The early spring sun filtered through the law school's arched windows, casting warm light across the main lecture hall. The room buzzed with anticipation.
Today was the first inter-departmental legal symposium of the year—an annual tradition where law, economics, and political science students came together to present case arguments and mock policy debates. A stage for rising stars. A grooming ground for the ambitious.
Kang Joon-ho sat in the third row, hands clasped, listening intently. The panelists were already seated onstage.
To his left, Yoo Sae-bin—sharp, poised, her eyes darting over her notes.
To his right, a familiar name echoed in his memory: Seo Do-yoon, heir to a mid-level conglomerate's legal team, and future executive at C&T Group.
In his past life, Seo Do-yoon had become one of the architects behind the legal scaffolding that protected C&T's criminal empire. He had drafted contracts that legalized corruption, masked environmental disasters, and even helped bury evidence from whistleblowers.
At age 22, Seo Do-yoon looked harmless—young, confident, immaculately dressed in a tailored gray suit. He had a disarming smile and a handshake that gripped too tightly.
But Joon-ho remembered the headlines:
"Justice Delayed Again—Whistleblower in Water Scandal Mysteriously Disappears."
"Seo Do-yoon Acquitted. Evidence 'Inconclusive.'"
"C&T Group Not Liable for Pollutant Leak, Rules Court."
A phantom chill ran through Joon-ho's chest.
He hadn't just watched that man destroy lives. He had helped him.
Not this time.
"Next panel: Corporate Law and Public Accountability," the professor announced. "Representing different stances on regulatory reform, please welcome Seo Do-yoon and Kang Joon-ho."
Applause scattered across the room.
Joon-ho rose.
So did Seo.
Their eyes met.
And for a flickering second, something unreadable passed between them. Recognition? Doubt? Or perhaps just curiosity?
They took their seats on opposite ends of the panel table.
Do-yoon spoke first.
"Thank you, Professor Choi. My stance is simple: businesses, while regulated, must be granted a reasonable margin of trust. Overregulation strangles growth. It forces corporations to outsource, cut domestic jobs, and bypass legal systems with private arbitration—which weakens the very courts meant to protect the public."
He paused, allowing his words to land.
Smooth. Well-practiced. Calculated.
Do-yoon leaned back, smiling politely.
"Of course, I defer to my colleague, Mr. Kang, for his rebuttal."
Joon-ho adjusted his mic.
"For too long, we've equated 'business success' with legal immunity. When a corporation causes harm—whether it's through wage theft, pollution, or fraudulent contracts—it should not be protected by its economic weight. If the law doesn't apply equally, it becomes a weapon for the powerful. Not a shield for the people."
A few students nodded. Others murmured.
He continued.
"And I'd like to address a specific hypothetical: Imagine a manufacturing company dumps industrial waste into a rural river. Over time, it causes illness, birth defects, and devastates local farms. But they bribe inspectors, manipulate lab results, and silence reports."
His voice grew sharper.
"Now imagine the legal team that drafts the contracts to hide it. The lawyers who advise that whistleblowers be discredited. Are they innocent?"
The room went silent.
Seo Do-yoon's expression didn't change.
But his fingers, ever so slightly, tapped the table.
A nervous tic.
Got him.
Do-yoon finally spoke, lips curled into a tight smile.
"Mr. Kang brings up an emotional case—one that implies guilt before trial. But our legal system runs on facts, not hypotheticals or outrage. Emotion should not replace evidence. And corporate law, while flawed, exists to maintain balance between economic growth and social accountability."
"That balance has always leaned toward power," Joon-ho said calmly.
"Then change the power," Do-yoon replied. "But don't pretend it doesn't serve a purpose."
Their exchange drew more attention than any panel before it. Phones came out. Students whispered.
It wasn't just a debate.
It was the beginning of a war.
---
After the session, students surrounded both panelists.
Sae-bin stood near the bulletin board, arms crossed, watching the crowd with a furrowed brow.
"You handled him well," she said as Joon-ho approached.
He raised an eyebrow. "You're complimenting me?"
"I'm just acknowledging tactics. You chose emotional rhetoric against economic logic. That only works because most people are still too naïve to understand long-term market implications."
He chuckled. "So you're saying I won?"
"I'm saying you played the crowd better."
There was a pause between them.
Then she added, "That example… the river and birth defects. Was that real?"
"Will be," he said softly. "If no one stops it."
She studied him for a long moment, then nodded.
"I'm applying to intern at the Prosecutor's Office this summer," she said. "You should too."
Joon-ho tilted his head. "Didn't expect you to offer that."
"I need someone to argue with," she replied, already walking away. "Otherwise it'll get boring."
He smiled.
A spark lit. A connection forged.
---
That evening, as he left the main campus gate, he found someone waiting by the brick wall.
Seo Do-yoon.
No entourage. No smile this time.
Only quiet intensity.
"You're not just a student," Do-yoon said.
Joon-ho kept his face neutral. "Neither are you."
"You were too specific. That case you brought up. No news has covered anything like it yet."
"I like reading environmental records," he said with a shrug. "Public data. If you know where to look."
Do-yoon stepped closer.
"Some people dig too deep. They get buried."
"And some people bury others and still end up under investigation. I guess it evens out."
Silence.
Then Do-yoon smiled, not warmly—but with veiled malice.
"I'll remember this, Kang Joon-ho."
"Good," Joon-ho said. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't."
---
That night, Joon-ho stared at the ceiling of his dorm room.
He had poked the bear. Deliberately.
In his past life, he was a cog in the machine. Now, he was a thorn.
And thorns bleed.
But the fear that once clutched his chest had become something else—fuel.
If Seo Do-yoon was already circling, then it meant his path was correct.
Now, he needed to move faster.
He pulled out his notebook again.
New Entry: Threats in Motion
Seo Do-yoon – Alert. Possibly suspicious. Avoid direct conflict for now. Monitor C&T recruitment at the university job fair.
Yoo Sae-bin – Potential ally. Invite her to help with tenant eviction clinic. She needs to see corruption up close.
Professor Han – Arrange one-on-one to warn him about academic pressure from corporate donors.
Then, at the bottom, he added a line:
"A crooked system will protect its roots. Start by exposing the soil."
---
Two days later, he began volunteering at the free tenant clinic Professor Han oversaw on weekends.
It was a dusty office in the basement of a community center. Flickering lights, a single printer, and stacks of crumpled papers on every surface.
Joon-ho worked quietly—sorting forms, filing complaints, calling landlords.
The clients weren't students. They were old men with broken knees, single mothers with eviction notices, and teens working two jobs just to pay for electricity.
It was here, in the dirt and noise of real pain, that he saw it again:
The reason he had once become a lawyer.
Not for glory. Not for power.
But for change.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Professor Han:
"Sae-bin just signed up for clinic duty. She'll be here next weekend. Said she wants to understand what you're doing."
Joon-ho smiled.
One ally at a time.
—