The Reversal Lawyer: Karen's Past
I learned the blonde lawyer's name was Karen back in court.
Putting together everything I picked up by trailing after her in slime form and girl form by turns:
First off, Karen is an amazingly competent lawyer.
"Objection!"
Her pose, jabbing her index finger at the prosecutor, was pretty striking. The slicked-back prosecutor smirked and shoved some documents her way, but Karen whipped out counter-evidence in a flash and unleashed a torrent of unyielding rhetoric. The tide of the trial, which had been turning against her client, flipped in an instant.
Whoa, a real reversal trial.
The little accidents were going nuts, but the real-world me just sat quietly in the gallery, watching the show. In the end, Karen secured a not-guilty verdict.
Mmm, she's cool. Sergeant Cheon knocking people out with a ballpoint pen is badass, but Karen turning the court around with the power of words is no slouch either.
But Karen's grueling day didn't end in court.
Even past nine at night, her office light stayed on. Eleven o'clock. She still hadn't clocked out. It wasn't until midnight that she finally left the office.
I figured she'd drive straight home—but contrary to my prejudice that Americans would rather drive than walk ten meters:
Karen broke into a run right away.
Aerobic exercise at midnight? And at a solid pace, too. She must do cardio consistently.
This woman kinda reminds me of Lee Se-hee.
Yeah, Lee Se-hee. They both live way too hard. Se-hee got up at 4:30 a.m. and poured twenty hours a day into training and business. Karen's the same. Quitting past midnight, then running home. Trailing her in slime form, I could feel her heart rate climbing—she's got a body that's no stranger to pushing limits.
I watched what Karen did when she got home. Shower. Roughly toweling her hair dry, then immediately cracking open her laptop to prep for tomorrow. No intention of sleeping, huh?
No fun stuff either—manga, games, TV. Nothing. Why do all the humans I'm observing lately turn out like this? Han Min-seo, Lee Gyu-rin, and Yeom Hana weren't this bad. Hell, Oh Deok-hwan spent every non-work moment chasing hobbies.
Of course, Karen had her unique twist.
Past three a.m., she finally closed the laptop, and the bedroom light went out. That's when the flavor of her emotions shifted dramatically. The same vicious ambivalence I'd sensed in the park came flooding into my slime form.
I want to die. Save me.
Aaah, these guys are spiraling again. Calm down. Let's watch till she falls asleep first.
Right before slipping under the covers, Karen pulled a silver pen-shaped syringe from the nightstand drawer. She uncapped it and jabbed the needle into a vein in her arm.
Is that Puppet Vaccine? I crept closer in slime form for a better look. The blue Microgenics logo on the side matched the one Jang Bul-ik used back in Korea. But the product name was different.
Model Citizen Maintenance Agent
What a creepy name for a drug. The moment she injected it, her eyelids drooped heavily, and she collapsed into bed. Dead-to-the-world sleep. Not drifting off gradually, but like flipping a switch—snapped off.
Mmm, just watching won't cut it. No choice. Time to analyze her body directly.
I dissolved the slime form, shifted to Outer God Girl mode, and stood by the bed. My nanometer-thin hair strands pierced her skin, burrowing into her bloodstream.
Same trick as with Se-hee.
The doctor-coated accident wheeled in the chalkboard today, too.
Really? Any other issues?
The doctor-coated one's chalk started sketching molecular structures on the board. The glasses one un-crossed her arms and joined in.
The glasses one diagrammed the three components' interactions on the board.
So, hit with this and you're grinning happily all day?
The doctor-coated one shook her head vigorously.
Chalk sketched a switch on the board.
It blocks the ability to feel unhappiness. That's how Karen pulls off being so competent all day. The "want to die" gets cut off by the drug, and her body stays optimized by it.
Is everyone else like this? Is that why the citizens of this controlled state seemed so peacefully content on the surface—they're all living like Karen?
Mmm, I get a vague idea. But it's not enough info. Why is Karen tormented by such horrific ambivalence? What's really going on behind the scenes in this Microgenics-ruled city?
I want the full story. I gazed down at Karen's pale, sleeping face. Invading privacy feels iffy, but...
Time to read her memories. Possible?
She answered in a more serious tone than usual.
Good. Let's peek at a bit, then.
……………
I dove into Karen's memories.
Far from Washington D.C., in barren suburbs. Dusty roads stretch endlessly beside a row of rundown trailers. Empty cans and cigarette butts litter the weeds—looks awful.
This is the ruins of the old downtown, barely a slum. So-called trailer park.
I'd seen this backdrop in a drama with Lee Gyu-rin. Low-income housing on the outskirts of America.
Inside the trailer was even more dismal. No bed frame. A stained mattress laid straight on the floor, with a woman sprawled on it.
Blonde hair, splayed out and merged with the pillow. Crumbs from chip bags and empty soda cans scattered around the mattress. Curtains drawn, no clue if it's night or day. She's even smoking some mystery rollie indoors—cigarette or weed?
Is that Karen? She's a top-tier lawyer now. Why's she like this?
Karen, puffing away inside, picked up her smartphone with her free hand. Instagram Reels scrolled endlessly across the screen. Her thumb swiped mechanically.
Next. Next. Next. Next. Next.
Swipe, swipe, swipe.
Time fast-forwards like rewinding a memory. Morning comes, but Karen doesn't stir. She lies there till late afternoon, finally crawling out as the sun sets for the local diner.
Waitress. Her only income.
Just enough bucks to scrape by—trailer rent, food, a bit for smokes.
"Karen! You see those Texas hobo Reels today? Hilarious shit."
"Saw 'em."
Memory fragments piled up. Karen and women her age sitting on the trailer floor, passing cheap weed around. Someone pours booze into cups. Drunk, shaking their asses to phone music.
They're laughing. Karen and her friends. But the emotional flavor of that laughter isn't joyful or sweet—it's just stale. Like dried-out white bread.
Ugh. No way this is the same Karen. Something's seriously off. Wrong person? Neighbor's memory or something?
The glasses and doctor-coated ones shook their heads in unison.
But this doesn't make sense. How does someone who does nothing but smoke weed and scroll shorts twelve hours a day become a lawyer? Memory Karen and current Karen look about the same age.
Meanwhile, the memories kept flowing.
That day, too, Karen was passing weed around the trailer with her crew. Hip-hop beats thumped from someone's phone, smoke hung thick in the cramped space. Weed haze made Karen and the others roll around lazily like empty cans on the floor—humid, sluggish night.
Then the trailer door burst open. One of the thug buddies came stumbling in, gasping.
"Guys! We're fucked! Run—"
Before she finished, black-suited figures outside twisted her arm and yanked her out.
"Wh-what—"
Black suits flooded in through the weed smoke. With flawless moves, they pinned the women to the floor and zip-tied their wrists. Karen and her friends, soaked in weed, barely reacted. Only when cheeks hit the mattress and ties bit into skin did they start groaning drowsily.
Meanwhile, screams and shouts echoed from other trailers in the park. Not just Karen's—whole area hit.
She sketched a trailer park layout on the board.
Dunno. Gotta see more. I fast-forwarded further.
After that, Karen's life mirrored her current one. Dragged off by the suits, forcibly dosed with Microgenics drugs. Back at the trailer park, she maintained superhuman focus twenty hours a day—pure studying.
One month later, she had law knowledge incomparable to her old self.
Three months: Law degree acquired.
Six months: Passed the bar.
In between, no weed, no shorts, no boozing or hanging with friends. Because her friends started twenty-hour days at jobs suited to them, just like her.