Chapter 27
Korea University Law Department, Class of 2008, Choi Seok-hyun.
He was the guy who once picked a fight with Senior Ryeo-won’s boyfriend at the law school cafeteria.
What was it he said back then?
“Since when did Ryeo-won reject me for giving her a love letter?! Don’t you even know how to take care of your girlfriend?!” Something like that.
Everyone in the cafeteria—students studying for the bar exam, classmates—froze with their spoons mid-air.
That guy’s gone crazy from studying too much law, they thought. Another couple has sent one more soul to meet the Lord. They repented on his behalf.
As for me?
I just wanted to finish my meal and get back to reviewing lectures.
“Cha Do-hyuk, you were right there. Did I ever put a love letter in Ryeo-won’s locker?”
“…?”
“I was trying to put it in someone else’s locker, but because I was so nervous, I put it in the wrong one!”
If it were me now, I would’ve covered up his embarrassment. But back then, I didn’t.
A law student’s sharp tongue only spoke the truth.
“Choi Seok-hyun, you really made a mistake?”
“Of course!”
“But you know that around Senior Ryeo-won’s locker, all the lockers belong to guys, right?”
“…!”
The student council had rearranged things so that female lockers were in the center of each row when the ratio of women finally reached 6:4.
Looking back, it was just a stunt by the student council president to mingle with the last female students of the 08 class.
Anyway, Choi Seok-hyun ended up staging a mock trial under the “Fact-Check Act,” debating whether it was a “confession attack” or a “reveal of sexual preference.”
He was convicted as the novel “Confession Attack Offender,” and ever since then—even ten years later—he would come at me like he wanted to kill me.
“Why blame me when you got caught lying yourself? Ridiculous.”
Honestly, if Choi Seok-hyun hadn’t stood up in the cafeteria yelling “Boyfriend, come out! Bbu-ee-bbu-ee!” this would’ve just passed quietly.
Anyway, leaving the irrelevant Seok-hyun aside, I got off at Bongeunsa Station on Line 9 and walked into an alley toward a restaurant.
Bzzz.
My phone buzzed.
It was a KakaoTalk from Min Ho-jun.
I already smoothed things out. Since the police were dispatched here a few days ago, getting a copy of the CCTV footage shouldn’t be a problem.
Thanks.
Just as I was about to close the app, another KakaoTalk came in—from someone unfamiliar.
Technically, not a stranger. It was Oh Ye-ji, the idol from Twits, whom I had met a few hours ago.
Knock knock.
Mr. Lawyer?
Hello?
🙁
Ah! You saw it!
I had something I wanted to ask you.
What is it?
Piecing her words together, she was asking whether she should request additional tests at the hospital today, on top of the scheduled ones.
“If something comes up, she probably wants to pin it on Oh Yun-bok. But this could actually backfire.”
Taptap.
There’s no need for that. If you overdo it, they might accuse you of excessive treatment.
Aha!
Then just go with whatever the doctor suggests?
Yes.
“This is a good time to ask.”
Ms. Oh Ye-ji, could you ask your mother if she has any photos of Mr. Oh Yun-sik and his brother?
Aha, got it!
My mom has them.
(Attachment: photo)
Thank you.
“She didn’t even ask why—just sent them right away. Sharp girl.”
Maybe it was because she had worked in the entertainment world since she was young; she’d matured too quickly.
Anyway, the dark building should be around here…
“This must be it.”
A pork restaurant tucked into an alley by Bongeunsa Station.
A fairly large place, with space for groups, though it didn’t have many reviews.
If it’s this big, the owner might be too busy to remember the Oh brothers. That could be a problem.
Just then—
“Welcome, are you dining alone?”
A man wearing a black T-shirt with a name tag that read “Owner” approached.
Wearing a name tag like that at a BBQ joint suggested he had a strong ego about being the boss.
If so, all I have to do is stroke that ego—he’ll unconsciously let things slip.
Time to put on my “kind lawyer Cha Do-hyuk” act.
“Yes. By the way, sir, haven’t the police contacted you?”
The smile froze on the owner’s face.
“Oh, you’re the one who came for the CCTV copy. But I told the officer to bring a warrant—did they?”
For him to say that, even though warrants don’t just pop out in one minute…
I understood.
It was almost lunchtime, yet the restaurant was practically empty.
If the first customer of the day is the police, you can assume business is ruined.
Like certain professions dreading customers with glasses.
No helping it, then.
With someone defensive even before rapport was built, I had to circle around.
“As you know, warrants don’t come that easily, sir.”
“Then why are you here?”
Ignoring his irritated glare, I sat down at the table where I’d seen Oh Yun-sik in my psychometry vision.
“To have lunch, of course. You know that.”
“…”
“I’ll pay through the kiosk, so please prepare two servings of samgyeopsal.”
The owner barked, “Hey, two samgyeopsal here!” to his part-timer—then sat down across from me.
“You really don’t need the CCTV copy? Most people insist on it.”
“One tongue-lashing is enough. If push comes to shove, I’ll just come back with a warrant. No problem. Just more hassle for you.”
“…I’m the one who’s hassled?”
I busied myself setting chopsticks, ignoring his incredulous laugh.
“Once the warrant comes, you’ll likely have to testify in court. That’s obviously inconvenient.”
“What?”
“But if you, the alleyway restaurant owner, want to testify in court, we can’t exactly stop you, can we?”
“…”
“It’d only be for a few days. Well… several days, stretched out over a few months.”
As he gulped nervously, the part-timer brought out side dishes and meat.
“If a warrant comes, do I really have to testify?”
“Since you were at the scene, the odds are high.”
“…If I give you a copy right now, will that change things?”
“Mm… no.”
“Ha!”
“Normally, no.”
In Korea, you had to listen until the end.
“But I’ll try to explain things well. We should help each other out in this tough world.”
“Exactly!”
Clap.
I pulled a USB drive from my pocket.
“Then shall we check the CCTV right now?”
“Haha, no, no—customers must eat! Our pork is best fresh. Cold meat tastes terrible!”
“So then?”
“I’ll copy the whole day’s footage for you.”
He snatched the USB like lightning.
“Eat your lunch. I’ll copy it quickly.”
And he hurried into the “staff only” area.
“Our boss is a bit impulsive. When he gets a feeling, he acts first.”
“No problem. I just need the footage anyway.”
“That’s good.”
The part-timer shrugged, then pulled a plastic bag from his apron.
“Put your coat in this, so it won’t smell of pork.”
“Thank you.”
I took off my coat and tucked it into the bag.
While watching his deft hands slice the meat, I thought:
A restaurant where the staff cook for you. Then maybe this guy served Oh Yun-sik that day… or I can ask another worker later.
I pulled out my phone and enlarged the photo Ye-ji had sent of the Oh brothers.
“Sorry to bother you while you’re working, but have you ever seen these men? They’d look a bit older than in the photo.”
The part-timer put down his tongs and stared hard at the screen.
“Hmm… not sure.”
“They would’ve looked bulkier. And that day, they signed something on thick paper.”
Since Oh Yun-sik had been too drunk to go to karaoke or a café, he must have signed it here.
“…Signed? Oh!”
“Remember?”
“That annoying customer!”
Annoying?
The part-timer looked at me oddly.
“Wait, you’re not here about the assault incident?”
So that’s what Ho-jun meant by an incident—an assault. Better to play along.
“Yes. The signing is connected, so I’m asking in advance.”
“No wonder—it was strange.”
For a busy worker to notice something strange, it must have really stood out.
“The bell rang, and when I went over, an old lady asked if we had a pen. We had only one, so I gave it to her.”
“Yes.”
“Then later, the youngest worker asked for a pen too, but the old lady denied ever borrowing one. Ridiculous.”
The youngest thought she’d forgotten because she was drunk, and let it go.
“But to me, she didn’t look drunk at all.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Well, seven people came, but only one drank? Usually it’s the opposite!”
“…!”
At drinking parties, most people drink, a few don’t.
“They kept ordering new soju bottles even though the old ones weren’t empty. The boss didn’t care since it sold more, but it was strange—waste of money.”
“Didn’t you tell this to the police that night?”
Something even an officer would find suspicious.
“I’m not saying this just because I study law and police science…”
He looked embarrassed as he set the scissors on the table.
“The cops all looked exhausted. They were too busy calming things down. I couldn’t bring it up.”
“Then why tell me?”
I must look tired too, as a law student.
“Because it’s interesting.”
He pointed at my jacket.
More precisely, at my lawyer’s badge.
“…Lawyers usually just deal with paperwork. But since you’re copying CCTV and asking staff questions, I thought maybe I could help.”
If that’s not goodwill, I don’t know what is.
“You’ve been a huge help.”
“Glad to hear it.”
By then, the samgyeopsal was perfectly grilled.
“Enjoy your meal.”
He went back to the kitchen, leaving me alone in the hall.
“This was a rare chance to hear the voices from that day—things the CCTV couldn’t capture. And I’ve already used today’s power.”
Aside from using my psychometry earlier at home just to see my mother’s face again.
If I’d known, I would’ve taken my time with that contract the lady gave me.
But then—
“That’s odd.”
I glanced toward the counter, now mostly useless since kiosks had taken over.
A bouquet of soap flowers, bizarrely vivid for the cold weather.
The same eerie bouquet I had seen in the psychometry vision, next to Oh Yun-sik.
“…Why is it there?”
Did he leave it behind?
