The Judgment Is Yours to Make

Beyond the window, Ju Yeonghan could be seen running. His own name floated above his head. Strangely enough, he was sprinting toward the main road. Toward where the crowds were thicker. A fleeing man's mind is always that foolish. He runs blindly toward the light, toward people.

Kim Jeongsang tossed an empty can into the recycling bin. The one for cans. Then he opened the convenience store door and stepped outside.

Ding-dong.

More people were gathering in the predawn streets. Faces turned upward to the sky. Beneath that sky, a young man was tearing through the crowd like a madman. People murmured.

"Isn't that him? The guy from the sky."

"Yeah, it's him."

Fingers pointed in his direction. Ju Yeonghan ran faster to escape those fingers. He tried to hail a taxi. Even empty ones refused to stop. The drivers had seen the sky too.

He tried to dash into a subway entrance. The first train hadn't started yet. The shutter was down. Blocked. Everything was blocked.

He had never been blocked in his entire life. Roads, people, even the law—they had all stepped aside for him. Money had made it so. His father had made it so. No matter what he did, someone cleaned up after him. Doors were always open.

But today, for the first time, every door was closed. It was the first time a taxi hadn't stopped. The first time people hadn't cleared the way. The first time the eyes watching him held contempt instead of fear.

He couldn't endure those gazes. It would have been better if they'd cursed him. Better if they'd spat. But the people simply watched. With eyes that knew his crime. With eyes that would no longer be deceived.

Ju Yeonghan stopped on the Han River Bridge. He didn't even know how he'd gotten there. He gripped the railing, gasping for breath. Black river water flowed beneath his feet. Behind him, the people who had followed stopped at a distance. No one came closer. They simply watched.

Above his head, his name still floated in the sky.

Ju Yeonghan climbed over the railing. Whether he meant to jump or simply run, even he couldn't say. Perhaps he didn't know himself. He only wanted to escape those stares, that sky.

He threw his body into the air.

And he did not fall.

Ju Yeonghan hung suspended in mid-air. Ten meters above the river, just past the bridge railing. Frozen in the exact posture of his fall. As if time itself had stopped, he was pinned to the empty air. He thrashed. He flailed his arms. It was useless. Something invisible held him in place.

The people on the bridge drew in sharp breaths. Someone lifted a phone. Once again, they recorded a scene that needed no recording.

Ju Yeonghan screamed from the air.

"Let me down! Let me down! Who is this? Who's doing this?!"

At that moment, the letters in the sky vanished. The name that had covered the entire city, the charges, the footage—everything was swept away. In their place, the sky turned pitch black.

And across that black sky, a single line appeared.

The voice rang inside everyone once more. The people on the bridge, the people on the streets, every sleepless soul across the nation.

Kim Jeongsang stood in front of the convenience store, listening to his own voice flow without passing through his lips.

The Ju Yeonghan suspended in mid-air slowly straightened. From his falling posture, his feet turned downward. As if seated on an invisible chair, he was put on display above the river for the entire nation to see.

On the bridge, an old man slowly nodded. The young man beside him clenched and unclenched his fist. No one cheered. The words were too heavy for cheering.

Instead, the people ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wore expressions of having received something long denied. Something they had passed off to others for too long, now returned to their own hands.

In homes across the country, people turned the words over in their minds.

The judgment is yours to make.

Some felt the statement was irresponsible. If you're going to show us everything, why not finish it yourself? Why dump it on us?

Some felt it was terrifying. Could they really do it? Wouldn't it all just fizzle out again?

But others, for the first time, saw their own share in those words. Until now, it had all been someone else's business. Corruption, punishment, justice.

Whether those above handled it or not, the people below had only watched. Because getting angry changed nothing.

But today, that being had clearly said it. This is your responsibility. If you don't do it, no one will.

It wasn't passing the buck. It was giving it back. A right that had been taken from them for so long they had forgotten it was theirs.

At the same moment, Yun Jeongsuk heard those ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠words too. Clutching her son's portrait to her chest. She watched the man floating in the sky. The man who had killed her son and lived laughing for seven months was now pinned before the entire nation.

And the voice said the judgment was theirs to make.

Yun Jeongsuk wiped her tears. For the first time, she felt she could do something other than kneel. Seven months ago she had picked up a pen and knelt. This time, perhaps she could pick up something else.

She reached for her phone. She recalled the name of the prosecutor who had been demoted a year ago for standing on their side. She would have to find out where that prosecutor had gone, she thought.

Kim Jeongsang returned inside the convenience store. He took his place behind the counter again. The triangle kimbap on the shelf remained exactly as it was. He was about to open another can of coffee but stopped. He'd had enough today.

Outside, the sound of sirens began. Police cars. The Barrier hadn't made the police disappear. Quite the opposite. They had seen the sky too. For the first time, they could race toward the man floating above the Han River Bridge without watching anyone's eyes.

Police arrived on the Han River Bridge. The lead detective paused for a moment. A year ago, he had been in charge of the initial investigation for this very case.

Then pressure from above had forced him to drop it. As he had stamped the statement claiming there was another driver, he had known it was a lie.

Still, he had stamped it. Because it was easier that way. Because not stamping it would have cost him his uniform.

That detective now looked up at Ju Yeonghan floating in the air. Long-buried shame rose in his throat. He spoke briefly to his juniors.

"Get the handcuffs ready. This time… we do it properly."

One of the younger officers asked, "But sir, how are we supposed to arrest someone floating in the air?"

The detective didn't answer. Instead, he took one step forward. At that moment, Ju Yeonghan's body began to descend—slowly, very slowly—until it reached a height where the officers could reach him. As if that being were saying: If you will arrest him, I will let you.

The handcuffs clicked shut.

That small sound seemed to echo across the entire nation.

Kim Jeongsang knew this was only the beginning. The key was that he wouldn't do everything himself. With one finger he could have reduced Ju Yeonghan to dust. The chairman, the prosecutors, the lawyers. He could have swept away every rotten thing in this country with a single breath.

But then it would have ended there. In the space he cleared, new rot would grow. If people didn't learn to build the law themselves, the moment the Barrier lifted, the country would return to its old ways. Faster. Deeper.

So he would only lay the board. Clear away the lies, block every escape route, and then leave the rest to the people. Let them arrest, let them judge, let them establish justice with their own hands.

It was a cumbersome way. A slow way. Still, he believed it was the only right way.

At the same moment, in a small officetel, Seo Hajin sat before her laptop, unable to sleep. A demoted prosecutor. Someone who had been pushed to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a quiet post after being handed only buried cases.

She had been awake since the first dawn of the Barrier. On her screen was the file for the Park Sang-woo case. The case she had handled a year ago. Or rather, the case she had tried to handle before it was taken from her.

The moment she began digging into the contradictions in the driver's statement, the case had been transferred to another prosecutor. And closed as non-indictable. She had protested, and as punishment, she had been demoted to the countryside.

After that day, she had lived thinking, What good is knowing the truth? A fight you can't win even with evidence. A fight you lose even when you're right. After enough of those battles, a person grows tired.

She was tired.

On the day she received her demotion orders, the chief prosecutor had called her in and said, "Prosecutor Seo, you have a good head but no sense. The world doesn't work that way. You need to know when to look the other way. That's what being an adult means."

That day, she had considered resigning. She hadn't because of sheer stubbornness. If she left, they would win. So she endured.

Taking only buried cases, hearing herself called a toothless prosecutor. She didn't even know if enduring had been the right choice. She had simply endured.

But tonight, the sky had brought that case back into the light. The contradictions she had seen a year ago, the truth she had tried to grasp before it was stolen from her—it had all been spread across the nation's sky.

And the voice had said: The judgment is yours to make.

Seo Hajin stared at the case file on her screen for a long time. Her hand hovered motionless above the keyboard.

Should she start again? Even though she might lose again? Even though it might be taken from her again?

Then she realized one thing had changed. This time, the evidence would not disappear. Even if witnesses changed their stories, the truth was embedded in the sky. Even if someone bought a prosecutor, the sky would know about the deal.

The one thing she hadn't possessed a year ago was now in her hands. A truth with no escape route.

Seo Hajin slowly pulled the laptop closer. She opened a blank document. It was the template for an indictment.

With a hand that had been still for so long, she typed the first line.

Defendant: Ju Yeonghan.

Her hand ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠trembled as she wrote that single line. It was a line she had never been able to write a year ago. It had been taken from her by those above.

But this time, no one could take it away. Because the evidence was in the sky, there were no escape routes, and the entire nation was watching.

She typed the second line. Then the third. The year that had stopped began to flow again that dawn.

Suddenly, her phone rang. An unknown number. At this hour.

She hesitated briefly before answering. Over the line came a trembling woman's voice.

"Um… is this Prosecutor Seo Hajin? I'm Park Sang-woo's mother. You stood up for our son back then… so I…"

Seo Hajin's hand stopped. The victim's mother from the case taken from her a year ago had found her on the first morning of the Barrier.

She closed her eyes for a moment. Then she answered, slowly and clearly.

"Ma'am. This time, it won't be taken away."

Beyond the window, dawn was breaking. It was the first morning of the Barrier.