Chapter 36
Turnabout Trial (1)
“It’s dark in here even though it’s the middle of the day.”
“That’s just how this guy likes it.”
The interior was dimly lit, with barely any sunlight coming in — only a few faint bulbs illuminating the space.
The shelves were cluttered with stacks of books and papers that gave off the rich scent of ink and parchment. On the walnut desk sat a glass of whiskey and a half-smoked cigar resting in an ashtray.
“This place is amazing. Feels like I just time-traveled.”
Inha’s eyes sparkled as she looked around the office.
The room’s decor exuded a gritty, hard-boiled 19th-century vibe — the kind you’d expect in a black-and-white detective film.
“I should be the one saying that, miss.”
Across the desk, Baker took a sip of coffee, his expression weary.
“How the hell did you block it? My bullet, I mean. That’s not something you can stop so easily.”
He wasn’t bluffing.
[Zeroing Fire] —
A skill that poured concentrated astral power into a single bullet, greatly amplifying its power and penetration.
His bullets didn’t just pierce body armor — they tore through barricades and plating like paper.
Of course, it wasn’t all-powerful. Its range barely reached twenty paces, and ammo capacity was severely limited.
But within those limits, it was unbeatable.
Sehyun had essentially blocked an invincible bullet.
“He didn’t dodge… didn’t seem to use an ability either…”
“Curious, are you?”
Sehyun smirked.
The answer was simple.
Under his shirt, he wore a black turtleneck that shimmered faintly blue if you looked closely.
It was made from “shape-memory fluid” — a special material harvested from the Floor Forest not long ago.
Normally soft and flexible like fabric, but when infused with astral power, it hardened like Kevlar.
The stronger the astral power, the tougher it became — a natural counter to Baker’s ability.
(He could explain all that, but that wasn’t why he was here.)
“I’ll tell you after you hear my request. Considering you shot at me without warning, that’s fair, right?”
“…Tch. And who barged into whose office uninvited?”
Baker grumbled, taking another gulp of coffee.
“You could’ve just picked up the phone.”
“Calling back a few times is basic courtesy, isn’t it?”
“I was in a hurry.”
“And what’s so urgent that you have to storm into someone else’s office?”
Sehyun pulled out an envelope and an application form from his coat and slid them across the desk.
Baker took them and gave a cursory look.
“Hmm…”
Then he shook his head and set them down.
“I get the situation. You’ve got a raw deal, sure… but there’s nothing I can do for you.”
“Did you actually check properly? I heard you help people with this kind of thing.”
“Haa… kid, listen.”
He lit his cigar, puffing out a ring of smoke.
“It’s true I work as a lawyer for players. I do help those who’ve been wronged. But… the kind of work I take on is mostly—”
He went on about his cases at length, but in short: he wasn’t taking this one.
Sehyun barely listened.
(Yeah, yeah. Sure you don’t.)
He knew exactly what kind of person Baker had been before the Apocalypse.
And he knew the “player defense lawyer” title was mostly a façade.
If Baker truly wanted to help the weak out of goodwill, wouldn’t he be helping civilians caught in player disputes instead?
The truth was, how unjust something was didn’t matter to him.
His real focus was on players who had been cast aside — those who resented the Foundation’s hierarchy of power.
(He’s looking for players with grudges against the Foundation… to recruit them.)
When he reviewed Sehyun’s paperwork, he wasn’t just reading it — he was assessing whether Sehyun was recruit material.
But… the documents didn’t say much.
Three months of rift entry experience, but player registration only done yesterday, and no listed ability.
To Baker, that screamed “newbie.”
Not worth his time. Better to dismiss him quickly.
“…So, like I said. The Foundation’s decision is final. I can’t—”
“Stop there.”
“…Huh?”
“I heard enough excuses. Maybe read that application properly this time, before word gets out you’re a lazy lawyer who drives away clients.”
Baker froze mid-sentence, caught off guard.
“W–What are you talking about, I didn’t—”
“There’s more than just the background, isn’t there?”
“…Tch.”
He clicked his tongue and glanced through the papers again — and stopped near the bottom.
“…What the hell is this massive amount?”
“Now you’re paying attention.”
It was a lot of money — far too much for an unregistered, unaffiliated individual to handle.
And more importantly…
“Don’t tell me… they refused the donation too?”
“Strange, isn’t it?”
Baker stood abruptly, pushing his chair back.
“…Excuse me a moment, kid.”
Shrrk—
He closed the curtains tight, darkening the already dim room.
“…Huu.”
Only the red glow of his cigar remained in the pitch-black office.
“Sorry, I can’t think properly unless it’s dark—”
“About a seventy percent drop in cognitive performance, right?”
“…Huh. Been digging into me, have you?”
Of course, Sehyun had heard that from Hai Il-Hwan.
Meanwhile, Baker gathered his thoughts, smoke curling in the air.
‘Nam Sehyun, huh.’
Awakened only about three months ago.
A late registration — probably avoiding the Foundation’s radar for personal reasons.
(So they didn’t part on good terms…)
But that alone wouldn’t make the Foundation instantly reject his community registration.
Especially not when such a large donation was attached.
Even with major red flags, they’d usually at least review it.
(Usually takes a full day, minimum… but this was denied within an hour.)
Too fast.
Almost like someone wanted it denied.
That left two options: either a lazy clerk… or outside interference.
Given how the Foundation had been operating lately, the first was unlikely.
(If they were sloppy, I wouldn’t be struggling this much myself.)
Which meant someone with enough authority to override the usual approval process.
Someone who could act freely — and ignore the consequences.
(Not your average Foundation official.)
If Adam of the Adams family was the one truly leading the Foundation…
(Wait… there was that announcement yesterday.)
A new acting authority had just been appointed under Adam.
An “acting representative” — a title granting near-total power, yet little accountability.
And that position usually went to the heir.
(If this was their first move as successor…?)
Too speculative… but worth investigating.
Because anything involving the Adams family was Foundation business.
“Tell me — does this have anything to do with the Adams family?”
Sehyun’s eyes widened.
He’d only given Baker a letter and a form — yet the man had already reached the Adams family by deduction.
(Guess I really did come to the right person.)
He’d chosen well.
“So? Interested now?”
“…I’ll admit, that’s some intriguing information. But something still bugs me.”
Through the haze of smoke, only Baker’s face was faintly visible.
“Why bring this to me?”
“Because I know you’re not just some ordinary lawyer.”
“…!”
Ash fell silently from Baker’s cigar.
“Jack Baker, leader of the Scottish faction. I’m here to negotiate — community to community.”
The Highlanders.
A Scottish-based community that stood in opposition to the English-based Foundation.
In truth, this was less a “request” and more a deal.
Sehyun knew Baker was looking for a crack in the Foundation — and had brought him one.
“I get to establish my community without interference. You get a chance to land a blow on the Foundation. Not bad, right?”
It was a tempting offer.
This was exactly the kind of scandal Baker wanted — a visible chink in the Foundation’s armor.
But still, his face didn’t brighten.
“Funny thing is… it’s too convenient. Feels like this request came right on cue.”
“…?”
“Too sweet. And things that sweet usually hide a trap.”
It was a deal that seemed to favor him far too much.
And that always meant danger.
“I can’t just swallow this without a reason.”
“Hmm…”
In short, he needed a guarantee.
But Sehyun wasn’t going to explain everything.
“Do you guys need a reason for what you’re doing?”
“…What?”
“As long as our goals align, that’s enough, isn’t it?”
“…”
“And at least one thing I can promise you.”
A grin crept up Sehyun’s face.
“I’m going to screw the Foundation over. Hard. That’s why I came here.”
Baker stared blankly as Sehyun’s eyes gleamed.
“I’m sure you’ve already got plenty of plans written up.”
“…!”
“I’ve opened the gap — all you have to do is fit my case into your scenario.”
Baker flinched — then chuckled.
“…You’re not wrong.”
He picked up the phone.
“Yeah, it’s me. Bring all the files on the Foundation’s ties to the Adams family. And everything on Rachel Adams’ movements.”
Click.
He set the receiver down and grinned, extending his hand.
“Let’s make it work, kid.”
“My pleasure.”
Sehyun shook his hand firmly.
Three days later.
Foundation Tribunal.
At the top of the courtroom stood three elevated seats reserved for the board’s ruling families.
To the left sat the petitioner — the one challenging the decision.
To the right, the Foundation’s representatives.
The jury and audience were filled with players from various communities, selected under the guise of fairness.
If someone disputed the Foundation’s ruling, a trial would be held to publicly demonstrate its fairness.
“Not that any of these objections ever get accepted.”
Rachel smirked, flipping through the files.
The so-called “impartial jurors” were all Foundation sympathizers.
Anyone aware of this setup wouldn’t even bother filing an appeal.
After all, everyone knew the trial was just for show.
“So, he’s still trying to make a last stand? And the day before departure, no less.”
Rachel couldn’t believe Sehyun actually filed an appeal — but fine, this worked even better.
She’d use this chance to publicly crush him, to make it clear that defying the Foundation was pointless.
After today, he’d remain a powerless individual — permanently.
“If you wanted to get at me, you should’ve picked a smarter way, Nam Sehyun.”
Just sitting in that defendant’s seat meant the end.
All that remained was to strip him bare and humiliate him in front of everyone.
“So this is how it ends, huh, Rachel,” said a deep voice.
The Adams patriarch, Abe Adams, spoke before taking the chair.
“You didn’t have to come in person, Father.”
“I just wanted to see the face of the one who’s been giving you trouble. But…”
He glanced around the courtroom.
“…he’s not here yet, I see.”
“Well, it’s not exactly easy for him to show up.”
Five minutes left until the session opened.
The seats were full — except for the petitioner’s.
At this rate, it would end quickly as a default judgment.
The murmurs in the audience grew.
(Is this really going to end this easily?)
Rachel smirked.
(Not a bad outcome either way.)
One minute left.
Abe calmly raised his gavel.
“Since the petitioner has failed to appear, this hearing will—”
“Your Honor.”
An officer burst through the doors, whispering urgently to Abe.
“The petitioner, sir — he just barged right in—”
BANG!
Before the officer could finish, the courtroom doors slammed open.
Step, step.
The sound of boots echoed through the chamber — and silence fell.
A man strode in, glancing briefly at the clock over the entrance.
“Hoo… didn’t start yet, right? First time here — ran a bit late.”
“…The petitioner is expected to appear ten minutes prior.”
“Hmm… my apologies.”
Sehyun walked casually to the petitioner’s seat and sat down.
“…”
For a moment, no one spoke.
Arriving one minute before session, utterly calm, empty-handed — not even a hint of nerves.
“Well? Aren’t we starting?”
“Ahem…”
Abe cleared his throat awkwardly, raising the gavel.
Bang, bang, bang!
“Then — court is now in session.”
