TLWSL 122

Chapter 122…

The place where writer Lim Seung-chan was receiving emergency treatment was the Gangnam Branch of Korea University Hospital, near the Seoul Central District Court.

This was the same hospital where his mother had been pronounced dead after a car accident.

“I could never forget that day.”

Doctors had rushed over suddenly, saying there was an arrest, as he watched his mother in the ICU. They pressed on her chest, applied a defibrillator, administered some drugs, shouted, and ultimately notified him of her death with a beep.

At the time, he couldn’t believe it.

He had thrown a fit, asking why they were removing her oxygen mask when she was still alive. But after Choi Jae-woo’s scolding—asking if Seoyoung had kept him alive just to see that—he reluctantly accepted that his mother had passed. Otherwise, he couldn’t even breathe.

Even when he was sick enough to be hospitalized while trying to investigate his mother’s case, he avoided this hospital.

Back then…

“I just didn’t think I could come.”

He would have likely gone into a rage demanding they save her, blaming himself for not preparing for medical school alongside Choi Jae-woo in high school. The guilt in his mind twisted him, leading to forbidden thoughts: why would his mother leave him when his future was bright?

“Back then, I was just a kid with a big head.”

His mother’s death was a shock, and he only had her as family; he was just a scared child.

Compared to his trauma with cars, hospitals became easier to bear, but he never thought he’d come to the Gangnam branch. During his time at Continent, he even moved so that 119 would take him to a different hospital if he collapsed at home.

Later, when Choi Jae-woo teased him about not always going to the nearest emergency room, he was a bit stunned—but still.

“To think I’d come here again.”

He knew something was off, but it felt like his mother’s retrial was approaching, leaving him with strong emotions. Even after remodeling, the emergency room doors were exactly where they had been ten years ago.

Momo Publishing’s CEO rubbed his cold hands together.

“CEO Kim.”

“Representative Cha!”

“If I called, you’d come out anyway, wouldn’t you?”

Despite dressing warmly, the early morning blizzard advisory made the chill severe.

“Someone kept urging me to greet you. Just kidding, just kidding.”

“I see.”

With his stern expression, Lim Seung-chan really seemed tense.

“If I hand things over to the representative, I can rest a little more, right? My mouth is saying what my head is thinking.”

CEO Kim chuckled and pointed toward the open door.

“Go on in quickly.”

“CEO Kim, won’t you ask about the trial results?”

He was probably most curious about that.

“I can tell just by looking at your face. Go in, walk straight to the right, and the medical staff will be gathered there—you’ll see it immediately.”

They shared a hand squeeze, acknowledging their shared hardships.

As CEO Kim moved toward the underground café, he headed into the emergency room. Walking to the right, as instructed, he arrived at the station.

Among the busy medical staff making frantic phone calls, Lim Seung-chan saw the calm writer.

He looked healthier than when he had been in court.

“Lawyer Cha!”

“Writer, are you okay?”

“Of course. I thought I’d get sick after acting like a fool since early morning.”

“…I see.”

Lim Seung-chan, smiling with his Jeju dialect, laughed.

“Thanks to you, I survived.”

“I just followed the plan you prepared.”

“Embarrassingly. But what happened? I’ve been nervous the whole time.”

He joked that when Lawyer Cha came in, it felt like a scene from an F4 drama soundtrack.

“Oh, that song that starts with ‘Oh oh, Paradise’?”

The laughter leaked out.

“We secured both the original and sole credits.”

“Ohhh!”

If it ended there, it wouldn’t be Cha Do-hyuk.

“We also got the same contract amount of 100 million won from Choi Geon-ha and 60 million won in damages as a bonus.”

“Ehh?!”

He spoke so loudly it was as if he forgot this was a life-and-death space.

“Really?!”

“Please lower your voice a little.”

“Can I?”

He nodded.

“Madphil CEO Lee Je-min said that if the writer allows, the work’s title will become ‘Money War,’ and Choi Geon-ha’s name will be removed from the poster. No appeal either.”

Choi Geon-ha was a problem, but Lee Je-min handled it, so all they had to do was watch.

“Wow… ah.”

All the hardships passed in a flash, and tears welled in Lim Seung-chan’s eyes.

“Why am I like this? I’m supposed to be tough in Jeju.”

He handed tissues to the writer wiping his tears on the patient gown.

“A fellow writer said that copyright cases are hard to win, no matter the evidence. Maybe that’s why I expected to lose.”

“That used to be true, but things are different now. Especially with your copyright registration and detailed creative notes—you won thoroughly.”

Past rulings focused on the feeling of essential features, but recent trends recognize infringement if there is either “comprehensive/non-verbal similarity” or “partial/verbal similarity.”

In this case, Choi Geon-ha had almost copied the registered work, making the trial tense.

“Even if Judge Myung Jae-wook ruled against us, there was a high chance of winning on appeal.”

That was another problem.

If the mission failed, the system would have disappeared.

Lim Seung-chan would have had difficulty enduring it.

“It was really a mercy ruling.”

At that moment, the writer shook his head.

“The thorough victory was thanks to you flying around the courtroom, Lawyer.”

“Not at all.”

“Your knee acting was excellent; I trusted that and felt at ease.”

Since he had won, he had no reason not to rest.

“Next time you come to Seoul, we’ll meet!”

“In Jeju dialect again? Yes, contact me when you’re in Seoul.”

After leaving the emergency room, he called CEO Kim. While waiting for him, he observed the passing crowd.

There were so many patients and guardians, he wondered if there were really this many sick people in Korea.

“The hospital smell.”

The distinctive scent, whether in the emergency or inpatient room, was different from household bleach.

If the hospital had a color, perhaps it was pale blue. He noticed CEO Kim holding a fish-shaped pastry and waved.

It was now time to psychometrically analyze the photos he had received as compensation.

Ding.

He brought home a packaged katsudon. The sweet aroma rose from the steaming rice, but he didn’t eat yet, instead opening the floating system window.

<Mission Complete>

Would you like to receive the reward? [Y/N]

As usual, he pressed Y, and a photo floated in the air.

He picked up the photo next to the katsudon.

“A photo of a four-lane road?”

To be precise, it was taken from a stationary car, not showcasing traffic or wheels, containing very little information.

“Time for psychometry.”

He focused on the photo, ignoring the cooling katsudon.

Crackle.

He felt as if he were sitting in the back seat. Looking forward:

Foggy road, morning light on the mountains, and two silent people.

A middle-aged man in the driver’s seat and a short-haired woman in the passenger seat, head bowed.

“Is that the Rachmaninoff Piano Concerto No. 2 Minho-jun occasionally listened to?”

Composed after severe depression, the piece was both somber and hopeful. He didn’t fully understand the feeling, but remembered it as a recommendation from Hojun.

As the piano became cheerful, the man pressed the brake. Red light.

“This looks like the four-lane road from the photo.”

He leaned forward and saw a brown tourist guide sign not visible in the photo.

Shingwang Group – Harmony Museum 20 km.

Psychometry triggered thoughts of the True Religion leader Jeon Jeong-man and Shingwang Group Chairman Jang establishing a cultural complex.

“The cultural facility they planned to build on other land… it’s here.”

The man placed his hand on the wheel.

“Kim Yumi, you prepared well, right?”

“…Kim Yumi?”

The short-haired woman was familiar.

He turned to the passenger seat.

“…!”

It was Kim Yumi, a former law school classmate. She had drawn the True Religion’s signature Fire Tree and was the reason he attended the alumni meeting.

She said nothing to the man’s coercive tone. He glared at her.

“Answer me.”

She bowed her head further.

“…No.”

“Why?”

After a while:

“…Not enough time.”

“Seems like she means there isn’t enough time.”

“When you enter the training center today, be gentle with prospective members.”

“…”

“Training center? The True Religion education center?”

“Kim Yumi.”