The relentless buzzing of the fluorescent lights in Haneul & Partners' Public Interest Division drilled straight into my temple. I rubbed the grit from my eyes, my fingers coming away smeared with cheap printer ink. My grey suit, bought off the rack at a discount store two years ago, clung to my back, heavy with the stale sweat of a fourteen-hour shift.
I hadn't slept in two days. The air in the cramped basement office tasted like burnt vending machine coffee and despair. This was where Haneul dumped the cases that didn't pay—and the lawyers they didn't care about.
"Jin Tae-Rin."
A thick, frayed file slammed onto my desk, kicking up a tiny cloud of dust that danced in the harsh light.
I jolted, spilling a drop of lukewarm, black coffee onto my knuckles. It burned, but I barely felt it. I looked up. Senior Attorney Choi Hyun-Woo stood over me. His tailored Italian suit didn't have a single wrinkle. He smelled of expensive sandalwood cologne and the roasted garlic from the premium Hanwoo beef restaurant across the street—a place associates like me could only stare at through the windows.
"Read it. Trial's tomorrow morning at nine," Choi said, his voice flat, already turning away.
"Tomorrow?" I grabbed the file, my heart sinking. "Senior, it's 6:00 PM. I haven't even met the client yet. I haven't seen discovery."
Choi stopped. He turned slowly, his polished leather shoes squeaking against the linoleum. He looked down at me with eyes that held absolutely no warmth.
"Then you better run, Rookie. It's a petty theft. Convenience store robbery. Open and shut."
"If it's open and shut, why are we taking it on a day's notice?"
Choi sighed, the sound loud in the quiet office. A few other associates pretended to look at their monitors, avoiding my gaze. "Because the firm needs pro bono hours to keep our municipal tax breaks, and you need to justify your meager existence here. Just go down to the holding center, get her to plead guilty, ask for a suspended sentence, and wrap it up by noon. Don't make a mess."
He walked away without another word. I looked down at the file. The name on the tab was Lee Ji-Won.
My stomach twisted into a tight, sour knot. I grabbed my battered briefcase and ran.
Seocho Police Station smelled like wet floorboards, stale cigarette smoke, and human misery. I sat in a cramped interrogation room, the cold metal chair digging into my lower spine. The air conditioner was broken, leaving the windowless room suffocatingly hot.
Across the scratched aluminum table sat my client.
Lee Ji-Won. Nineteen years old. She looked smaller than she should. Her hair was dyed a faded, brassy blonde, the roots showing jet black. She wore a stained, oversized t-shirt, shivering despite the heat. She chewed viciously on her thumbnail, her dirty sneakers tapping a frantic, uneven rhythm against the floor.
I opened the file and slid three glossy photos across the table. They were stills from a grainy CCTV camera. They showed a figure in a black, oversized hoodie leaning over a cash register, grabbing a handful of bills while the clerk's back was turned.
"That's you," I said. My voice sounded thin, tired, entirely unconvincing.
She didn't even glance down at the photos. She just stared at the blank wall behind me. "I didn't do it."
"Ji-Won." I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. "The hoodie in the video matches the exact one the police found shoved in your gym locker. The clerk identified you from a photo lineup. And... you have two prior offenses for shoplifting on your record."
I rubbed my temples. The headache was spreading to the back of my neck. "The evidence is overwhelming. If you confess right now, I can talk to the prosecutor. We can argue extreme financial hardship. You're young. We might get you a suspended sentence. You won't have to go to jail."
"I said I didn't do it!"
She slammed both hands flat onto the metal table. The sudden, violent noise echoed in the small room, making my heart jump against my ribs. Her dark eyes snapped to mine. They were wide, bloodshot, and filled with a frantic, animalistic panic.
"I was at the PC cafe down the street! I didn't take that money!"
I held her gaze. I've met liars before. Guilty clients usually had a certain sullen resignation to them. They bargained. They deflected. They didn't scream with this kind of raw, desperate fury unless they were incredibly good actors. Or unless they were telling the truth.
"Do you have a receipt from the PC cafe?" I asked, keeping my tone perfectly steady, trying to anchor her.
"I paid in cash!" She dragged her hands through her hair, gripping the roots tight. "The guy working the counter knows me. I'm in there every Tuesday. But the detective said he went there, and the guy said he didn't remember me being there last night."
She slumped back in her chair, the fight suddenly draining out of her frail body. She looked at my cheap suit, my exhausted face, and let out a bitter, hollow laugh.
"It doesn't matter anyway," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You don't believe me either. You're just like the cops. Another suit checking off a box."
I swallowed the dry lump in my throat. I wanted to tell her I believed her. But I was twenty-seven, drowning in eighty million won of student debt, clinging to the lowest rung of a ruthless law firm. In this world, belief didn't win cases. Hard evidence did.
And right now, I had absolutely nothing.
1:00 AM.
My apartment was a shoebox in the cheap district of Sillim-dong. The floral wallpaper was peeling near the single window, and the air inside was thick and stagnant, reeking of the spicy cup ramen I'd eaten for dinner. I sat cross-legged on the thin linoleum floor, the contents of the case file spread out over a wobbly folding table.
I read the police report again. It was airtight. And worse, I saw the name of the prosecutor assigned to the trial tomorrow.
Prosecutor Han Seo-Young.