A Good Start

Ju Yeonghan took his seat in the witness stand. As he walked toward it, he was already calculating in his head. How to get out of this. What to say. He had done it his whole life. Troublesome situations had always been escaped with words. Pretend not to know enough, act pitiful enough, show just enough remorse, and things usually slid by.

He glanced at his lawyer. As always, he expected the man to give him a signal. Say this. Claim you don't know about that. But the lawyer was looking away from him. It was the first time this had happened. Only then did Ju Yeonghan realize that something had gone terribly wrong.

The courtroom was so silent that not even a breath could be heard. The faint glow of the Domain of Truth still enveloped the entire space. Beneath that light, Ju Yeonghan's face had lost its usual composure.

Seo Hajin stood before him.

It was an easy question. Ju Yeonghan had his answer ready. There had been another driver. An employee named Kim Taeho. It was a line he had repeated hundreds of times over the past year. A lie that rolled off the tongue. He opened his mouth.

It stopped there.

He cleared his throat and tried again.

It stopped again. Cold sweat trickled down his temples.

Seo Hajin waited. She did not rush him. She simply let the Domain of Truth do its work.

Ju Yeonghan's face twisted. He tried to lie. Just as he always had. But his mouth would not obey. Not a single syllable that was not the truth could emerge. His lips trembled. And finally—

Someone in the gallery drew in a sharp breath.

At the defense table, the old lawyer squeezed his eyes shut. He could do nothing to stop this. Under normal circumstances there would have been dozens of ways out.

Invoke the defendant's right to remain silent, object to every question, drag things out with a request for a psychiatric evaluation. But every one of those tactics ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had been built on lies. In this courtroom where lies could not be used, all his weapons had turned to rust.

His entire career had been spent covering up the truth. Calling white black and black white. That had been called skill, and it had brought in enormous sums of money. Yet now, standing in a place where that skill had no power, he realized he had nothing left. He gave up on his defense. He had no choice.

Seo Hajin did not stop.

Ju Yeonghan clamped his mouth shut. He did not want to answer this. But the silence did not last. The judge ordered him to respond, and when he opened his mouth, only the truth came out again.

The courtroom was deathly quiet. Everyone already knew the answer. They had seen it in the sky. But hearing it from his own mouth was different.

Yun Jeongsuk covered her face with both hands. Her shoulders shook.

Seo Hajin took a moment to steady her breathing, then moved on to the most important question.

Ju Yeonghan lowered his head.

Angry murmurs leaked from various spots in the gallery. Someone started to rise from their seat only to be pulled back down by the person beside them.

Seo Hajin took one step closer.

They were inside the Domain of Truth. A lie could not come out even for this question. Ju Yeonghan remained silent for a long time. Then, in a trembling voice, he spat out the truth. And that truth froze the entire courtroom.

Seo Hajin's voice dropped low. Ju Yeonghan lifted his head. There was fear in his eyes, but no guilt. The Domain of Truth could not create emotions he did not feel. It only revealed what he truly felt.

The courtroom grew icy cold. This was his true, bare face. He was not regretting that he had killed a person. He was simply flustered that he had been caught. To him, Park Sang-woo's death had been nothing more than one of those "annoying problems" his father would always handle.

In the gallery, Jeong Minho felt a chill run down his spine. It would have been better if the man had offered some vicious excuse. This was far more terrifying. There was no sense of guilt at all. It was the empty interior of a human being raised to believe that some people stood above others.

Yun Jeongsuk rose from her seat. No one tried to stop her. In a trembling voice, she spoke directly to Ju Yeonghan.

Ju Yeonghan could not meet her eyes. He lowered his head.

There was no answer. He could not answer. Inside the Domain of Truth, the only honest response he could give was silence.

Yun Jeongsuk listened to that silence for a long time. Then she spoke again, slowly. This time it was not anger, but quiet sorrow.

The courtroom held its breath.

She sat back down, as if she had nothing more to say. Those words settled over the courtroom more heavily than any curse could have.

Ju Yeonghan never lifted his head again.

The judge moved straight into sentencing without a recess. The evidence was perfect. The defendant had confessed to everything with his own mouth. The defense had no more lies left to argue. In a courtroom where only truth remained, the verdict was simple.

The judge's voice rang through the courtroom.

He paused briefly to catch his breath.

The gallery erupted. Someone clapped. Someone wept. Someone thrust both hands into the air. In the very same courtroom where, one year earlier, the same case had been closed with no charges, justice had finally operated as it was meant to.

Outside the courtroom, cheers spread as well. The entire nation had watched the trial together through the sky. In public squares, living rooms, and restaurants, people shouted at the same moment. Strangers clasped one another's hands.

People who had never met rejoiced for the same reason at the same time. It was a sight rarely seen in this country for a very long time. A moment when everyone could believe together that justice had won.

Yun Jeongsuk collapsed into her seat. This time it was not from breaking down, but because her legs had simply given out. The woman beside her supported her. The two ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠held each other and cried. The weight of an entire year finally settled.

As he listened to the sentence, Jeong Minho realized without thinking that his eyes had grown wet. Only a few days ago he had wavered.

He had wondered if that being might be a dictator. That ordinary people always lost. But today he had seen it with his own two eyes. He had seen truth win. He had seen the lies of the powerful crumble. And he had seen that it was not a god but people who had brought that about. The prosecutor, the mother, the witness, and ordinary people like himself sitting in the gallery.

He took out his phone and looked at the photo of his sleeping daughter. Could this child grow up in a country where truth wins? The question that had had no answer only days ago now seemed to have at least a partial one. Maybe it was possible. If we don't give up.

The faces of the people leaving the gallery were different from when they had entered. They were the faces of those who had witnessed something. And those stories would spread to thousands of dinner tables tonight.

Cha Pilgu closed his notebook. Then he quietly wrote one line at the very bottom.

At the same moment, inside a convenience store.

Kim Jeongsang stood behind the counter, watching the scene on the small TV. The trial had been broadcast across the entire country by the sky. Twenty-two years in prison. The cheers from the gallery. Two women embracing as they cried. He peeled back the lid of his cup ramen. It was perfectly cooked. He lifted a forkful of noodles, blew on them gently, and ate.

None of this had been done by him alone. He had simply laid down a single layer of light in the courtroom so that lies could not slip in. Everything else had been done by the people.

The prosecutor who had picked up her sword again despite demotion. The witness who had overcome fear to testify. The mother who had said she would stand a hundred times if needed. The old journalist who connected the buried dots. The ordinary people who had stopped being mere spectators.

He had set the stage, but the people had won the game. That was enough, he thought.

For five years he had believed this country was beyond saving. The ones at the top were rotten, the ones below had given up. No one fought anymore. Everyone had grown used to being victims. That was why he had stayed hidden. He had thought stepping forward would be useless. That people would not change.

But he had been wrong. People had not failed to change. They had simply lacked the tools to fight. A guarantee that the truth would not disappear. Safety from retaliation. A stage where lies could not work. Once those were provided, people had stood up immediately.

The demoted prosecutor, the fearful yet courageous witness, the mother who would stand a hundred times. They had all been waiting. Waiting for someone to set the stage. Waiting for the chance to do their part on that stage.

That was what Kim Jeongsang had confirmed today. This country was not yet beyond saving.

He finished the noodles, drank the broth, and placed the empty container in the recycling bin, fitting it neatly into its slot.

It was a mutter to himself. The corner of his mouth lifted, just a fraction. This was truly only the beginning.

The Park Sang-woo case had been a single dot. That dot had pointed to one prosecutor, the prosecutor had pointed to another case, and that case had pointed to one company. The old journalist was connecting that line right now. At the end of the line stood the biggest name in the country.

Taesung Group.

Fifty years of accumulated lies. Tens of trillions in slush funds. Countless people buried. Kim Jeongsang opened a new can of coffee. He took a slow sip.

Beyond the window, the night city enclosed by the Barrier flowed quietly. But beneath that quiet, the greatest hunt was just about to begin.