*Tap!* Seheon alighted from the sedan that had arrived at the company parking lot, clad in a luxurious suit. He skillfully wedged his phone between his ear and shoulder. Then, carefully fastening the cufflinks on both sleeves, he strode forward with long steps.
Secretary Tak, who had been waiting in front of the elevator even before his arrival, received the briefcase from Seheon. At the same time, he gestured toward the car he had already called. Seheon boarded the elevator lightly, seeming to listen for a moment to the person on the other end of the line, then opened his mouth sharply.
“If it’s that urgent, you should have sent it to the litigation team. I hardly handle lawsuits.”
— I know you occasionally take on litigation work for people you’re connected with through advisory services. Can’t you do something about it?
“If so, you should have shopped for a lawyer properly from the start. Do you think you can eat just anything because you’re at a buffet? It’s common sense to reach for the expensive, delicious items first.”
This client was the CEO of a semiconductor company who had become involved in a civil lawsuit during asset formation through investments; it seemed he had chosen another law firm of similar size to Doguk as his litigation representative and lost badly in the first trial. Because Seheon wouldn’t take his calls, perhaps feeling the fire at his feet, the client had been sending people constantly for several days to nag him, so Seheon was listening as if doing him a favor.
But even after getting through to him, since Seheon was completely indifferent, the man’s voice grew desperate.
— You know I wanted to retain Attorney Gang from the very beginning, don’t I? I even made contact. It’s just that the head of that firm and my wife are well acquainted; I’m a businessman, so I thought I should keep that much faith. Now I’m trying to find my way back to the right path. Let’s meet. Yes?
Furrowing his brow, Seheon gestured toward Secretary Tak. As if he had been waiting, Secretary Tak showed his phone’s schedule and pointed to a suitable date. Seeing that, Seheon replied.
“Let’s do it on the weekend. Visit the firm directly this Saturday at noon. I’ll set up a meeting. Before then, send the materials here—they must include not only what has already been exposed but also all the hidden circumstances and evidence not revealed in court. It means I need to know everything from one to nine about how the CEO accumulated his assets. If there’s anything missing, I won’t take the case.”
— Yes, yes. I’ll only trust Chief Gang. Can I have the documents delivered by hand?
“You’ll have to. Ah, and if you’ve called more than three times with no callback, don’t call again. It means I’m not unable to answer, but unwilling. I’m only doing this because this case came to me first. Then I’ll hang up now.”
After firing off those words coldly, he ended the call and, with a flip, tossed his phone, sending a glance. Secretary Tak skillfully caught that as well and opened his mouth.
“For someone like him, since he’s quite advanced in age, a Hanwoo beef lunchbox would be good.”
“Do as you see fit. The related materials will probably arrive by hand tonight; organize them nicely by section and put them on my desk by noon tomorrow. The trial transcript for the same case, too, by noon. Have one of the free associates pull precedents.”
“A free associate? Do we have such a thing at our firm? Except for exactly one person, that is.”
Seheon knew exactly what meaning was contained in that veiled retort and immediately refuted it.
“Not Do Yunshin. Find one among the juniors from other teams. If there’s really no one, use the interns.”
“Do you trust Attorney Do even less than law school students? Ah, right. Since he’s come up, here. These are additional materials related to the case Attorney Do Yunshin handled.”
The very moment Seheon snatched the documents from Secretary Tak’s hand as if stealing them, about to add a reply—*ding*—the elevator arrived at their office floor.
He exited first, spread the thick stack of paper, read the contents, and moved his steps unhesitatingly toward his office. From his oblique side, Secretary Tak followed. Employees who spotted the two politely bowed to Seheon. However, he ignored them all and threw a question to Secretary Tak.
“Did anything else come up?”
“No. It’s just as I reported last time. We shook everything out, but there was nothing connecting the attorney to the construction company on either side. So I only organized the factual relations.”
He had not only conducted a separate investigation through Secretary Tak but also summoned all junior lawyers of similar standing to Yunshin for interviews, but had found nothing. Even though they were all lawyers, the field of a big law firm attorney and a human rights lawyer were distinctly different, so none knew the details. Only evaluations based on rumors they had heard here and there continued—that the work seemed quite solid.
Seheon nodded roughly and carefully turned the pages one by one from the front, taking in the contents. Inside, detailed records related to the cases Yunshin had handled were densely packed.
“It’s clean. Won’t you drop your suspicions now?”
“Shut up.”
“It’s a waste of manpower. And you hate wasting time more than anything in the world.”
“You’d better shut up on your own before I say the same thing twice.”
Thanks to Secretary Tak, who pressed his lips shut simultaneously with the warning, the surroundings quieted a little. Seheon continued reading the remaining documents with a glance.
*Unfair dismissal, violation of the Labor Standards Act, industrial accident…*
Although still at a minnow level, the life trajectory of Yunshin’s father—who had also served as Minister of Justice—and that of his mentor were quite similar. It seemed father and son both had a temperament that simply couldn’t stand by when someone was in an unfair situation.
He must take after his father.
Clicking his tongue, as he tried to continue forward, suddenly an obstacle popped up before him. When he stopped and raised his head, Mihi stood blocking the way, waving a coffee in each hand.
“Our Chief Gang is punctual to the minute with his arrival time. The other partners should learn from you.”
“Why are you like this from the morning?”
“I waited because I missed you so much.”
“I can’t accept a married woman’s heart. There’s a thing called professional courtesy in this industry. Move aside.”
“Gang Seheon has no mercy.”
As if to say he’d turn around if she didn’t move, Seheon cleanly passed by her and headed for his office. Secretary Tak, reading the situation, took the documents from his hand and ran ahead. He then opened the firmly closed door and neatly placed the briefcase, phone, and documents on the desk.
Soon the room’s owner, Seheon, entered the office and was about to sit in his place where the work environment was set, but once again Mihi interfered and blocked his path. He furrowed his brow.
“Chief Song, if you have something to say, just say it without dragging it out. Don’t you know I’m the busiest on Monday mornings?”
“Attorney Do Yunshin—you haven’t called him to your room even once, though it’s been nearly a month since his first day. Even though he’s your direct associate. If you’re not going to give him work, you should at least buy him a meal. The young ones on your team are precious.”
As if he had known that would be the topic, Seheon’s brow gently furrowed.
“I’m someone who squeezes out even my meal times for meetings.”
“Come on, you have to do what needs to be done even while busy. For your information, I go shopping and have hobbies too.”
“I’ve assigned him pro bono work in moderation; do I have to spoon-feed him too? I told you I have no interest in child-rearing.”
“Then at least buy him tea or something, hmm? I know you a little. I know your rough investigation is over. Since there’s no word of you kicking him out, it seems he’s passed the cutline. I don’t know what more you’re watching in him, but I’d like it if you had a chat with him. Even a short one. I need something to tell Director Do too. Every time we talk he asks, and I’m embarrassed to death having nothing to say. I’m not asking for much. One coffee. Huh? Coffee.”
“Don’t order me around. Get out.”
“Seheon.”
“I have no sense of hierarchy or propriety; I even yell at seniors. Get out while I’m asking nicely.”
“Anyway, your temper is fucking insane. I’m going, I’m going.”
She, who had been watching Seheon like a disobedient younger brother, stepped back. Just as it seemed she was quietly retreating like that, she quickly walked forward and placed the two coffees on his desk with a clack.
“I’ll wait for good news!”
As if he had even predicted this, he stood there for a moment. He silently watched Mihi leave with a wave, then let out a deep breath a beat late. And now, as he was finally about to sit at his desk, he stopped when he saw the light brightly on in Yunshin’s room, wondering if he had already come to work.
Soon after, Seheon stared intently at the two coffees placed neatly on his desk. It was because one of the things Mihi had left behind stuck with him.
*You haven’t called him to your room even once, though it’s been nearly a month since his first day, right?*
“A month. A month……”
Repeating the same word and mulling it over, he picked up one of the disposable cups.
He turned direction as is and came out of his office, moving to the secretariat located between two offices. The employees were whispering without even knowing Seheon was coming. It seemed they were excitedly chatting about Mihi’s visit to his office since early morning. Unable to stand it, Seheon clapped his hands with a smack, and Secretary Tak, who spotted him first, sprang to his feet.
“Oh my. Ch-Chief, is there anything else you need?”
“Tak, send all the materials I told you to prepare last week to Do Yunshin’s room.”
“Both cases? Right now?”
“Should I do one tomorrow? I’ll just stand here waiting while you chat away merrily.”
“I misspoke. I’ll send them in right away.”
Without even replying, Seheon turned and flung open Yunshin’s door. Yunshin, who had been tidying his surroundings and powering on his laptop, checked the visitor’s identity, sprang up, and bowed at ninety degrees. Since it was Seheon’s first visit to his room, he seemed quite surprised inwardly.
“Attorney, are you just arriving at work?”
“Did you enlist? Ease up. Sit.”
Seheon answered simply, entered, and stood in front of Yunshin’s desk. Then he placed the coffee Mihi had given him on the table mat with a clack, and stared fixedly at Yunshin’s pale face. Naturally, Yunshin’s intelligent eyes looked up at him, containing a trace of doubt.
“This is……”
“Coffee.”
“Even my eyes can see that. Is there something you wish to say……”
“Drink that first.”
“Are you giving it to me?”
“Yeah. If you drink it, I think I’ll be less miserable.”
Because Seheon was staring at him with a piercing gaze, Yunshin, who could neither refuse nor accept, hurriedly took a sip of coffee. Then he tilted his head.
“I don’t quite understand the subtext.”
“Because someone will obviously keep nagging me. Anyway, I’ve done what I ought to do.”
His explanation was vague, so the exact circumstances were still unknown. Instead of asking further, Yunshin slowly cast his gaze to his black sleeve, then soon pulled the cup a little closer to himself. When he lightly bowed his head in gratitude, Seheon nodded roughly and sat down, draping his body over the armrest of the guest sofa, beginning to gaze intently at Yunshin.
The expression of the one being observed, one-sidedly receiving this baptism of a gaze, was enigmatic. Because he couldn’t know why Seheon had come in so suddenly and was acting like this, he was bewildered; on the other hand, the eyes touching him were so persistent and intense that it was a bit embarrassing and awkward.
In truth, staring openly at someone like this was quite a breach of manners. They had barely even encountered each other, yet every time, Seheon had always been rude to him. However, because the subject of this act was Gang Seheon, Yunshin had no choice but to endure it.
While thinking such thoughts, a thought suddenly flashed in his mind.
“Ah, I was thoughtless. I’ll go buy you coffee right away, Attorney.”
As Yunshin half-rose, Seheon immediately waved his hand firmly.
“Forget that. We haven’t signed the contract yet. What did they promise you for your salary?”
“I’m in my fourth year of practice, not from Jaejo[5], and since I mainly handled small cases, there were almost no additional factors at hiring. Our firm said they operate on a performance-pay system starting from the third year, so at the second-year average. They said we’d renegotiate at year-end based on my work……”
“They tried to maintain the industry framework despite you being a parachute hire.”
While Yunshin neither affirmed nor denied and was fidgeting with the cup’s surface, the half-open door swung wide with a knock. Then two employees with unfamiliar faces entered. Each had their hands on the handles of document carts.
They stacked the documents piled high on the carts neatly on the meeting table, then greeted Seheon with a placid expression and the bewildered Yunshin respectively before exiting the room.
*Click*—as the door closed, Yunshin’s gaze, which had been intimidated by the enormous amount of paperwork, lodged like a dart into Seheon.
“Chief, what is all of that? By your expression, you seem to know.”
“They’re two litigation cases sized for our firm’s third- and fourth-year juniors. One civil, one criminal.”
One of the major jobs of partner attorneys was bringing in cases. They might directly handle major cases in their specialty or lucrative large cases, but they also frequently handed down smaller cases so that associate attorneys could handle them alone. Many law firms had a top-down structure for everything from decision-making to case acceptance. Thus, to associate attorneys, a partner attorney’s words functioned as a kind of law. It seemed Doguk wasn’t much different.
Yunshin easily inferred that the documents before him were for cases Seheon had personally brought in.
“So those are the documents. Is there one among the two I’ll handle? Or both?”
Seheon let out a hollow laugh, as if it were absurd.
“You want to litigate? Are you on the litigation team? You actually seem better suited for that side; should I send you over?”
Yunshin’s troubled mouth closed. Then Seheon added.
“Unless you’re a blockhead, you must have roughly read the firm’s atmosphere over the past month. This is a stage-one test process to determine whether you can earn your keep or not.”
“A test. Yes, what should I do?”
“I’ll give you two days. Don’t leave a single character unstudied; master it all. Then brief it in front of our team’s seniors who don’t know about this case. They must understand everything solely from your report, and if they ask anything, there must be no error in your information. Can you do it?”
He wondered if this was to judge how efficiently he could work in a short time. However, two days was far too tight to digest that vast amount of documents.
“All of this in two days? I also have pro bono materials I need to review. I took it over urgently, and it’s currently in trial.”
Seheon’s eyebrow twitched; he was far more used to hearing unconditional “Yes” answers. He stood up and approached Yunshin again. He stretched both arms and thumped them on the desk, bending his waist to meet the seated Yunshin’s eyes at an angle.
Their faces were quite close. Seheon’s long eyes, orderly arranged above smooth skin, blinked slowly. That appearance looked a bit sinister. Yunshin’s hand, which had flinched, gripped the disposable cup he was holding harder.
“Fourth year. I happen to have excellent metacognition.”
“I can roughly guess.”
“And what’s most important to persuade a judge in court is that the initial testimony is maintained until the end.”
“I know that well too.”
“Then why is a punk who knows both those things acting like this? You said you’d stake your life. If you speak with two tongues, someone with excellent memory recall like me will get confused. Won’t I, fourth-year?”
*“If I do well, you’ll be at ease too, so I’ll stake my life.”*
Chewing over the words he had spoken with his own mouth, Yunshin found neither excuse nor grounds for protest.
“I’m sorry. I can do it.”
Though it didn’t seem entirely satisfactory, it was apparently an answer Seheon could accept nonetheless. He slowly straightened his waist and looked down at Yunshin from an overwhelming angle. No large expression was evident on his face. However, underlying it was transferred a self-confidence that could even be felt as arrogance. A life of only victory, led in all sorts of ways, must have made him who he was now.
Thanks to that, Yunshin, facing him from a lower position, briefly judged that Gang Seheon was perhaps the person in the world who suited looking down on others the most. It seemed he would never know loneliness or humiliation even if he died and came back to life.
At that moment. For some reason, he thought he wanted to see, just once, a moment where pain from defeat showed on his face. Until now, Yunshin had never gone out of his way to imagine someone’s pain. Finding this version of himself strange, he shook his head hard internally.
Perhaps knowing Yunshin was lost in stray thoughts and unable to focus on the conversation, Seheon snapped his fingers right before his eyes.
“The morning after tomorrow, this time. Large conference room. Additional questions?”
“Uh, do I just do a summary briefing in front of you, Chief? And take questions from the senior attorneys?”
“I only tossed these cases over from another team, so I’m not interested. I’m not going. The accuracy rate must be infinitely close to one hundred, and the time from when a question leaves your mouth until the answer comes out must not exceed two seconds. Ultimately, the seniors will score you, and based on that your value will be determined; if it’s okay, your salary will be readjusted to the fourth-year average.”
“What if it’s not okay?”
“No confidence?”
“No. Um, can’t you please come too, Attorney?”
Seheon seemed utterly unable to understand this request disguised as a question. Not attending this test and only receiving the results was largely to avoid wasting time on useless matters, but there had also been a very slight intention to give this mid-career rookie some breathing room.
“I work on a time sheet in ten-minute units.”
“I know. It’ll only take a little time. I won’t take much.”
“Is this fearlessness or shamelessness?”
“I want to check your style too, Attorney. You’re almost always at the office, yet you’re so busy it’s hard to see your face.”
For an instant, Seheon’s eyes narrowed. Soon, with an expression as if peering inside a very solid castle gate, he retorted in a cold tone.
“You’re crazy. How dare you do what?”
“It’s not that I’m presumptuously trying to judge your value. I just need to know what appeals to you so I can train that part. I know I don’t suit your taste very much. But since I’ve decided to stick it out here, I must serve Attorney Gang, and I really want to do well.”
“You’ll regret it. I’m picky. I’ll give you a low score.”
“Regret is something all humans experience.”
It seemed to mean he was fully prepared. Since he wished to be cornered like that, the ill-tempered Seheon had no reason not to spare a little time for an amusing spectacle.
However, Yunshin’s attitude subtly and continuously grated on him. Clearly, the other party was assuming a low, prostrate posture. Yet strangely, the uprightness and stiffness beneath it were felt intact. That very appearance looked like a sign that it would flip his insides upside down in the future.
Grinding his teeth, he moved his arm impulsively. Long, straight fingers clawed at Yunshin’s neat necktie. Then, pulling the soft cloth as it was, Yunshin’s lean upper body was powerlessly dragged in Seheon’s direction with a swoosh.
“Urk, Attorney?”
Even now they were quite close, but it seemed insufficient for Seheon. Looking down at Yunshin overbearingly, he tilted his upper body to bring their faces closer.
A cold gaze staring at the pale face was edged with blade-like sharpness.
Yunshin’s cheeks paled from the tension rising from his waist, flustered.
“Why are you suddenly…… Did I make a mistake?”
Despite the cautious question, Seheon only remained silent. Instead, he inserted his middle finger between the narrow knot of the tie. Then he pulled the cloth downward.
Eventually, he completely loosened the necktie hanging neatly around Yunshin’s neck. Once his tidy appearance became slightly disheveled, only then did he seem to cool down, flinging the thin cloth to the floor with a swish.
Only then could Yunshin hear Seheon’s voice.
“Why do you rub me the wrong way like this.”
Somehow, it seemed even he couldn’t find the exact reason, so Yunshin couldn’t ask why.
He merely swallowed dryly, adjusted his clothes, and replied, trying hard to be composed.
“I’ll try to become someone you find pleasing.”
And Seheon, watching this calm response, instead felt as if his entrails were twisting.
He could easily guess the thought process in that head. After roughly checking the trajectory of Yunshin’s life so far, it was even easier to understand. Do Yunshin, who had probably been a good person to everyone his whole life, must not have experienced hostile feelings from others often.
Since most people already felt favorable toward him, even if Seheon—the one person everyone called a bad person—disliked him, he would find it uncomfortable but not be deeply hurt.
In short, it meant he wasn’t very interested in Seheon’s emotions directed at himself.
“I like you even less.”
“Do you hate everything I do?”
“I’m not interested enough for that.”
Hating someone was also a matter of expending one’s heart. Therefore, Seheon didn’t hate his parents who had abandoned him and left first, the adults who had shuttled him here and there in his childhood, or the business relations who sometimes treated him as an enemy and poured out curses promising to pay back exactly as they received. The expression that he hadn’t paid them any attention was more accurate.
Yet everything about Yunshin strangely grated on him. To be exact, rather than hating it, it got on his nerves.
Inevitably, a long-ago memory squeezed into a space crammed full in his head and seeped in like light.
A funeral hall shabbier than the reputation of the deceased during his lifetime, a diverse crowd of mourners, Director Do Ikyung greeting guests with a stoic demeanor.
And someone wearing the chief mourner’s armband, crying in a place without people.
*“I’m really sorry, but please stay with me for a moment. I can’t bear being alone.”*
That day, the two of them had shared a very short time without saying a word to each other.
I wonder if Do Yunshin remembers that.
“What should I fix? If you tell me in detail……”
Yunshin’s voice was heard for a moment. His head, which had been chewing over old matters, filled again with current problems. Seheon’s face, which had been on the verge of loosening, hardened back rigidly.
“Then will you quit even now?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Just do what you’re told.”
As if he disliked being here any longer, Seheon turned his back first. Seeing his momentum as if he would burst out the door any moment, Yunshin reflexively sprang up. At the same time, as if he had something left to say, Seheon looked back. His sharp gaze struck Yunshin squarely, making his lean body flinch.
“I’ll attend the test too.”
Though his tone was cold, he had ultimately accepted his request. Yunshin, who had been tense, moved his lips and answered sincerely.
“Thank y—”
But Seheon turned again before the greeting even finished.
*Slam.* The door closed.
“—ou.”
The slender back that looked dashing no matter when one saw it disappeared from sight in an instant. Yunshin, who had been chasing that lingering image beyond the glass window, secretly observed Seheon’s walking steps with an upright posture. Then, seeing him pause briefly in front of the secretariat to give Secretary Tak some instructions, Yunshin quickly ducked his body in case he might look back again.
Crouching down, he picked up the necktie that had fallen to the floor for no reason and put it back on, feeling a bit wronged.
“He likes me even less…… What does he mean he doesn’t like me? Did I make a mistake? I didn’t. No, he could at least give me a chance to exchange words before hating me.”
The words he had suddenly uttered after leaving him unattended for nearly a month swirled in his head.
The circumstances of his coming to work here weren’t exactly honorable, and since there are bound to be people who simply grate on one’s eyes, he had chalked up Seheon’s discomfort to that. Yunshin too had a corner of his heart that strangely understood the feeling of not liking Seheon very much even though he hadn’t done anything particularly wrong.
However, observing him from the side for a month, there was much to learn from him too. Industry rumors seemed somewhat exaggerated; people said he committed misdeeds daily or gave the impression of being lost in pleasure, but contrary to expectations, he had stayed cooped up in the office working.
He was buried all day in an unmanageable amount of paperwork, and even amid that, he constantly drafted opinions and reports. Even so, he allocated fixed times to repeatedly hold meetings with those in charge of cases and foreign-affiliated attorneys, and squeezed out more time to meet clients.
He even arrived on time and worked overtime almost every day. The one thing that differed from an associate attorney was that on weekends, he rested sharply for two full days.
*Does he go on dates on the weekend? A long-distance relationship? He has that image where you’d think he’d have a Korean-American girlfriend.*
Yunshin muttered to himself inconsequentially inside as he finished the tie knot and was about to sit in his chair, when he paused. Imitating what Seheon had done earlier, he inserted his finger into the narrow gap and pulled it down in a swipe. He tried to untie the neatly tied knot as skillfully as that, but it wasn’t easy.
In the process, a remote thought—that skin might have touched the same spot—flared up like sparks.
*So what if it touched.*
He hurriedly pulled his hand away and straightened his posture, but conscious of having been touched by another man, he felt intensely ashamed and embarrassed.
‘Someday, he’ll probably marry a suitable woman, won’t he?’
He seemed to treat love as the most useless thing in the world, so Yunsin couldn’t possibly imagine him building a harmonious family. Because of that, he was all the more curious. If the timing worked out, he might even be invited to his wedding.
While mulling over these thoughts, he suddenly wondered why he was curious about such meaningless things. He soon shifted his gaze to the documents filling the table. Staring blankly at the stacked white papers, it all felt impossibly distant.
“Let’s focus on this first.”
Yunsin hastily pulled over an acrylic whiteboard and a small timer, placing them in a suitable spot beside the table. Setting aside all tasks for the pro bono case, he moved his seat there entirely. He separated the civil and criminal cases from the mountain of documents, then began speed-reading from the left.
Since his senior was going to evaluate him, he intended to show off and earn the highest score.
* * *
Having buried his head in documents all day, Yunsin straightened his stiff neck with a snap and massaged his nape with his palm as if pressing down. He could feel the muscles tightly knotted. To make matters worse, his eyelids were slowly growing heavy.
“I’m dying.”
Glancing outside the window to check if there was a staff member on duty he could ask for coffee, he let out a sigh at the darkened space. When he checked the time, it was 1 a.m.
Time at the law firm was not divided into morning and afternoon, or day and night. It was divided into two categories: when the lawyers were at work, and when they were not.
Though it was the dead of night, lights were still on in various parts of the office building. It was just that more spaces had gone dark compared to a few hours ago. The seventh floor, where he was, was one of the “royal floors” used by teams handling the firm’s main cash cows, like finance and corporate law. Inevitably populated by a large number of mid-level lawyers, it tended to be comparatively darker than the other floors except during critical moments for cases.
Yunsin realized just two days into work that his room assignment was wrong. He had been given the room across from Seheon, ahead of the team’s senior lawyers.
Since it was Chief Song Mihui who had ordered this arrangement, Yunsin could only guess that she was taking a gamble by placing him within Seheon’s immediate proximity. Given that Seheon hadn’t said anything in particular about it, he suspected it was probably at his sister’s request. So he had acquiesced for now.
“Ugh, this won’t do at all.”
Yunsin got up and headed outside toward the pantry.
Creak—the blinding light slipped out through the half-open door as if fleeing with its tail between its legs.
While Yunsin walked to the end of the hallway, the sound of footsteps echoed from the opposite corridor on the seventh floor. It was Seheon, who had left the office around 9 p.m. for an emergency client meeting.
He had returned briefly because he’d left something behind, and noticed at once that the light in Yunsin’s room was still on and that the door was half open. Seheon reflexively followed the light.
When he opened the door wide, records organizing the case flow in chronological order were visible straight ahead on both sides of the acrylic whiteboard. The layout, with key points written below like a chronicle, was as neat as a model student’s note-taking habits. The prosecutor’s trial preparation documents, the firm’s rebuttals, and even the prosecutor’s counter-rebuttal documents—all evidence and points of contention were recorded in the simplest possible language.
The flow was organized so well that even Seheon, who only had a rough understanding of the case without knowing the details, could grasp it at a glance. To exaggerate slightly, it seemed like one could memorize this and argue in court.
He had given Yunsin only two days. If Yunsin had gone through thousands of pages of documents alone and accomplished this much, he had to give credit where it was due.
“B+?”
Grading like an examiner, he stared quietly at the whiteboard and slightly revised the score.
“No, A-.”
He entered the room leisurely and picked up a bundle of documents gathered around the table. Looking at the first page, it seemed Yunsin had tried his hand at drafting opinions on the admissibility and objection of evidence for each case’s trial.
“But your mindset is still that of an outsider. How am I supposed to teach this?”
It was when he muttered softly to himself and tried to flip to the next page.
Click-clack. The low sound of someone’s heels approaching could be heard. Sensing a presence, Seheon turned his gaze toward the door. Startled to see an unexpected visitor, Yunsin gripped his mug tightly and opened his eyes wide. Having apparently washed his face while he was out, his complexion was paler than usual, as fair and white as a child’s skin.
“Attorney Kang? How are you here at this hour…... I thought you’d go straight home after the external meeting.”
“Fourth-year. Not going home?”
“Ah, yes, I think I’ll have to pull an all-nighter here today. My eyelids are getting heavy, so I went to wash up for a moment. But are you going to keep calling me ‘fourth-year’? I have a name too. At this rate, everyone will forget it.”
He snorted a laugh as if mocking him.
“I’m trying to be as polite as possible because I’m shy around strangers.”
“Calling me ‘fourth-year’ instead of my name is you being polite?”
“Nobody at this firm is going to call you by your name anyway. Everyone will call you a parachute.”
It had been a month since he joined. During that time, no one had approached him first, so at first he thought the firm’s atmosphere was simply aloof. However, after repeatedly encountering people whispering while looking at him in the company cafeteria, he realized that wasn’t the case. He was being ostracized here, and as Kang had said, it was because he was a parachute.
“I had a feeling that might be the case. Secretary Tak said they circulated my profile on all floors of the office building on my first day. Should I ask to move rooms after all?”
“That’s for you to solve. And if you want to be called by your name, surprise me.”
“That will take some time.”
“It’s interesting that you, a young master, sometimes have an unexpectedly good grasp of the situation.”
The moment he finished speaking, Seheon strode forward without hesitation toward Yunsin. For some reason, Yunsin instinctively stepped back. Before he knew it, his back touched the wall. The door beside him was still wide open.
Finally, Seheon came right up to him, and his large hand sharply closed the door that Yunsin had been facing.
Slam. Left alone in the sealed space, Yunsin felt the air in this room was impossibly heavy. It wasn’t the first time Seheon had done something like this without warning, yet it felt that way. Probably because, unlike other times, there was no outsider nearby who would check on what was happening inside.
Nervous, Yunsin stared blankly at Seheon before him. Seheon ignored that gaze and reached out as he pleased, flicking Yunsin’s lush eyelashes. It seemed there was a bit of moisture on them, as he pressed the dampness that had transferred to his ring finger firmly against Yunsin’s lips to wipe it away.
“U-uh, what are you doing……”
Startled by the sudden contact, Yunsin lost his grip on the mug handle and dropped it to the floor.
Clang!
Like a spinning top losing kinetic energy, the cup wobbled a few times before finally falling on its side and spilling pitch-black coffee. The trickling liquid soaked the floor at their feet. Seeing this, Yunsin tried to dab the pooled coffee with a tissue, but Seheon stretched his hand out to block his path.
“Don’t move. I’m not done with what I came here for.”
“But I think I should wipe this up first.”
“I set the priorities of work. The associate follows my orders.”
With that arrogant answer, he gripped Yunsin’s smooth chin and lifted it lightly upward, examining the still-damp area around his eyes more meticulously and carefully. That gaze was stubbornly persistent to a fault. Thanks to that, Yunsin felt all his nerves contract at every spot where Seheon’s eyes touched.
What on earth is this person doing?
He had appeared out of nowhere, and Yunsin couldn’t understand why he was behaving like this at all.
Feeling as if he was being scrutinized, Yunsin tried hard to calm his embarrassed heart internally, and in that moment, Seheon casually asked a question.
“Your eyes are bloodshot. Why?”
“Well. I suppose it’s because I’m tired.”
“Is that all?”
“What more should there be?”
“Well, I wonder too. You should take care of your own business.”
Seheon narrowed his eyes and let go of Yunsin’s chin as if shaking him off. However, his gaze remained locked on that clean face. Facing those sharp eyes for a moment, a sudden hypothesis flashed through Yunsin’s mind.
‘Could he possibly remember what happened back then?’
Come to think of it, Yunsin had simply assumed; Seheon had never actually said, “I don’t remember.”
When they had first met years ago, Yunsin had been crying sorrowfully. And Seheon had stayed by his side for quite a long while, leaning against the wall next to him. Even though they hadn’t even known each other’s names. Seheon had probably guessed from the mourning clothes he was wearing that he was some father’s son, but Yunsin himself had only realized that he was “that” Kang Seheon much later, when he came across an old newspaper article. He couldn’t believe how shocked he had been then.
Feeling bewildered, Yunsin swallowed dryly. Then, to somehow reverse this strange atmosphere, he took out every random thought in his head and put them into words.
“A-Attorney. Back when I was in law school, I was preparing for a mock trial on a crime related to management rights and came across a precedent. It was a breach of trust case involving the president of a savings bank. You know, the one that caused a huge stir in the country about five years ago…... Everyone expected an actual prison sentence, but you managed to get a suspended sentence in the end.”
When Yunsin hastily brought up another topic, Seheon seemed to lose interest in the moisture gathered in Yunsin’s eyes, took a few steps back, and leaned obliquely against the partition. Then he nodded lightly. Relieved, Yunsin added,
“I’ve always been curious. How did you bring out the co-founder who was hiding overseas at that time? When I looked into the case, it seemed the prosecution was certain the co-founder would never appear as a witness. Because if he testified, it would reveal a fatal accounting mistake he had made, and he would be indicted instead of the president.”
Seheon’s complexion, which had seemed to listen to the question in silence, shifted to a subtle hue.
It was because the time when he had handled that case flashed through his mind like a panorama.
What is needed to move others is not tremendous eloquence or great persuasion techniques. What is truly useful is a weakness. Those with much to protect may become strong on their own, but they usually become weak. Things like family, wealth, or honor, for example.
Seheon had no family from a very young age. He thought having wealth or honor would be convenient, but he didn’t yearn for them. It was because he had nothing to protect that he had been able to come this far. Perhaps he hadn’t loved anything in order to climb to the top. But what did it matter? Everyone only remembered the result.
“By doing something your kind would never do.”
And it was also a method that Yunsin would have to learn if he was going to be under him. But Seheon didn’t bother saying that much.
“Did you perhaps offer compensation? That seems like the easiest method.”
He closed his mouth as if leaving it to Yunsin’s boundless imagination. Yunsin, staring quietly at that beautiful face devoid of even a shred of guilt, became convinced that his guess was correct. Soon he spat out his voice in a bitter tone.
“You did. So this place is exactly as I thought—a place that does bad things.”
“It’s a place that makes money. No matter what, isn’t what’s important that I led the co-founder into the courtroom?”
“But it’s still something a lawyer shouldn’t do. Because of that, the co-founder ended up taking on all the president’s crimes too and received an actual prison sentence. What about that person’s life? If you were going to put him on the stand, I think the method should have been legitimate at the very least.”
“He was sentenced according to his sins. I saved my client, separate from that.”
“No. As far as I know, he received almost double the sentence for contempt. And you must have known it would turn out that way. You would have simulated it and put him on the stand, so he’s a sort of sacrificial substitute. The fact that the co-founder was also guilty would have served as a pretty good shield.”
“Is it that pitiful? Then you should’ve appeared like a hero and defended him yourself.”
“I was in law school back then……”
Seheon, who had been trading sharp remarks, suddenly cut off Yunsin’s words mid-sentence. By now, Yunsin was used to it.
“Stop. I had a feeling you’d be exactly like this. That’s why I was against it. I hate kids like you.”
“.......”
“Pathetic. Fourth-year, stake your life too if you’ve already staked your livelihood.”
“Attorney Kang?”
Just as when he had appeared here suddenly, he turned around again abruptly. His insolent, willful attitude that felt like the wind suited Seheon perfectly—someone who seemed to have nothing rough in his life. He left Yunsin’s room without hesitation. Then he stopped by his own office, turned the lights on fully as if to grab something, but soon vanished completely from sight.
The light across the way that had briefly illuminated the front disappeared once more, and once Seheon was gone from view, Yunsin could finally sit comfortably on the edge of his chair.
The coffee he had brought in the mug had already gone cold, leaving stains here and there in his room like a murky stream.
A sigh escaped through Yunsin’s red lips. He touched his lower lip where Seheon’s skin had brushed for no reason, then pulled his hand away because it felt strange. He had changed the subject because the strange atmosphere was embarrassing, but because he was clumsy at such things and couldn’t control it properly, it seemed he had upset Seheon’s mood.
“I can’t turn back time either. I’m going crazy.”
Sitting quietly and chewing over the conversation with Seheon, curiosity suddenly welled up anew.
If an enigma were born as a human, it would be Kang Seheon. Yunsin had never seen a human being so completely equipped as him. Thanks to his tall height and his slender yet firm body, his style was impeccable. Not only that, but he possessed handsome looks that could charm anyone. Moreover, he lacked nothing—extraordinary metacognition, quick wit, a bold personality, and outstanding eloquence. Truly, he was outwardly perfect.
He had so much in both hands. Why on earth did he live having lost all love for humanity?
He had come here with a firm resolve, but things were already creaking before he could even properly begin. Seheon and he had fundamentally different values from the start. Seheon seemed to know that well too.
Crouching down and picking up the cracked mug, Yunsin muttered to himself in a hollow voice.
“Am I going to get fired within a month?”
Recalling the face of his sister who had vehemently demanded that he go abroad, Yunsin hung his head low.