The private room felt as sturdy as a robust sailing vessel.
As though floating atop gently flowing waters, Yoon Shin constantly studied Se-heon. There was no way he hadn’t noticed such an openly staring gaze, yet he simply ate in silence.
How much time had passed?
Wiping around his mouth with a napkin, Se-heon looked directly at Yoon Shin before him. Yoon Shin, who had been drinking water, carefully set down his cup.
“You have something to say. Please, go ahead. I’ve finished eating as well.”
“I’ll skip the preliminaries. What is your relationship with Attorney Song?”
Unable to even guess the intent behind the question, Yoon Shin had no choice but to ask back.
“I don’t understand the question.”
“Before you joined, you met three times at a hotel. Once to submit your resume, twice for interviews.”
“That’s right…… how did you know that?”
Se-heon’s expression turned peculiar, his lips twitching strangely. As if to prove it was no misconception, his following question was somewhat lewd for a midday lunch hour.
“Did you sleep with her? I saw you in the suite. Taesan Hotel suite.”
Yoon Shin’s hands, which had been fiddling with a napkin with nowhere to go, froze. His cheeks inevitably flushed.
“What on earth is this……”
He had chosen that place because he hadn’t known how things would proceed, seeking somewhere away from prying eyes.
Each meeting had lasted a little over two hours. His sister’s chief secretary had been present every time. He had listened to Attorney Song explain the firm’s general atmosphere and received advice on how to conduct himself at the company going forward. Yoon Shin had spoken about his sister, himself, and his father, and revealed how he had worked until then. All they had done there was talk.
However, a married senior in the industry and an unmarried junior frequently entering and leaving a hotel together did not look good, so Yoon Shin’s sister had blocked any information from leaking out. That Se-heon had uncovered deliberately hidden facts suggested his intelligence-gathering capabilities were formidable.
“What is your intention in asking this?”
When Yoon Shin asked without hiding his incredulity, Se-heon tapped the table with his fingertip and replied nonchalantly.
“I’m asking in case the two of you are entangled privately. Even if you are Professor Do’s son and a link to the Suhan Group, Attorney Song’s choice is strange. Handam, Taesan, Daeyoung…… I’m one of the few lawyers in this country who has gone up against almost every major corporation. Naturally, I know a great many project secrets. Planting an in-law of a specific corporation beside me? Suspicion is only natural.”
“Do you think there was some connection between my sister and Attorney Song? That I’m some kind of medium selling myself to extract information from her for Suhan?”
“A slim possibility, but it exists. Doesn’t it?”
“What if I had slept with her?”
A voice far sharper than usual burst out. Gazing steadily at Yoon Shin’s somewhat agitated face, Se-heon soon leaned back comfortably against his chair as if deflated. Yoon Shin didn’t know exactly what he had read in his face. But what he read from it was the truth.
“You didn’t sleep with her.”
“Should I sleep with her now, then?”
“Would you? Then you’d merely provide evidence turning suspicion into certainty.”
Up to the point of harboring doubts about him, the logic was sufficiently convincing. It was as Se-heon said. He held vast amounts of corporate information. Had he been in Se-heon’s shoes, he might have thought the same.
But he couldn’t quite understand suspecting Attorney Song—who was close to him and had financially supported him since childhood—of stabbing him in the back.
“What can you even do with that?”
“It would give me grounds to fire you.”
His immediate reply without a moment’s hesitation made Yoon Shin choke up. It wasn’t merely because of the absurd, sexually charged question. Somehow, hearing such awful words from Se-heon’s mouth—asking if he had slept with someone, saying it would be grounds to fire him—felt hurtful. Perhaps because he had been secretly watching him every day, he had one-sidedly built an inner sense of intimacy.
Maybe that was why. He impulsively asked a question he would have been much better off not asking.
“What if I sleep with you, Chief? Then who gets fired between us?”
Even Se-heon, who was always prepared for everything, seemed caught off guard by the unexpected question. He opened his mouth to say something, then soon let out a hollow laugh.
“Why are you laughing?”
“You need to get your concepts straight. Unfortunately, I’m not the one who gets fired—I’m the one who fires.”
“Then no matter who I sleep with, only I get fired.”
“That would be the case. If you want to quit the firm, tell me anytime. I’ll help.”
“I’m not quitting. And I absolutely will not sleep with either Chief Song or Chief Kang.”
He couldn’t clearly tell how this answer had scraped at Se-heon’s feelings. But one thing was certain: it had scraped somewhere. Se-heon’s expression was outwardly calm, yet instinctively Yoon Shin felt the displeasure hidden behind it. Yet no pointed way to deal with it came to mind other than changing the subject.
“T-the two of you are quite different in age, but I heard you are very close friends. That you are extremely comfortable with each other, and that Attorney Song Mi-hee scouted you to Doguk and supported you so you could grow this much. Isn’t that right?”
Fortunately, Se-heon added to this clumsily changed topic.
“So all your close friends never betray each other even if they die and come back to life?”
“You don’t need to put it so extremely.”
“I have no friends. I only have business partners in whom I can trust each other’s competence. That person merely happens to be someone I’ve known a long time. Ah, and I suppose I have one more now.”
His attitude as he briefly gestured toward Yoon Shin with his eyes was elegant. Even while uttering such cynical words, he looked strangely noble, like a scene from a carefully framed art film.
Yoon Shin, dazed into silence like a pitcher who had given up a grand slam, ran his palm down his throat once. Then, as if resolved, he looked at him squarely.
“Excuse me, but—”
“Don’t be excused.”
“Chief, just where did you get so twisted?”
“Shall I send you a brief on why I’m twisted? It’d be a whole epic poem.”
The retort was cold in tone, but he did not seem offended by Yoon Shin’s attitude. Yoon Shin had sensed it before—Se-heon did not seem very offended by relatively blunt words exchanged with a subordinate, at least provided the content was factual.
Yoon Shin was someone who, if convinced he was right, would push it through regardless of age or rank. However, the legal industry was extremely hierarchical. One reason he had never considered joining a large firm was that the vertical relationship was uncomfortable. Their ranks were like heaven and earth, so Yoon Shin always found this open attitude of his a bit unexpected.
Yet in other aspects, he reacted more sensitively than necessary, making him impossible to read. Whether he was a flexible person or a closed-off one—no matter how many times he watched, he couldn’t tell.
“I really didn’t sleep with her. Satisfied?”
“Perhaps. Now I’m even more frustrated.”
“Am I that suspicious?”
When Yoon Shin glanced at his mood and replied as if testing the waters, Se-heon countered without concern as expected.
“No. You’re too simple to be the target of my suspicion.”
“That doesn’t sound like a compliment……”
“It’s not.”
For a moment Yoon Shin pressed his lower lip firmly and stared at him silently. Se-heon, who had been exchanging gazes, also explained calmly, perhaps finding it difficult to get off a ride he had already boarded.
“That was my last suspicion. My head says no, too. But there is always the one-in-ten-thousand chance. Especially irregularities and variables are what you must guard against most. Don’t forget.”
“There should be a limit to that.”
“You said it yourself then. Five years ago, the savings bank president’s embezzlement case. The prosecution seemed certain the business partner would never appear as a witness. What happened?”
Back then, the trial prosecutor, who had grown certain of one thing and hadn’t doubted it whatsoever, designed the trial by completely excluding the possibility that Se-heon’s side would bring the partner. As a result, he had to watch the humiliating sight of the person he had personally worked hard to indict walk free on a suspended sentence. Se-heon seemed to be pointing out that one-in-ten-thousand chance.
Eliminating every suspicious point without gaps was actually a huge advantage as a lawyer. Re-checking even things that could be glossed over was truly doing one’s best for the client, and honestly something worth learning. From the client’s standpoint, Se-heon was a textbook example of a good lawyer.
But only in the professional realm. Yoon Shin didn’t think he could live that fiercely in his own life. If it was a friend he had relied on for a long time, wasn’t it normal to trust them first?
“I’ve thought this from the start—we seem quite different.”
In truth, he had wanted to ask, *Aren’t you lonely living so mentally isolated?* But he couldn’t bring himself to. Perhaps because he couldn’t imagine what answer would come from him.
“I know.”
“Wait. Then if this was your last suspicion……”
“When we return to the firm, Tak will give you a contract. Sign it. If you have the will, of course.”
“Are you serious?”
Se-heon paused briefly, then gave a light nod. Yoon Shin’s somewhat dejected expression brightened considerably. From now on would be the real start. But compared to how his heart had wavered while conscious of Se-heon, who hadn’t so much as glanced at him for over two months, he had indeed overcome a hurdle. Time at a law firm was far denser than ordinary people’s; two months had felt like two years.
“Thank you. For accepting me. I’ll really do my best.”
“Don’t you worry? I told you to examine me.”
“If I were going to agonize over that after joining, I wouldn’t have come in the first place.”
He nodded as if to say he knew as much.
“See, you’re simple.”
It wasn’t praise, but it didn’t seem to be an insult either. Relieved, Yoon Shin smiled slightly, then soon opened his eyes wide. A question gradually settled on his pale face.
“But why are you suddenly allowing this?”
“It’s not sudden. I’ve been watching, and I’ve judged you’re worth keeping.”
“You barely even showed your face. I thought I was the only one who wanted to keep looking.”
Why was he sulking like a lover? Even though it was his own words, Yoon Shin was inwardly flustered. That hadn’t been what he meant, but explaining it would look silly, so he closed his mouth. It would have been better if Se-heon said something, but he merely raised one eyebrow and stared blankly, making the atmosphere even stranger.
Coughing, Yoon Shin quickly changed the subject.
“Then, um, what should I do?”
Checking his watch, Se-heon seemed to think little time remained and answered immediately.
“I asked you to eat separately because there’s something I need to go over first.”
“I’m listening.”
“Fourth-year. As you know, I occasionally do despicable things. Only when absolutely necessary.”
“I know.”
“Do you know specifically?”
“You threaten people using their weaknesses, or bring down solid companies overnight.”
Meeting his eyes as if to say that was correct, he straightened his clothes. Tightening his tie, adjusting his cufflinks—he looked quite skilled. Hated to admit it, but he was impressive every moment.
“Corporate weaknesses, of course. But not just the opposing plaintiff or defendant and their surroundings—I find weaknesses in lawyers, prosecutors, and if necessary, the assigned judge. I love deals, negotiations, expedients, and I’m skilled at lying. I’m not low enough to fabricate evidence from nothing, but I often pretend not to see what is there. Because not being able to see isn’t a crime, unlike not seeing.”
“Are you saying I must follow that from now on?”
Stopping his hand, Se-heon said curtly.
“If you were capable of that, I wouldn’t have taken you out separately for a meal at this busy time. Just work your own way. I’ll only give you what you can do. Of course, occasionally I might order you to do something my way. I may give the order, but if it’s ever exposed externally, all responsibility falls on you, the fourth-year. I’m your supervising attorney, not your nanny. That’s all. Memorize it?”
“I have.”
“And the most important thing. Never open your mouth carelessly about my judgment again. You have no say over me. If I decide to do so, you sleep with me.”
He roughly grasped what Se-heon wanted to say. To an associate, a partner’s word was law. But the example was bewildering, so he fell silent for a moment. Whether his thoughts were read, Se-heon added irritably.
“Don’t make that face. I have no interest in your lower body.”
Silent gazes passed between them as if gauging each other’s strength. Since he was the type to speak his mind, Yoon Shin would have to be careful going forward. As if knowing this worry, Se-heon held Yoon Shin’s gaze, then soon spoke.
“‘This violates the law, this goes against morality, this breaches attorney ethics, why did you go that far?’ I can’t stand seeing such impertinent talk. You’ll have to leave the room.”
“You don’t like being told you’re wrong.”
“Not that I don’t like it—there’s no reason to hear it. I never make mistakes.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Well, this may be the first time I’m wrong. Accepting you.”
As if asking if he meant himself, Yoon Shin pointed at himself. Se-heon didn’t answer, but that reaction alone was answer enough for Yoon Shin. When he smiled awkwardly, Se-heon frowned as if displeased; indeed, the voyage of two people standing at opposite poles seemed unlikely to be smooth. In any case, starting today, the anchor was being raised.
“No matter how I look at it, I seem to be at a loss. Should we renegotiate the deal?”
“Did you make a deal with Chief Song on the condition of raising me? May I ask what it is?”
“Something I’ve always wanted. A kind of freedom.”
The abstract answer meant Yoon Shin had to find the answer himself. One thought did flash through his mind.
“Could it be the profit-sharing ratio?”
Se-heon didn’t answer. That became conviction for Yoon Shin.
“So I amount to money, then? Do you like money?”
“Money is the spoils of victory. I don’t dislike it.”
“It sounds like you don’t especially like it either.”
“I have no time to spend cleaning up messes others make.”
Yoon Shin suddenly pressed his lips shut, recalling Secretary Tak’s words that Se-heon thought of himself as a born subordinate. Perhaps he had seen the essence with remarkable accuracy.
Feeling rather complicated, Yoon Shin sat still; Se-heon, having said all he needed, rose first. He then cast a pitiful gaze as if asking what he was dawdling for.
“If you understood, get up. There’s a mountain of documents to see.”
Only then did Yoon Shin spring up, gather both their jackets, and open the private room door.
* * *
Beside the Doguk Law Firm building was an annex used as an office for the firm’s affiliated nonprofit corporation. Yoon Shin was currently in that office’s social contribution team room.
The corporation had received establishment approval ten years ago, then obtained Ministry of Economy and Finance approval as an official service and donation organization, consistently encouraging lawyers’ pro bono work. The chairman was Doguk’s managing partner, and the board comprised several partner lawyers including Attorney Song. Se-heon was one of them too.
However, Se-heon only donated a set amount annually and had almost no activity record. He seemed never to have set foot in the annex in his years at the firm.
He didn’t try to waste time on such matters. So Yoon Shin was filling the time allocated to him instead. It was, so to speak, the first mission Se-heon had personally ordered.
*He gave me work suited to my strengths, yet why do I feel like I’m being drained?*
Steadying his breath, Yoon Shin recalled Se-heon’s beautiful face, then soon shook his head. He then held out documents to the middle-aged woman sitting before him.
This was a program carried out one day each month, providing free legal consultations to socially vulnerable groups defined by law—the elderly, low-income individuals, career-interrupted women, and so forth. Applications were received by phone or internet and conducted via interview. Making eye contact with the woman, Yoon Shin kindly continued his explanation.
“Madam. Uh… people who leave their place of residence, that is, where they live, and have no prospect of returning for some time are called absentees.”
The inquiry was relatively simple. The woman had scraped together her entire savings to lend approximately 15 million won to an acquaintance she knew well as business capital, but the debtor seemed to have gone missing and had been out of contact for a long time. She asked if there was any way to recover the money. Fortunately, in this case, the debtor owned one commercial unit inside an apartment complex.
Yoon Shin displayed the relevant legal contents on the monitor.
“Here, under Civil Code Article 22, there is something called management of an absentee’s property. Until the absentee returns—that is, until their life or death is confirmed—it is for provisionally managing the assets. Simply put, not only family but creditors as well can become administrators.”
“Then can I become that administrator and get back what I lent? That man has a shop in the apartment commercial building. First floor. It’s his. I lent it thinking he wouldn’t run away because of it, but not a word since……”
“That’s right. You cannot arbitrarily dispose of the property, but you can manage it. Request the court to appoint you as property administrator and ask to be designated. Then you can lease the building to another tenant and collect monthly rent.”
Finding a way to recover, the middle-aged woman’s face brightened.
“Then can Doguk do it for me? The young lawyer can handle it.”
At those words, Yoon Shin shook his head with an apologetic gaze.
“Our firm doesn’t take on individual cases like this. So I worried about how to help and spoke to a lawyer I know. Just give my name there. They’ll help you well.”
“It would be so nice if Doguk could do it……”
“There will be a chance later.”
Yoon Shin wrote down the address and contact of the legal office he had worked at before joining this firm and held it out to her. Looking rather disappointed, the woman nonetheless bowed repeatedly in thanks and left the office.
Feeling mixed emotions—regret at being unable to help more, and satisfaction at having helped to some degree—Yoon Shin examined the next consultee’s documents. He had read them once before coming here, but scanned them again to memorize the exact contents.
“Separated, and the husband is long-term unemployed.”
Displaying the checked statutes on the monitor, Yoon Shin picked up the intercom. He signaled that the next consultee could enter.
Seconds later, a man who looked to be in his thirties entered with a knock and sat down before him. He greeted politely and got straight to the point with admirable efficiency.
“I read the summary document. Your wife agreed to a temporary separation but hasn’t returned home even after the deadline. How long have you been separated?”
“About eight months. Originally we said we’d live apart for three or four months.”
“Hmm, the period has more than doubled. Did you leave any record of your agreement in writing?”
“Nothing like that. Ah, I have a recording. We were conflicted about divorce at the time, so I recorded all our conversations just in case. It’s probably still on my old phone. But do recordings have legal effect?”
“Fortunately, recordings between parties do have evidentiary value. What triggered the separation?”
“I quit my job and studied for a long time. I suffered, but with no results, the conflict kept building. So we decided to take time, get our minds right, and start again. Now I’m done getting my act together and returned home, but my wife has vanished. She quit her part-time job and changed her phone number.”
“With the paperwork unsettled, the wife unilaterally…… What do you want to do, sir? It was roughly written on the application, but too abstractly.”
“I want her to come home. But her family says since we separated, it’s over, and they talk about divorce mediation. I don’t want that.”
Having heard that much, Yoon Shin showed the man the statutes on screen, as he had with the previous consultee. He continued explaining to the man watching the monitor.
“You may have heard. Spouses have a duty to cohabit. Moreover, if the initially agreed separation period was four months, then your wife has indeed failed to fulfill her duty now that more than double that has passed. This cohabitation includes both spiritual meaning and physical relations.”
“So we have to live together?”
Yoon Shin calmly nodded.
“Yes. But the wife hasn’t fulfilled her duty, while the husband has. If there is no intent to divorce, you’ve done well. Even if negotiations fail and it goes to trial, since you have evidence proving your clear will to preserve the family, it would be difficult for your wife to win.”
“Really?”
“However, in these cases I first recommend dialogue. Forcing her to return because she broke the law will likely make her more rebellious. Nine times out of ten, the relationship sours further. I recommend a couples counseling center first rather than a law office. There are several good places in your current neighborhood.”
When he was trying to persuade more sincerely to avoid hurting the man’s feelings, a familiar lawyer appeared with an urgent knock from outside. He was a senior lawyer under Se-heon. He seemed to have come here on business as well.
As Yoon Shin gestured to the man to wait, the senior spoke.
“Attorney Do, Chief Kang is urgently looking for you. You need to go to the main building right away. He said ten minutes.”
“This happens to be my last consultation. Please tell him I’ll go after wrapping up.”
“Not trying to interfere, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. Better to go when called. There’s a team meeting after that.”
“A meeting? This is the first I’m hearing of it.”
“Not a full meeting. It’s a corporate commercial case; several seniors from our team by specialty are on it.”
On the way here, he had checked the time; from the annex to the main building took exactly about nine minutes at a normal pace. Considering the time elapsed since the senior received the message and the additional elevator ride, it would be tight if he didn’t run at full speed.
“Uh, then I’m sorry, but could you perhaps finish this? I beg you. The wife hasn’t returned even though the agreed separation deadline passed. Currently only contact with her birth family is possible, but he has no intention to divorce.”
Pointing at the monitor and explaining briefly, the veteran senior signaled that he understood, having immediately grasped the case. It wasn’t that he was taking on the bother to help Yoon Shin, but because the order he had received was Se-heon’s summons. Whatever the case, he was grateful. Yoon Shin apologized to the man with a genuinely sorry expression.
“He is also a lawyer at our firm. He has much more experience than I, so he’ll help you well. I’m truly sorry, but I’ll take my leave first.”
Fortunately, the consultee agreed readily. Yoon Shin politely bowed again to the two in the room and nimbly exited. He then began running while checking his wristwatch.
“Ten minutes…… I wonder if I can make it.”
His steps grew faster and faster, and his jaw began filling with breath.
* * *
The seventh-floor conference room was bustling.
With a corporate commercial litigation meeting ahead, the team’s lawyers were busy preparing. A private equity firm had filed for damages against a consortium-contracted counterparty for failing to fulfill its stock exchange obligations. This was a preparatory meeting for that litigation. It should have originally gone to the litigation team, but Mi-hee, who was close to the client, had apparently asked Se-heon directly to take it.
Returning from the annex, Yoon Shin stood before the conference room panting. He had come here because Se-heon wasn’t in his office, but no sign of him here either. Yoon Shin reached out to grab a senior lawyer to ask where he was, but he withdrew at once. Everyone looked too busy. This was no different from a battlefield. Yet it was more vibrant than he had expected.
“Make the financial statements look nice, fix the font! You bastard, what’s with this readability? Leave ours, reprint Chief Kang’s. Don’t you know he won’t read it if the readability is bad? You have four minutes. Run! And whoever finalized the corporate law summary for the Chief! Corporate law final!”
“I did it! I’ll do the briefing too. Someone put in a request to recruit more juniors for our team. Make them do this grunt work. Do we look like we have time to prepare for meetings?”
“Precedents! Precedents, precedents!”
“We’re recruiting! Secretary Tak will bring them!”
Watching them work, Yoon Shin felt a bit strange. It felt like a different space from when he used to brief on cases. Since entering here, he had continually felt this emotion. They had the same qualifications and did the same work, yet they seemed to inhabit a different world from his. He had always thought large law firms were places where lawyers grew fat, a massive pillar of Korea’s judicial power. So he had thought they must be terribly dreary. But their work felt far healthier than he had preemptively assumed, leaving him bewildered.
Should he help? But could he butt in without Se-heon’s order? Even if he could, he knew nothing about this corporate case—what should he do first? Was there even a place for him? As Yoon Shin, racking his brain, was about to step inside in a daze to help distribute documents at least, someone who appeared from behind grabbed his thin shoulder. Even through his clothes, he felt the other’s soft skin. Swallowing a gasp, he turned to find Se-heon waiting. The office manager followed half a step behind, hurriedly handing over a document envelope; receiving it, Se-heon gestured for him to go, and the manager bowed and quietly stepped aside.
“Attorney Kang? Where were you? You weren’t in the office.”
“Where are you going, then?”
“The seniors all looked so busy.”
“Do you know how much that case is worth? You’re not yet at the level to join. By the way, I gave you ten minutes. Are you late or not?”
As if confessing guilt, Yoon Shin replied sheepishly.
“Four minutes late. I really ran hard. But I felt the limits of my stamina……”
His handsome eyebrows furrowed slightly. But perhaps because he himself had briefly stepped away, Yoon Shin’s tardiness was somewhat within acceptable bounds.
“Follow me for now.”
He removed his hand from Yoon Shin’s shoulder without hesitation and flicked his finger. Watching Se-heon’s retreating figure, Yoon Shin unknowingly pressed his palm to the shoulder where his body heat had touched. The soft energy he had left still seemed to linger. Realizing what he was doing, he hurriedly followed.
Entering his chambers, Se-heon tossed the envelope and sat sideways on the desk. He then stared fixedly at Yoon Shin, in whom a slight trace of breathless disarray remained.
“Fourth-year.”
“Yes, Chief.”
“Where have you been wandering? Not keeping your post? Don’t make me come looking for you first.”
“Ah, I briefly went to the annex. The pro bono consultation schedule is every fourth Friday of the month. And today happened to be it.”
He gave no answer. He simply fixed a cold gaze and folded his arms. The persistent, tenacious gaze grew burdensome; Yoon Shin looked needlessly at the window facing the hallway. He noticed the blind, which had been drawn almost every day for a while, was fully raised today. Noticing the difference and looking back at Se-heon, he maintained the same attitude. Realizing his slip, Yoon Shin immediately corrected himself.
“I’ll keep my post properly.”
“You spent three times as long as it takes to make rice cakes on a one-hour task, and ‘briefly went to the annex’? You probably meddled where a simple consultation would have sufficed. No one does nonprofit corporation work as diligently as you.”
“Did you see how I was doing?”
“Do you think I saw? I was at the office all day.”
That meant his behavior patterns were that obvious.
“I was just trying to be sincere. Everyone is in difficulty. Moreover, since the record goes up under your name, I thought it better than doing it roughly.”
“Yes, moving. I’m about to cry. From now on, stay up all night and come in tomorrow.”
“No. I’ll manage my time better.”
Shaking his head as if defeated, Se-heon didn’t blame Yoon Shin further. He unfolded his arms and reached one hand behind him. Picking up the document envelope he had briefly set down, he flung it toward Yoon Shin. Catching it reflexively, Yoon Shin’s face showed puzzlement.
“What is this?”
“Your case.”
“Gasp. You’re giving me a case?”
Heavy sensations like trust were carefully woven like fabric over time; they didn’t execute themselves just because one decided on a given day to try trusting. And they were now placing the first thread and shuttle on the loom, beginning to weave the cloth.
It was a very small change, but Yoon Shin was fully satisfied. Thanks to that, joy was evident on his pale face. As if proving it, even his cheeks flushed pink.
Se-heon, watching Yoon Shin standing at the crossroads of dream and reality, had a slight twitch in his cheek. Soon he bit his lower lip firmly. Surprisingly, he looked a bit psychologically cornered.
Whether aware of this reaction or not, Yoon Shin took out the papers inside. He skimmed the case contents. The moment he raised his head, their eyes met head-on. Unexpectedly, Se-heon looked away first. It was the first time.
“Chief?”
“It’s pro bono. You handle it.”
“Really, I get to do this?”
“You’ve done some pro bono since coming here. You have two you’re looking at now too. What’s with the fuss.”
“What I did so far were cases passed around by the firm. This is pro bono given directly by you, Attorney. I’ll truly do my best without causing any shame.”
Se-heon, who had been frowning as if displeased, suddenly spoke as if remembering something.
“Speaking of which, return the two pro bono cases handed to you by other teams to those teams. From now on, listen only to my orders and do only what I give you. You’re on my team. You won’t be drafted without my permission.”
Having said all he needed, Se-heon rose from the desk and straightened up. He then coldly passed by Yoon Shin, who was looking at him like a baby bird. Seeing the conversation about to be unilaterally cut off, a flustered Yoon Shin instinctively reached out and grabbed his arm. An unfamiliar palm touched the hard, bony, firm wrist. In that instant, Se-heon sharply turned his head. His gaze looking down at the grabbed wrist was quite irritated.
Startled, Yoon Shin withdrew his hand and bowed.
“I’m sorry. You said not to touch.”
Se-heon lightly brushed the grabbed spot on his opposite wrist with his large hand and answered.
“Any questions? I need to attend the meeting. Questions within thirty seconds.”
“Um, Attorney Kang.”
“Twenty-five seconds.”
“It hasn’t been five seconds yet.”
“Ten seconds.”
He had something clear he wanted to say, but as Se-heon kept reducing the numbers arbitrarily, he grew flustered and couldn’t think. Yoon Shin moved his lips and slowly opened his mouth. Carefully raising his gaze, he saw Se-heon’s sharp eyes watching him attentively. Yet for some reason, the end of that gaze seemed to touch not his eyes, but his lips.
Was it his imagination?
Surely it was his imagination.
“Well……”
It didn’t seem like his imagination.
“Time’s up.”
“Hasn’t it been less than thirty seconds?”
“Is that your question? It’s passed, just now.”
Glancing at the clock with his chin, he strode out on long legs.
Slam. The door closed.
In a reversal where the host vanished in an instant leaving only the guest, Yoon Shin struggled to organize his thoughts. It was a fleeting thought about the desire to observe this place, and him, a little more.
When he first came here about two months ago and waited for Se-heon, he had been too nervous to observe in detail. Now, finding himself alone in a similar situation, he recalled *Great Expectations*, which he had seen on Se-heon’s desk that day. The impulse to check whether he had really reread that book because of him rose meaninglessly.
*What do I do.*
Peeking furtively at the secretariat beyond the window, Yoon Shin felt as if he had received some tacit permission. Because Secretary Tak, the office manager, and support staff were all away for meeting preparations.
Carefully hugging the file to his chest, Yoon Shin glanced over Se-heon’s desk. But atop it were only two laptops and a few casebooks; the book was not there.
*Well, no matter how busy, two months is plenty to read it bit by bit.*
Feeling needlessly disappointed and turning around, Yoon Shin’s eyes reflected *Great Expectations* lodged in the bookshelf. Drawn to it, he approached and took out the first volume of the two, opening it. Se-heon seemed to read books cleanly; there were no underlined passages or index stickers. Swallowing his disappointment as he was about to put the book back—
Tap. A very thin, elongated gold bookmark was caught under the book. Pulling it up and opening to that page, a familiar quote filled Yoon Shin’s vision.
*How dreadful must it be for a person to look up at the countless stars twinkling in the night sky and freeze to death, unable to find any hand of help or sympathy.*
It was the passage he had cited in court.
Seeing it, his face suddenly grew warm. Pressing his cheek with the back of his hand, Yoon Shin quickly put the book away and fled the office. Entering his room across the hall, he firmly locked the door and pulled down the window blind he had never once lowered since coming here. Only after being completely cut off from the outside world could he lean against the wall and catch his breath.
It could really be coincidence, but if so, everything surrounding this situation was too plausible. It was merely a very famous book by a great writer, and might not carry any grand meaning. But anyway, it was as if he had made him—who was buried in work every day with no time to spare—do something, and that felt slightly strange.
Recalling instinctively the moment just before when Se-heon’s gaze had precisely touched his lips, Yoon Shin bit his lips tight.
“Why on earth……”
Why do I feel as ashamed as if my secret were discovered?
Though the only place he had touched Kang Se-heon just now was his wrist, it felt as if they had kissed.
He let out a long breath mixed with bewilderment and swallowed dryly.