A courtroom is a microcosm of the law of the jungle. As fierce battles are waged back and forth upon the shoulders of Dike, and the apostle of justice and the guardian of truth begin their orderly battle, ultimately the god who governs all things raises the hand of the stronger. However, being “strong” here did not necessarily mean physical strength or power. Sometimes a prepared David defeated a Goliath who underestimated him. Attorney Do Yunshin liked such aberrant aspects of this solemn place.
“Counsel, please present your closing argument.”
The judge seated at the head of the criminal courtroom gestured with his eyes toward the defense table. Yunshin, dressed in a dark gray suit with a crisp dress shirt, rose from his seat on the right and bowed respectfully. He then stepped out toward the central aisle.
Click. Click.
Walking straight-backed and steadily forward, Yunshin cut a sleek and immaculate figure. His neat features gave a gentle impression, but his gaze alone was resolute and firm. For a moment, as his eyes swept over the gallery, a determined will to seize the desired result in this arena surfaced on his pale, slender face.
“Your Honor, and the associate judges to the left and right. As well as the prosecutor who has devoted months to this trial, and all the spectators who have come to observe the proceedings—thank you all. First, I shall speak about the essence of this case.”
The case concerned a famous athlete who had been brutally murdered by a blunt weapon wielded by his common-law partner, and Yunshin was defending the perpetrator. Because the deceased was a national hero who had swept multiple gold medals at the Summer Olympics over the years, interest from the media and the general public was immense. When Yunshin had first encountered this case only through the news, he had assumed the motive was a relatively common conflict such as a romantic entanglement or financial dispute. In fact, the investigation had produced some minor circumstantial evidence of conflict, and since the perpetrator had even refused to appoint counsel, the situation appeared to be solidifying against her.
But one day, through a truly chance opportunity, he learned that the truth of the case told a rather different story. Beneath the surface, there existed countless invisible factors warranting leniency. For a very long time, the perpetrator had suffered such severe psychological abuse from the victim that even the last shred of dignity had been stripped away. That very day, Yunshin sought out the woman and persistently persuaded her.
*“I will help you. It is indeed night where you now stand, but you are not alone there.”*
“There are several notable points in this case. There exist numerous tragic circumstances and facts showing that the defendant, unable to endure extremely sadistic emotional violence, had no choice but to wield the weapon impulsively. Therefore, during the fact-finding proceedings, defense counsel has already presented abundant evidence that the defendant suffered subhuman abuse throughout all eight years of cohabitation.”
Standing tall before the judge, Yunshin continued his logical argument. His calm voice and manner of speech held an unexpectedly hidden appeal. Every listener in the courtroom focused on his words.
While he was thus immersed in his work, Kang Seheon, a partner attorney at the law firm Doguk, sitting with his legs casually crossed near the end of the gallery, observed this scene with keen interest. He looked splendid in a luxurious suit draped over a solid body honed by regular exercise. His refined features, as if sculpted with great care over a long time, and the arrogance clearly reflected in his deeply colored eyes were rather harmonious.
In Seheon’s cold eyes, there was not a hint of warmth directed toward either the victim or the perpetrator. Soon, a sharp gaze—as if it would not bleed even if pricked—fixed onto Yunshin like an arrow. He ran a large hand over his smooth jaw, then slowly looked the attorney up and down from head to toe.
*‘Attorney Do Yunshin…’*
His clean appearance, tidy attire, composed voice, and courteous attitude were quite impressive, but more than anything, what drew Seheon’s interest was the conviction Yunshin held in his own arguments. It was not an illusion forcibly fabricated to quell nerves, nor a useless stubbornness chasing only victory. That attorney genuinely believed his client was in the right. He knew better than anyone that this was the only way to save the defendant. A strong sense of responsibility and professionalism lay hidden behind that gentle face. Even in the eyes of Seheon, who tended to be harsh in his assessments, he passed as an attorney.
However, if asked whether he would place him under his wing, the answer would be “No.”
Whether aware of this curiosity or not, Yunshin’s argument headed toward its conclusion. More and more strength entered his voice.
“An act of killing is a crime. It deserves punishment. However, the Constitution clearly stipulates basic human rights. I appeal to the court. Defense counsel finds it difficult to accept that the defendant’s act of self-redress, after having suffered ongoing hidden abuse for eight years, should be placed on the same plane as ordinary criminal conduct. Your Honor, are you familiar with Charles Dickens’s *Great Expectations*?”
The judge seated in the center, who had been concentrating on the argument, nodded slightly. Yunshin smiled gently, as if having found common ground.
“It is my favorite work. There is a passage in that book.”
Then Yunshin turned and cast his gaze toward the center of the gallery. And at that moment, he involuntarily fell silent. Because his eyes met Seheon’s, who had been watching him, dead on. It had happened so many times he’d lost count.
Kang Seheon, attorney at the law firm Doguk, was known by everyone in the industry. He had many followers, and even more enemies. Yunshin couldn’t understand why someone so busy he barely had time to breathe had come here. Frankly, those beast-like eyes that had appeared out of nowhere and persistently seemed to search for a place to bite made him uncomfortable.
*‘As expected, we probably don’t mesh well.’*
Yunshin seemed to quietly meet that sharp gaze, the meaning and intent of which he couldn’t fathom, then soon turned back to the judge and opened his mouth.
“To think that a person might look up at the countless stars glittering in the night sky, unable to find any hand of help or sympathy, and simply freeze to death—how terrible a thing that would be. Your Honor, both associate judges. Please ensure that this defendant does not meet a lonely death frozen in the wilderness. Show us that the human rights provisions of our Constitution are alive. Thank you.”
Having finished his argument, Yunshin returned to the defense table. When the judge requested the defendant’s final statement, the last procedure of the trial, the defendant, who had kept her head bowed throughout, opened her mouth with difficulty.
Meanwhile, Yunshin sent her an encouraging look, then briefly exchanged glances with Song Mihui, another partner attorney at Doguk who had been sitting beside Seheon.
Seheon, who had been watching this situation entirely, leaned down and whispered very softly to Mihui. The texture of his low, languid voice was smooth and clean.
“Attorney Song, do you know that attorney? You two just exchanged looks.”
“Attorney Do Yunshin? Just a little. He specializes in labor law and works at a small law office. I think he’s handling this case pro bono. Anyway, what did you think of the trial? Does he look like a talent worth recruiting?”
Doguk was a large law firm belonging to the top five in South Korea. They always needed, and needed many, talented individuals from prosecutorial backgrounds to lead the litigation team. Mihui, the final manager of firm recruitment, had suggested coming to observe this public trial under that pretext. She had said there was a prosecutor she had her eye on and asked him to watch together before recommending him to the managing partner, so he had barely made time; however, the trial was far more dull than Seheon had expected.
“Are we really recruiting that prosecutor?”
“Why, doesn’t he suit your taste, Seheon? He looks fine, though?”
“‘Looks fine’? What did I just hear?”
He let out a languid sigh as if dumbfounded, then ran a hand over his face. When she fell silent, he added in a deeply sunken voice.
“Reconsider. I can’t pay a nine-figure salary to a prosecutor who loses to a pro bono attorney. Attorney Song, you are the one who recruited me into Doguk. Don’t embarrass me.”
“Your standards are too harsh. From the start, Attorney Do was just too well-prepared for this case. The evidence was overwhelming too.”
“The cardinal principle of criminal procedure is evidence-based adjudication. I squeezed out my nonexistent time thinking I was coming to see talent who could somehow neutralize a mountain of evidence and flip the case. Rather, bringing that attorney to our firm would be far more profitable.”
“As expected, even your picky eyes think Do Yunshin is decent, right?”
His gaze as he looked steadily at Mihui was rather irritable, as if asking what kind of answer that was. Then, as if having already interpreted the meaning between the lines, Seheon’s gaze shifted to the defense table on the right side of the courtroom. It seemed what she had really wanted to show him from the beginning wasn’t the prosecutor, but that attorney. She appeared to have aimed for a slight reflex effect.
Skilled attorneys recognize their own kind. Seheon had noticed at first glance that Yunshin was a capable attorney. But he didn’t look desperate enough for personal success to grit his teeth and endure at Doguk. Even while handling a case under such intense media scrutiny, he consistently prioritized the defendant over packaging himself sophisticatedly, which proved it. Moreover, if he was an attorney who represented social minorities, he was not someone who would fit Doguk, which championed meritocracy.
*‘A hand of sympathy for someone freezing to death.’*
Chewing over the quote he had heard moments ago internally, he fixed his gaze on Yunshin.
*That’s something young masters like you extend.*
Just then, Yunshin, who had been warmly holding the defendant’s hand after she finished her final statement, seemed to feel the stinging gaze directed at him and raised his face to look at Seheon. On his neat face as he tilted his head, a faint color of wondering why their eyes kept meeting seeped through. That guileless complexion, so honest it seemed to see through to the other’s inner self, strangely muddled Seheon’s head.
Having confirmed that much, he furrowed his brow and quietly grabbed his jacket.
“I’ve seen enough; I’ll get going first.”
“Wait. Attorney Kang, then what about Do Yunshin?”
Seheon half-rose as if thinking, *I knew it.*
“I bet you purposely set me up with the prosecutor first because you were afraid I’d object immediately if you showed him to me first. I’m even more opposed to that attorney. I hate kids who are righteous and smart. They always cause trouble. I’m leaving.”
“Hey, after seeing it just once like that… Are you going to the firm? Attorney Kang!”
The two, who had been conversing in hushed whispers so as not to disturb the trial, were instantly and completely separated. Mihui, unable to stop Seheon, who passed by without a reply, shook her head.
Turning his back on the courtroom, he strode out with long, unhesitating legs and soon exited the solemn interior.
It was exactly when Seheon was walking toward the elevator, leaving the firmly closed door behind him, that…
“Isn’t that Doguk’s Attorney Kang Seheon? Is he related to this case?”
“What’s his angle? Why is he here?”
“Did anyone get him entering the courthouse? A full shot.”
The reporters waiting outside spotted Seheon and, murmuring among themselves, surrounded his tall frame without hesitation.
For large law firms, advisory services providing opinions on corporate activities were the main source of revenue rather than litigation handling disputes. Among these, financial and corporate law advisory were the two great pillars of high fees, but these two fields differed in nature. The former required analytical thinking, the latter flexible thinking. Seheon was a standout talent who excelled at both. He was also skilled in various litigation matters. Though he minimized media exposure, it was only natural that reporters covering the courts knew him.
The driver waiting in the corner stepped forward to approach Seheon, who was surrounded by people. But Seheon gestured for him to wait a moment and silently listened to the questions pouring out from the reporters.
“Aren’t you Attorney Kang Seheon of Doguk? I understand you hardly take on ordinary criminal cases; why did you come here today?”
“Is this a move to improve public opinion of Doguk due to the recent corporate restructuring representation you took? There was a protest not long ago where laid-off workers gathered to condemn the company and Doguk!”
“Or are you trying to change the subject with a case the media is paying attention to? If so, please tell us if this is a coordinated story with the defense counsel!”
His striking appearance and sharp manner of speech were perfect media fodder. He sometimes willingly fed them when necessary. But today was not one of those times.
Seheon, who had been listening, gestured elegantly as if asking for quiet, then slowly opened his mouth.
“Let me tell you the conclusion first. My visit to this courtroom today is simply for personal reasons. It is not an official move on behalf of Doguk, so I am making it clear in advance that if this is reported as speculative news, I will have no choice but to take legal action. That’s all. I have nothing more to tell you, so please step aside.”
After answering briefly, he gestured for the driver to come over, and a man approached, parting the crowd like clearing brush to open a path. Seheon passed through the reporters and stood before the elevator.
Finally, the double doors opened and the two stepped inside.
“Attorney Kang, are you just going to leave like this?”
“Please say something, Attorney Kang Seheon!”
Ignoring all the urgent calls from outside the door, he pressed the close button himself.
Ping. As soon as the door closed, his expressionless face crumbled into irritation. Seheon greatly disliked the attention others showed him. He also loathed the noisy voices that reached his ears without yielding any profit. Yet contrary to his will, he often suffered such things at the hands of the general public.
“Can’t human voice frequencies be tuned to about Do Yunshin’s level?”
At his out-of-the-blue remark, the driver, who had been watching Seheon’s mood and maintaining a heavy silence, flinched and answered.
“Excuse me?”
“Ha, I don’t even know what I’m saying right now. Never mind. Let’s go with our mouths shut.”
“Yes, Attorney.”
*I shouldn’t have come here.*
Seheon, who had been staring blankly at the dashboard, furrowed his brows irritably.