Beneath the Court Crest

Under the court emblem.

The judges’ bench.

To the right, the witness stand and the defendant’s seat.

The place I stood now was a criminal courtroom.

“So it’s this dream again today.”

Ever since my mother died in a car accident ten years ago, I had this tutorial dream at least once a week.

Maybe it’s because the case I’m handling now is similar to my mother’s. It’s damned stressful.

Given the nature of a law firm, I couldn’t ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠always choose only the cases I wanted. There was nothing to be done about that.

I didn’t want to take on any case involving drunk driving.

“Maybe I should just quit while I’m at it.”

Rubbing my throbbing temple, I caught sight of my sleeve.

It was the robe a prosecutor wore in court.

Ironically, I was a lawyer in real life.

And in this courtroom.

The reason I was the prosecutor was obvious.

First.

“The only person in court who can speak for the victim is the trial prosecutor.”

Second.

“Because the victim in this case is my mother and me.”

Clatter.

The record transfer clerk came in, pushing a cart.

Only a single cloth-wrapped bundle sat on it.

“Good morning, Prosecutor.”

“…You’re here.”

“Yes, sir. Hang in there again today.”

Thud.

He set the bundle down on the prosecutor’s table, then pulled the cart away and disappeared.

Always at maximum realism.

In an era when robots could run around like dogs and carry things for you, it might have seemed strange to use cloth wrapping, but big prosecutors’ offices like the Seoul Central District Prosecutors’ Office still used it to keep court records from getting mixed up while they were transported to trial.

At any rate.

As always, I untied the knot, pulled one folder from the stack, and skimmed it mechanically.

“The case number isn’t written here either, and neither is the defendant’s name.”

Even after turning a few pages, there was nothing written on them.

I wasn’t even disappointed anymore.

It wasn’t as though I hadn’t expected this.

By now, after all these repeated trials, I had memorized every record related to this case.

By the time I set the records on the table, the court officer had finished surveying the gallery.

“The trial is about to begin. Everyone in the courtroom, please turn off your smartphones and remain quiet during proceedings.”

Moments later, the door to the bench opened, and the judge entered.

Standing on the dais, he bowed to the gallery in greeting.

“Good morning. The Seoul Central District Court, Criminal Division 20, will now come to order.”

It was time for the judge to confirm the attendance of the parties.

“We will now proceed with the trial in Case No. 2013GoDan54321, a violation of the Road Traffic Act. Is the defendant, Jung Ji-hoon, present?”

“Yes.”

Jung Ji-hoon sat in the defendant’s seat.

If only I could see his face clearly, even once.

But I never could.

“Which prosecutor is appearing today?”

“…….”

“Prosecutor?”

Every eye in the courtroom turned to me.

“Prosecutor Cha Do-hyuk is present.”

“Prosecutor Cha Do-hyuk, please pay attention.”

“I will.”

“Ahem.”

The judge confirmed the defense counsel’s appearance, and before long the arraignment—asking the defendant’s name and date of birth—was over as well, so he looked back at me.

“Prosecutor Cha Do-hyuk, state the gist of the charges.”

“Yes.”

I stood with the blank page in my hand.

“The defendant, Jung Ji-hoon, finished a business meeting at the Heart Bridge and drank Penfolds Ampoule Red wine worth about 150 million won at the Odae Hotel.”

“While intoxicated, he drove a Maybach owned by Pinelight Company and, at around 8:30 p.m. on November 14, 2013, struck the victim, Lee Soo-young, and Cha Do-hyuk, who were waiting at a crosswalk near the Seocho-gu Office intersection in Seocho-gu, Seoul, before fleeing the scene.”

“That same night, at around 9:00 p.m., he was apprehended by police on patrol near his home in Daechi-dong, which was also owned by the defendant.”

The judge asked Jung Ji-hoon whether he admitted the charges.

Jung Ji-hoon smiled faintly.

“I absolutely cannot admit them. I did not drive drunk, and I did not hit any victim.”

When the defendant denied it, the judge asked defense counsel to state their position on the charges.

“The defendant, Jung Ji-hoon, has been brought before this court on suspicion of committing these offenses. However, he did not drive drunk, nor did he strike a victim and flee. Accordingly, the defendant is innocent.”

After that, the defendant was examined in accordance with criminal procedure.

“You refused the police officer’s request for a breathalyzer test, didn’t you?”

“Your Honor! I admit that I refused. However, according to the police incident report, the defendant’s speech, gait, and complexion were all recorded as normal.”

As the prosecutor and defense clashed sharply, the judge ultimately conducted evidentiary examination to identify the points at issue.

“Prosecutor, submit the evidence concerning defendant Jung Ji-hoon.”

“I submit as evidence the documents from the investigative agency’s questioning of defendant Jung Ji-hoon, as well as the documents containing the victim’s statements to the investigative agency.”

I had always wondered how the judge would read this blank page, but the procedure had to be followed.

“Also, since defendant Jung Ji-hoon denies the offense, I request as a witness Ji Dok-hyeon, who witnessed the events before and after the crime.”

So I requested a witness.

Questioned them.

And even poked holes until testimony came out that was unfavorable to the defendant.

This time, I’m definitely going to win.

But what came out of the judge’s mouth was no different from any other day.

“The judgment is as follows. The order of the court: the defendant is found not guilty ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of drunk driving and hit-and-run under the Road Traffic Act. That concludes today’s judgment.”

“…….”

When the judge left through the bench door, the court officer and the clerk vanished too.

I leaned deep into my chair and clutched my head.

“…Fuck.”

I’d lost again today.

“Why did I lose?”

Why?

No matter how many times I turned the judge’s words over in my head, I still couldn’t make sense of them.

“Not decisive evidence? Then how much more evidence do I have to find before it becomes decisive and I can actually win?”

It had been ten full years.

Since that blank case number.

Since the moment it took me to identify a witness.

“I even requested a witness. I even got testimony unfavorable to the defendant. So why did I lose?”

My dream was supposed to reflect my own wish, wasn’t it?

“Then shouldn’t that murderer who killed my mother be the one who gets convicted?”

This wasn’t even some monstrous case with tens of thousands of pages of records. I couldn’t begin to guess what more I was supposed to do.

I clenched my fists tightly and tried hard to swallow my frustration, but it wasn’t easy.

If this had been reality, my mind would have turned cold in an instant, but maybe it was because of the case involving the youngest son of the Oseong Group that I was handling now. My anger kept boiling over.

Bitterness surged up again and again.

“Why does even a dream obey the law of the rich getting away with it and the poor taking the blame? Tell me why I keep having this dream. Answer me!”

Did someone want to watch me go insane?

If not, then how could a judge say there wasn’t any decisive evidence?

“Then let me find the evidence myself. I’ll do it without guessing from this stupid blank space!”

There was no one to hear me, so there was no way an answer would come back, and yet I urged it on anyway, telling it even a god wouldn’t handle things this badly.

“If you can’t do that, then end this damned tutorial!”

At that moment, a set of unfamiliar words popped up in a flurry.

“What?”

I read the rapidly flashing text as quickly as I could.

That’s my mother’s case number, isn’t it?

I ran the words through my head again after they vanished in an instant.

“What exactly are you saying you’re going to do with my mother’s already-sentenced case?”

As if my words had triggered it, the next message that appeared was rather sudden.

“Mission? Quit?”

Apparently the Oseong Group case was driving me so insane that all those times I’d muttered about quitting before bed had been taken into account.

But was that even remotely plausible?

No matter how many filthy, infuriating things there were.

No matter how often I joked about wanting to quit.

In the real world, there were limits to what you could do before a card debt collector came knocking.

“So dreams are just dreams.”

Come to think of it, the one with the problem was me, trying to solve in a dream what I hadn’t been able to find as a basis for retrial in reality.

“Still, it said the tutorial was forcibly completed. I guess I won’t be having this dream anymore.”

It was a relief, in a way, though I also felt hollow from ten years of effort, along with the regret that I could no longer work on my mother’s case.

“…There isn’t even anyone I can tell to take care.”

The moment I closed the mission window, my vision went black.

Ding-dong-dorolong, ding-dong-dorolong.

In the dim room, shut in by blackout curtains, my smartphone alarm rang loudly.

I opened the phone at once, turned off the alarm, and went straight to my email site.

While I had been asleep, a mountain of unread emails had piled up.

“Ha. How many cases have I been assigned? Seventeen?”

On the final judgment day for the Oseong Group’s youngest son, work had landed on me in an absurd avalanche.

“Maybe I should have gotten up earlier. I’ve only got two cases that need an opinion drafted in a hurry.”

I clicked through the emails one by one and sorted out my schedule.

At first I’d wondered if it was really necessary to go this far, but as the number of cases kept growing day by day, organizing my morning schedule had become an essential daily routine.

I turned on the light and stretched my stiff body.

But then something unbelievable unfolded before my eyes.

“…Huh?”

The mission window I’d seen in my dream was floating in midair.

For a moment I couldn’t even breathe properly, and I just stared at it blankly.

The time on my smartphone had clearly said 5:00 a.m. on July 10, so this had to be reality, but why was the mission window from my dream hanging there in the air?

“…….”

My confusion ended quickly thanks to the second alarm, checking whether I was actually awake.

“I’m still half-asleep.”

I brushed it off with a ridiculous joke—that I must not be fully awake because I’d pulled some kind of stunt I’d never done in my life.

I showered.

I put on a shirt.

I had a simple meal.

And only after checking my mother’s countless glittering keepsakes did it finally sink in as I looked at the mission window trailing after me wherever I went.

This wasn’t a dream. It was reality.

And that shameless mission was pressuring me to quit my job.

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