in a black suit, his piercing gaze locked onto the camera lens.

Heeju found herself holding her breath as she stared at him.

“Interpreter Hong, can you…”

The producer’s casual tone faltered mid-sentence.

“Ahem, my apologies. I’ll contact you later.”

Awkwardly excusing himself, he quickly left.

“The Blue House briefing will proceed without sign language interpretation!”

It didn’t take long for Heeju to deduce the subtext of his unfinished words.

“Am I being replaced?”

A bitter taste rose in her mouth as she grabbed her bag from the corner of the studio.

Her childhood aphasia, which had silenced her voice, often made the world feel like an aquarium.

A suffocating space where she couldn’t speak, where all her words dissolved into bubbles underwater.

Growing up in that environment, she learned to communicate with her hands.

This job had suited her well—until now. This failure left her feeling helpless again.

『Good evening. This is Baek Sa-eon, spokesperson for the Blue House.』

But that man was different.

The low, steady voice halted her mid-step, her departure momentarily forgotten.

It was a voice she rarely had the chance to hear.

Heavy yet sharp, it resonated with an undeniable clarity.

Her heart, as unreliable as ever, skipped a beat.

『Negotiations for the sixteen South Korean nationals kidnapped in the southwestern region of the Argana Republic began this morning.』

By now, the staff had all gathered in front of the large monitor.

Straight-backed and attentive, they seemed more overwhelmed by the weight of his presence than the actual content of the briefing.

Heeju was no exception.

『The government’s task force has conducted two face-to-face negotiations on-site, but two hostages have already been killed. The armed group demands the immediate withdrawal of South Korean troops and ransom payment.―』

His detached delivery stripped of emotion was not cold but rather resolute.

『The group has warned that additional hostages will be killed if their demands are not met.』

His unwavering gaze pierced through the camera, unyielding.

Jet-black hair and eyes, contrasted by pale, almost icy skin.

As the mouthpiece of the highest office, Baek Sa-eon possessed qualities she lacked.

A promising political figure with sharp instincts―

A formidable orator known for his biting words.

The youngest-ever spokesperson for the Blue House, his tenure had been spotless.

Unlike his predecessors, plagued by scandals and resignations, Baek Sa-eon remained unblemished.

『Let me share the Blue House’s position on this matter.』

His hands gripped the edges of the podium as he leaned toward the microphone, eyes flashing with intensity.

Even his brief silence conveyed calculated intent.

Thirty-five years old.

In a political arena known for its cutthroat nature, a man in his thirties bending public opinion to his will was almost unheard of.

Yet, considering his lineage of vice presidents and judges, it seemed inevitable.

Baek Sa-eon was born for this.

He was the message itself.

『There will be no negotiations for ransom with the kidnappers.』

His gaze, sharp enough to pierce through the lens, startled Heeju.

“We’re not husband and wife. Don’t forget that.”

His merciless words replayed in her mind, laced with disdain.

“You were sent to me as a hostage.”

The cold eyes that had glanced at her three years ago, when she had just become his wife, still haunted her.

That was their last conversation as a married couple.

Three years of a political marriage.

Three years of silence.

They were merely representatives for others, never for each other.

Heeju barely spoke, and her husband treated her as if she were invisible.

Seventy square meters of icy newlywed space. A husband seen more often on TV than at home.

Was this what an unhappy marriage looked like?

『On matters of principle, there will be no compromise.』

Habitually, Heeju touched her bare ring finger, devoid of any wedding band.

Yet, she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

It was a foolish attachment she had carried from the moment she first saw him.

+++++

 

"Dear, how about quitting your job now?"

"......!"

The inevitable had come.

Heeju hesitated, her hands hovering over the steaming teacup before withdrawing.

After rushing out of the broadcasting station, she’d tried to avoid her mother’s calls. Yet her mother, persistent as ever, arranged a meeting using her mother-in-law as leverage.

Sitting across from her, Heeju found the sight of her mother and mother-in-law together distinctly odd.

Her mother-in-law, a professor at Korea University from a distinguished academic family, sat beside Kim Yeonhee, a former nightclub singer at Club Siren who had climbed her way up to become the official wife of a chairman after years as his mistress.

The contrast between the two was jarring, yet here they were, united in purpose, pressing Heeju together.

"In a month, the presidential campaign team will be formed. So it’s time for you to leave your job and join your father-in-law's campaign."

Her mother-in-law’s voice was gentle, but Heeju already felt the beginnings of a headache.

She had known this was coming.

She had also known exactly what her role was.

"Since Sa-eon is part of the Blue House, it’s unrealistic for him to participate in election activities. But if you step in, you’ll be an invaluable ally."

Heeju clenched and unclenched her tingling hands.

Their marriage had been a collaboration between her father-in-law, a leading presidential candidate, and a newspaper mogul with aspirations of becoming a kingmaker.

Baek Sa-eon’s family was a political dynasty, with ancestors who had held nearly every significant position in the country: his great-grandfather was South Korea’s first vice president, and his grandfather had served as a prime minister, chief justice, member of the National Assembly, chairman of the Board of Audit and Inspection, and even the chair of the National Election Commission. The family often joked that the only office their grandfather hadn’t held was the presidency itself.

Beyond that, the elders of the family were towering figures who had left indelible marks on the country’s political history.

Their singular goal was to finally win the presidential election that their grandfather had failed to secure in three previous attempts.

And for that relentless pursuit, Heeju had been "urgently dispatched" as a bride.

The day before the wedding.

Because Baek Sa-eon’s real fiancée—the woman who was meant to be his bride—her stepsister, had vanished.