Chapter 38
Turnabout Trial (3)
Having seized the momentum, Rachel’s lips curved upward in a confident smile.
The first case she brought up was the disappearance of Yoo Tae-hoon.
“Out Player number 151 first appeared here. Judging from the location of the incident, the connection to Nam Se-hyun is unmistakable.”
Though officially listed as “missing,” it was widely believed that Yoo Tae-hoon had actually died in that battle.
Moreover, his soul stone had never been recovered.
A heinous crime—illegally seizing a player’s soul stone.
Declaring that such an act could not be overlooked, Rachel moved on to the next piece of evidence.
Beep—!
The next case took place in a parking lot near a Foundation-sponsored commercial shoot.
The suspect had clashed with the Rift Suppression Team’s captain before disappearing without leaving any evidence.
“Fortunately, Team Captain Choi Sung-chul was on site. Otherwise, it would’ve been no different from someone causing chaos right in front of the Korean Branch’s main office.”
And finally—
The most infamous case of all: the Club Moonshine massacre.
Everyone let out a groan.
Even from the photos alone, the word “massacre” came unbidden.
Bodies littered the narrow corridor, torn apart mercilessly.
Blood soaked the floor and walls—an image so brutal that it conveyed the horror of what had taken place.
“Please focus your attention here.”
Rachel pointed at a section of the photo.
At the end of the hallway was an opium den.
Another image appeared—a close-up.
Players lay like hospital patients, tubes injecting a liquid made from dissolved soul stones.
“We shut down the facility as soon as we arrived, but… countless illegal soul stones had already been processed and distributed.”
Rachel’s gaze shifted to Se-hyun.
“The reason you can’t explain your funding… isn’t this why?”
Murmurs spread across the courtroom.
A moment ago, her accusations had seemed baseless. Now, they were taking root as undeniable truths.
“…So that’s how she’s going to play it, huh?”
In truth, Se-hyun had been at the scene.
That was enough for Rachel to twist the facts—forcing the evidence to fit the conclusion that he was the culprit.
Se-hyun could only feel disbelief.
He hadn’t expected the very tip he’d sent through Phantom and Chester to backfire like this.
Even worse—Rachel actually knew who the real culprit was.
After all, he had ordered Phantom and Chester to identify that culprit in the first place.
“So she’s fine with this charade, huh.”
Though the Club Moonshine case was infamous among players, the truth behind it had never been revealed.
The details were too horrifying.
Everyone had collectively agreed to stay silent.
Drawing more attention would only hurt players who already lived in secrecy.
“Objection.”
Just as Se-hyun was swallowing his frustration, Baker raised his hand.
“Those documents merely list crimes committed by Out Player 151. They don’t actually prove that 151 and my client are the same person, do they?”
“…Do you know what my ability is?”
“Pardon?”
“Wave Detection. I can detect and identify stellar energy signatures.”
Indeed—Rachel had used that very ability to record and manage every player’s stellar wavelength in Korea.
She’d even built an entire control system around it.
“I can vouch for the plaintiff’s ability. There’s no dispute there,” said Abe, stepping in.
Baker immediately shifted tactics.
“Fine, then let’s see the evidence.”
But there was none.
Se-hyun had never left any trace.
He wore an artifact known as the Valley of Ashes—a bracelet that masked the flow of stellar energy.
With it, no one could possibly read his energy signature.
Which meant it was impossible to link him to 151.
Yet—
“…A ticket?”
“Yes. You must have one of these to enter Foundation HQ through the National Gallery.”
Baker’s eyes widened—he’d realized her trap.
“Chairman, that’s nothing but conjecture—”
“Objection overruled. Rachel, continue.”
Rachel bowed slightly and resumed.
“The entry ticket in question registered an identical stellar wavelength to that of Out Player 151—perfectly identical.”
The room fell silent.
At this point, doubt had all but vanished.
The jurors’ faces showed clear consensus.
A flawless defeat.
Even Baker, the defense, hadn’t anticipated this.
But then Se-hyun himself spoke up.
“So what you’re saying is… I did all that?”
“…Excuse me?”
Rachel blinked, stunned.
His tone—calm, almost casual, as if this was someone else’s business—infuriated her.
“If you’re planning to play dumb now—”
“Oh, I’m not playing dumb.”
He shook his head.
“That whole ‘Out Player 151’ thing is a label you made up because you couldn’t track me properly. Strictly speaking, I’m not an Out Player, am I?”
She froze.
Technically, he was right.
“Out Players” were those who abandoned the Foundation system—rogue individuals with no regard for rules or responsibility.
But Se-hyun had registered himself as a player.
He had even filed an official application to create a new community.
“That registration was only a few days ago! You’ve been active for over three months!” Rachel protested.
“Oh, that. I didn’t know I had to. No one told me.”
“…What?”
“Yeah, no one explained the process. You didn’t tell me, did you?”
She went speechless.
He had vanished without leaving a trace—so of course he hadn’t been briefed.
Now it sounded like the management team’s fault.
“You told my teammate In-ha, though. I just found out late and filed properly. That’s not a crime, is it?”
Rachel’s lips tightened. She couldn’t respond.
Then Se-hyun began dismantling her argument piece by piece.
“And this Yoo Tae-hoon guy—what does his disappearance have to do with me?”
“…”
“Sure, we fought. I didn’t know what was happening back then and just defended myself. I awakened in the process and drove him off.”
So he admitted to fighting—but denied killing.
It sounded absurd, yet plausible enough.
“Besides, I don’t even have enough stellar power to kill anyone. Your fancy ability should tell you that, shouldn’t it?”
Indeed, the stellar energy on his ticket was incredibly weak—below even meteor-class.
Rachel had focused so hard on the matching pattern that she’d missed the magnitude.
“Or do you have other evidence? CCTV footage, maybe?”
“…”
“You don’t, do you?”
“…”
Unfortunately, the security cameras had been destroyed.
He shouldn’t have known that—but the way he said it, calm and certain, made her seethe.
No decisive proof. No comeback.
“Damn it.”
Se-hyun pressed on.
“The second accusation? I was part of the filming crew. Captain Sung-chul and I just had a brief misunderstanding.”
“So you just happened to meet him on site?” a juror asked.
Se-hyun glanced sideways at Rachel.
“Maybe someone with a sharp tongue wanted to make me look bad.”
“…?”
The juror nodded slightly—then shrank back under Rachel’s murderous glare.
“And as for the third incident—I was simply there under contract. Nothing more.”
“There is a decisive principle at play here,” Baker added.
“Rachel, what’s the first Great Principle?”
“…Why are you asking that?”
The Great Principles—the Ten Commandments of the player community.
Rachel frowned as Baker coolly continued.
“You know it well. ‘Never reveal our existence to outsiders.’ And the second?”
“Obviously, ‘Do not interfere in disputes between players—unless the first principle is violated.’”
Rachel stopped mid-sentence—realizing where he was going.
“Exactly.”
Players could only intervene when secrecy was at risk.
That had justified the management team’s earlier investigations.
But now, since it was proven that 151 wasn’t an Out Player but a registered one, the principle made prosecution impossible.
“You knew this, didn’t you? That’s why you acted as acting authority instead of directly as the management chief—borrowing your family’s power instead.”
The room stirred.
Everyone knew the truth: the Adams family’s patriarch was the First Chair.
No one was naïve enough to think their influence didn’t reach here.
A wave of unease swept through the jurors.
The Foundation governed players because it claimed to be a public institution.
But here they were, watching its power being used for personal agendas.
“What if we were the ones standing there?”
Could any of them defend themselves so eloquently?
“…No.”
Even if they survived the trial, they’d be crushed later by the Adams family’s retaliation.
Procedurally, Rachel wasn’t wrong—she acted as a representative, not as the Foundation itself.
But the optics were disastrous.
It sent one clear message:
“Defy the Adams family—or the Foundation—and we will crush you.”
For years, the Foundation had maintained stability by avoiding such displays of force.
Now, that trust was cracking.
Especially since this case involved community creation, everyone saw how serious it was.
As tension thickened, Baker delivered the final blow.
“Or perhaps… the Adams family intends to use this as a lesson—to tame those who resist?”
His sly gaze met Rachel’s.
Her face froze in horror, and the jurors erupted.
Bang! Bang!
“Order! Maintain order!”
Abe slammed his gavel, silencing the uproar.
It was, in effect, a declaration of defeat.
Rachel clenched her teeth.
Going further would endanger the Foundation’s credibility itself.
There could only be one verdict now.
“Having heard both sides, the panel of three Chairs delivers the following judgment.”
Everyone held their breath.
“The plaintiff, Nam Se-hyun’s, appeal is hereby granted.”
