The Gangnam School Violence Closer
The parents of Lee Ji-soo kept bowing over and over, expressing their gratitude. "Thank you, Lawyer. Thank you so much from the bottom of our hearts."
"Let's see... Effective June 22, 2024, the Level 8 disciplinary action against second-year student Lee Ji-soo is hereby canceled."
A smug Suk Ho-pil read out the ruling. He had cleared a case that should have been impossible to beat. This was the ability of Suk Ho-pil, head of Law Firm Sukphil.
"Lawyer, from now on I won't live so selfishly. I'll achieve my dream of becoming an elementary school teacher."
"Good. When you look at teachers and public servants these days, far too many put personal gain before any sense of duty. Please become a teacher who will nurture the dreams of South Korea's children."
"Aigoo, Mr. Rice Farmer. If she'd been forcibly transferred, it wouldn't just be the end of any teaching career—she would've ruined next year's college entrance exams too. How can we ever repay this favor?"
"Father, aren't you a Seoul native? That thick Chungcheong dialect is really coming through."
"I watch historical dramas and they always have these groveling lines..."
"In Korean fusion sageuk dramas, the protagonist's family usually speaks standard Seoul Korean while the servants and villagers use Chungcheong dialect."
That tendency still existed today. Suk Ho-pil wished they would stop with the sneaky beautification of Seoul.
The most cunning clients are always from Seoul.
He had never run the actual numbers, but it was true. The ones who screamed sexual harassment the moment someone's butt brushed against them were always rude girls from certain districts in Seoul. The kids from rich neighborhoods would file school violence reports if they weren't included in a group or got lightly pushed. Then, when adults asked for their names, they'd say "That's personal information" and run off without apologizing. Strangely, among the brats from wealthy neighborhoods, there were a statistically significant number of little shits you just wanted to slap across the face.
If you're reading this, whether it's a big law firm or some random lawyer, avoid anyone from Seoul's XX district. Those who grew up without hardship, passed exams purely on study skills, lack empathy for others and are insanely selfish. (Not a joke.)
"Father. You're getting far too excited now that the situation has been resolved. From my investigation, Ji-soo refused to show her notes to anyone, and when the other kids threw birthday parties she would always slip away alone to study. She was the one who planned the birthday party in the first place, just so she could pull ahead on her grades by herself."
Both parents' faces turned pale.
"If Ji-soo can't break free of that typical Gangnam spoiled-brat attitude, she'll face hardship again someday in her life."
"I was wrong."
"Ji-soo. You can still become a teacher even if you don't get into a metropolitan university of education. A provincial one is fine too. Don't sacrifice friendship just to raise your grades."
"But that, I absolutely can't compromise on."
"Why?"
"How could I go to the provinces? I'd rather die than leave Gangnam."
"What?"
"Fuck, I don't want to hang out with those country bumpkins from the sticks."
Suk Ho-pil was at a loss for words. He rejected the proposal from Ji-soo's rude parents to pay the 100 million won success fee in installments. He made it clear he would follow the special clause and charge 20 percent annual interest if the money wasn't deposited by the set date.
It's depressing.
Associate lawyer Han Seo-rin felt complicated emotions about what her alma mater's juniors had done.
"Was it that bad back when you were there, Lawyer Han? Were the Gangnam girls' high students that extreme?"
"I'd like to say absolutely not. Of course, even back then the competition for early admissions was inhuman, and the sucking up to teachers was intense."
"The early admissions system needs to be abolished. Every school has different tests and different student bodies, so how can you evaluate students based solely on internal grades?"
"Lawyer Suk Ho-pil is right."
Park Tae-gi chimed in from the side.
"What about students from disadvantaged families who wasted their first and second years of high school and only started studying hard in their third year? Once internal grades are locked in, there's no way to overturn them. The early admissions system is an evil created because teachers don't want to give up their vested interests."
"I don't like the word 'evil,' Tae-gi. But I agree with the sentiment. Internal grades should still be considered, but reviving the CSAT or the old entrance exam would be fairer."
At some point, students had stopped respecting teachers except on the surface. The power those teachers wielded was petty and narrow-minded. The teaching community—which proudly called itself mentors when it was convenient and government officials when it wasn't—needed to wake up immediately.
Their isolated little league, like the Galapagos, was still obsessed with false propaganda claiming early admissions were superior. The claim that early-admission students studied better once they reached university had never been verified anywhere.
"The parents at my alma mater, Gangnam Girls' High, aren't normal either."
"Why?"
"They send their daughters to private Gangnam Girls' High hoping they'll make good friends—or rather, useful connections. But they're completely blind to problems like sensitive girls fighting over grades or forming factions to ostracize others. Not a single parent told their child to reflect when they were the perpetrator."
"It might be a Gangnam leftist problem. They want their own child to become a professional while hoping other people's children live happily as commoners."
"That's crossing the line. There were also people who claimed to be conservative right-wingers while pulling strings to exempt their own kids from military service."
"That's right. There was even a guy in an important government position who got his son a military exemption and had him preparing for the bar exam while working at a public institution."
"That's why conservatism collapsed."
"The world turns in cycles. Being progressive or leftist doesn't last forever. Stagnant water is bound to rot."
At that moment Park Tae-gi cut them both off with a sharp rebuke.
"You're both rotten to the core. Commoners don't give a damn about the wealthy class's hegemony struggles. The influential left-wing and right-wing figures all live in Hannam-dong or Gangnam, creating their own little league."
He was right. They even formed marriage alliances with each other.
Tae-gi continued his tirade. "If you're going to rant about politics like political addicts, go write comments on internet communities or YouTube channels, or attend rallies. You two should focus on your actual lawyer work."
Glasses. Acne. Pig. Park Tae-gi had once nearly gone to prison on a false sexual harassment charge. Suk Ho-pil had saved him back when he was working as a judicial apprentice at the prosecution. His appearance fed the prejudice that he looked like a sex offender.
Sex crimes are subjective anyway. Continuous harassment at school is also ambiguous since the victim's subjective perception determines whether a crime has been committed.
The law should represent minimum morality, and the scope of legal punishments should be limited. Yet because overseas professors who had drunk the American Kool-Aid created law schools and forced through American-style reforms, both the law and the legal profession were turning into a complete mess.
A clear example was how they were raising sentence lengths like in America, but without considering that Anglo-American law has high parole rates even with long sentences. In America or Britain, you could receive a 100-year sentence and still be released the next day if parole was granted. But in the continental legal systems of Germany, Japan, Korea, or Taiwan, you usually had to serve most of the sentence before becoming eligible for parole. Therefore, a 45-year sentence was practically a life sentence.
It was questionable whether it was truly just for the judiciary to arbitrarily inflate sentence numbers under the influence of public opinion. This trend had affected school violence cases too. It was American-style mob justice.
"Alright, tonight we're having pizza—traditional American food."
"Wow! Suk Ho-pil go! Ho-pil go!"
Born in 1994, Park Tae-gi was ecstatic. His belly fat showed no signs of shrinking.
Typical shitty small-company management that treats the team to dinner but skimps on bonuses.
Park Tae-gi handled everything—paralegal work, accounting, office cleaning, and even wiping Suk Ho-pil's desk with a dry rag. He was Suk Ho-pil's loyal servant. Or perhaps a well-trained retriever. No, retrievers were too cute. Yeah, a servant. A Joseon-era manservant.
Ho-pil looked at him with a satisfied expression. Park Tae-gi looked back at Ho-pil with a mindless grin.
"Wow! Bromance. I should try to get along better with my twin sister Han Seo-yoon too."
Lawyer Han Seo-rin felt bitter. Now that she thought about it, Han Seo-yoon had attended Gangnam Girls' High with her. She had always been compared to her model-student younger sister, the picture of a gentle, wise wife and mother. Still, as twin sisters they had looked out for each other and shared a good bond.
"What was Seo-yoon like in high school?" Ho-pil asked while eating the delivered pizza.
"She hated lawyers who fool around with internet BJ girls."
"Fuck, does that even make sense?" Ho-pil's mood instantly soured.
"Why are you swearing? And please stop saying '18, 18'."
"Don't spout unfunny lines. It hurts me too, you know."
"What hurts?"
"Just eat your pizza."
Whether the two were talking or not, Park Tae-gi kept alternating between the Super Pizza pineapple and pepperoni pizzas, one in each hand, stuffing his face.
"Why do you eat pizza like that, Tae-gi?"
Seo-rin, one year younger, spoke casually to Tae-gi, who was one year older. As a lawyer and an employee, their hierarchy was strictly enforced.
"A servant should eat a heaping bowl of rice, of course."
There was nothing to say to that. So Han Seo-rin filled his cup to the brim with cola.
"Here, have a heaping cup of cola too."
"Thank you."
Right now Park Tae-gi was imitating Ji-soo's father who had visited the office earlier.
"By the way, what will happen to Lee Ji-soo going forward?"
"She'll come looking for us again. Or her parents will. Or someone else."
"Huh? Why?"
Was this a curse? Han Seo-rin couldn't understand why he would say such a thing.
"People who seek out lawyers tend to drag all sorts of incidents with them. You could call them trouble magnets. So always give your clients the best possible service. The person who causes problems is bound to need legal advice again. Or, since there are always antisocial people around them, you need to do well so you at least get referrals."
"I see."
"It's the most basic principle. These days, too many lawyers who grew up privileged treat their clients carelessly."
Suk Ho-pil had witnessed such lawyers often. No matter how prestigious the university or how high the grades, it didn't translate into business ability. That was why more than half of junior lawyers left big firms without ever becoming seniors. Some left because they would rather run their own practice than get exploited by the firm, but most simply couldn't close deals. They would get annoyed with or act arrogant toward clients who seemed a bit unpolished, and as a result they had no sales ability.
"Then how do those lawyers make a living?"
"They join a company as in-house counsel, work five or six years, get fired, and reluctantly open their own practice."
"Or open their own practice."
"Or they study like hell, pass the judge or prosecutor exam, and become civil servants."
Han Seo-rin nodded.
"I want to become a lawyer who truly values her clients."
"Let's do that. You contributed greatly to resolving this case."
"Thank you."
Law Firm Sukphil was peaceful, filled with the smell of pizza.