Chapter 123…
December 20th.
Today is the reunion day for Korea University Law School class of ’08.
I’m walking toward a Korean beef restaurant in Gangnam.
— Huh? A reunion? Didn’t the law school disappear?
You might think that, but the Korea University law alumni association gathers regularly regardless.
Because it’s the ultimate networking jackpot.
To put it bluntly, attending four years of school basically gives you a guaranteed winning coupon.
To give you an idea, here’s something that actually happened.
A senior from the class of ’97 once attended an alumni meeting without even graduating—
because he kept failing the bar exam.
“They said he cried saying nothing worked for him… unlucky zodiac year, unlucky age, everything unlucky.”
A much older senior helped him out, but he failed again and applied to the graduate school just to delay military service.
Another senior wondered, “His grades shouldn’t qualify him. How did he get in?”
They checked and—
He got in by contacting a professor directly, skipping the exam entirely.
He still ended up drafted after failing the bar exam again.
But that wasn’t the end.
Someone hired him as the secretary to the Capital Defense Command’s commander—pulled from a different unit entirely—so he could study in the military.
But again… Fail.
When the bar exam was abolished, he charged into Korea University Law School… and died gloriously in battle.
He applied to lower-tier law schools… also failed.
Depressed because he felt too old to find a job—
He miraculously entered a major defense company thanks to his alma mater (a.k.a. alumni network), resurrected like a beast, and became a man who never refuses dirty work.
Sounds impossible, right?
But back then, it was common.
The very senior members had the mindset:
“Even an idiot from Korea University is better than one from Yonsei or Korea University’s rival campuses.”
Basically: the coupon keeps working until you win.
Especially our year—last class of the old law school—gets extra pampering.
One of those perks is the “Class of ’08 Reunion.”
“Didn’t they say a senior from class of ’87 booked the restaurant?”
In this high-season, year-end rush, how did they get a reservation?
Of course: Korea’s ultimate cartel paid the original customers a fat consolation fee to give up their spot.
Even changed the reunion date and still politely asked everyone to attend unless they had holiday plans.
They knew attendance would be low since it’s the day before the court recess.
Yet they insisted.
With love this intense… you start wondering if they’re planning to charge us later.
Min Ho-jun said Kim Yumi and Nam Ji-hyun always attend together, so they’ll definitely come…
But most people take vacations during recess, so I doubted it.
Anyway, thanks to the senior, things worked out.
“Do-hyuk.”
“Ho-jun?”
“I was about to call you—perfect timing.”
Ho-jun was standing in front of the restaurant holding his phone, just back from valet parking.
“How did you arrive before me? It takes a while from Suwon District Court.”
“My presiding judge is flying to Australia tonight. He let us leave early.”
“Judge power hits different.”
We entered the room; about thirty worker ants were already seated.
“Ho-jun! Long time no see.”
“We met three months ago.”
While the extrovert Ho-jun chatted with classmates, I scanned the room.
Kim Yumi isn’t here yet.
We found empty seats.
“Let’s start with the beef.”
In the middle of eating, Ho-jun suddenly waved.
“Hey, kiddo. Over here!”
Kim Yumi and Nam Ji-hyun finally arrived.
As expected, Kim Yumi stuck right behind her best friend Ji-hyun, just like in college.
But.
This is the first time I’ve seen Ji-hyun since the day of the accident.
The night her mother was hurt, twenty-year-old Ji-hyun called to congratulate me for passing the bar.
Instead, she heard me screaming.
She kept asking if something was wrong, but I was too busy calling 119.
Back then, I had no energy to spare for anyone else.
After my mother died, I was half-crazy digging through Continet’s records too.
She always cared for me as Ho-jun’s close friend, so she must have felt hurt.
Not just hurt—probably conflicted but understanding.
She was younger but more mature than me.
I couldn’t ask, “Were you okay back then?”
So I pretended nothing happened and waved like I saw her yesterday.
“Ho-jun’s little tail is here?”
“Hey! I’m almost thirty! That’s ancient!”
“Still four years younger than me. When are you catching up?”
“Ugh! Even age doesn’t fix you!”
Ji-hyun sat; hesitant Kim Yumi followed.
“Yumi, long time no see.”
“……”
“This guy calls Yumi properly but not me?”
“Well, Yumi’s a person.”
You… not so much.
Ji-hyun tapped the table with her chopsticks in disbelief—
And a voice cursed from behind us.
“What a damn circus.”
We all turned.
The face looked familiar, but I couldn’t recall the name.
“Who’s that again?”
“This guy never changes. No wonder you kneeled to that judge from Anam U.”
“You remembering 400 people is more impressive, honestly.”
“Are—are you calling me a stalker?!”
“What are you even talking about.”
Ho-jun stepped between us.
“You know Do-hyuk’s bad with names. Don’t start.”
“You should stop covering for this embarrassment to our department. He thinks he’s hot stuff because of you.”
“Choi Seok-hyun, stop.”
Choi Seok-hyun?
If it’s THAT Seok-hyun…
The idiot who wrote a love letter to Sun Ryeo-won and pretended he put it in her locker by mistake?
Time changes people.
He used to be a scrawny twig; now his cheeks were full.
No wonder I didn’t recognize him.
And he used to tease Ji-hyun the moment she sat down, asking if she came to meet guys.
Since he was only targeting me now, maybe he’d matured a little.
So with a sigh—“Fix your attitude already”—I smiled.
“Oh, it was you. But how does being a lawyer embarrass the school?”
Total nonsense.
“My knees aren’t noble enough to represent the whole law school. If my pride gets scratched a bit, who cares? A client’s life is on the line.”
“Aren’t you ashamed? Being immortalized as the ‘kneeling lawyer’ in the legal world?”
“If it were shameful, I wouldn’t have done it. You know that better than anyone, don’t you?”
He’s a police officer; he must’ve dealt with plenty of criminals who fall to their knees.
I tapped his arm jokingly—
Hmm? Why is everyone staring?
“Shit.”
Seok-hyun turned red and stormed out.
That was some nuclear overreaction.
“Ho-jun, what’s with him?”
“You roasted him in an elegant way.”
“…I did?”
“He probably heard it as, ‘Aren’t you better than the guy who wrote a love letter and pretended it was a mistake?’”
“He STILL holds that grudge?”
Wait—you too??
“……”
“……”
Okay. My mouth is the problem.
“It’s Seok-hyun’s fault for ruining the mood, so don’t worry. He’ll be back soon giggling and mixing soju-beer like always.”
“Then good. If I leave before he comes back, tell him I’m just socially awkward.”
“Got it.”
“I’ll support the narrative too, though unwillingly.”
Ji-hyun shrugged.
“So, how have you been?”
“Busy, like everyone here.”
“That your introduction?”
“Want to taste fire?”
I handed her grilled beef before she punched me.
I glanced toward the door—
and caught Kim Yumi peeking anxiously.
“Yumi, eat.”
“……”
We kept chatting about meaningless stuff and recent cases.
I occasionally talked to Kim Yumi, but she gave no reply.
Why does she even come here?
She must gain something—why else come every time?
She lacks nothing: family, connections, privilege.
She’s not aiming for an officer role in the alumni association. So why does she always attend? She hates crowded places more than anyone.
…Crowded places?!
Suddenly, my psychometry flashed.
“Don’t get conceited now that you’re an ‘educator.’
Bring in more ordinary people, so you can climb higher.”
Was that the reason?
If she pretended to bring classmates to the church, she could show effort to her father, who disapproved of her.
Given her shyness, who knows how she proselytizes, but it made sense.
If she tries to recruit me… I can infiltrate the True Faith Education Center.
Legally get in, touch objects, psychometrize them, find the church member involved in my mom’s case, and sue them. Case closed.
I just had to wait for her to throw a conversational hook.
And the chance came quickly.
While mixing soju-beer, Ho-jun suddenly threw me onto the chopping board.
“Oh, Ji-hyun. Do-hyuk started studying art.”
“What?? Do-hyuk oppa?!”
Even silent Kim Yumi snapped her head up—eyes sparkling terrifyingly.
“…What? Am I not allowed?”
“That’s not it… but why?!”
“They say it helps with psychotherapy.”
“……”
Silence.
Just as intended, “psychotherapy” made them think of my mother’s case.
I pretended to be casual—helps lower their guard.
“Think of it as rapport-building. A business extension. Lawyers are basically self-employed.”
Yumi and Ji-hyun, both lawyers, laughed.
Which meant it worked.
“Oppa, you know I got therapy from Yumi, right?”
“That’s something anyone can do?”
“She got certified because she’s interested in the field.”
“A certification? Wow. Should I get therapy too?”
Startled, Yumi bowed her head suddenly.
She hurriedly took out a business card and pen.
She slid it across the table.
“If possible, text this number.”
She pushed it back too quickly—
most people would back off, but I didn’t.
“Or at least give me tips for finding a good clinic. Too much marketing everywhere.”
“……”
She stared at the card for a long time, then slowly nodded.
Scratch scratch—
–For art theory: Western Art History, E.H. Gombrich recommended.
–Check the counselor’s academic training & official certifications.
–I’ll text the recommended clinics.
Should I push a little more?
“Thanks. By the way, do I need drawing classes to develop aesthetic sense?”
Yumi tugged Ji-hyun’s sleeve.
“Oh— not necessarily. Aesthetic sense depends on taste.”
“I see.”
“If you get close to someone, they might teach you! They even won awards in college and sell art at the reunion art club!”
“Really?! I should get their card too. And Yumi—contact me anytime. It’s good to help each other.”
After some hesitation, Yumi exchanged cards with me.
A moment later—
a figurative exclamation mark popped above her head.
“……!”
The mission I’d been waiting for was tied to Kim Yumi.
I absolutely have to go get therapy now.
With a legit reason to text her, the True Faith educator—Yumi—would definitely reply.
