Chapter 159

As Go Yunseong was recommended for a prison sentence, Wooshin Group moved quickly to pour all its efforts into rebuilding its image. While other affiliates dragged their feet, Wooshin Logistics neatly resolved its long-stalled labor dispute and posted an apology letter from the president on the company intranet.

It was only natural, but Go Yunseong underwent full dismissal procedures while still on temporary suspension. The position was filled not by a member of the "royal family," but by a career salaryman employee—a personnel move aimed at quelling employee distrust of the owner family.

"It's all thanks to you, Lawyer. I never imagined things would turn out like this."

Han Yeongseon said, gazing out at the heavy snowflakes pouring beyond the cafe window.

"The trial's coming up soon now. Even though it's just the second one, I'm still so nervous."

Han Yeongseon's civil trial was right around the corner.

"I heard Oh Sanghyeon settled..."

She ventured, lost in thought for a moment.

"That's right."

It was already public knowledge. Go Yunseong's side had made a big media play out of Oh Sanghyeon withdrawing his civil suit. Comment bots flooded the internet with lines like, "The victim settled and just wants to live quietly as a normal person now—why keep dragging this up?" Talk shows emphasizing victims' "right to be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠forgotten" aired repeatedly across channels. It was all cheap tricks. To my eyes, the real message read, "The victim says he's fine, so why are you making a fuss?"

"They're still calling, offering reinstatement at Seoul Wooshin Hospital and a settlement payout if I'll drop the suit."

Han Yeongseon said, picking up the phone on the table.

After the first-trial verdict, Go Yunseong announced he wouldn't appeal. Videos of him lashing out at reporters had gone viral, drawing nonstop criticism for showing no remorse. I'd figured he'd bide his time until the second trial, feign reflection, and aim for a reduced sentence—but this was unexpected. Then again, with all the ways they could spring him early before serving even five full years, maybe he just didn't care.

Whatever the case, Go Sangjun must be choking back hot tears right now. In Wooshin, which had a notably low rate of spoiled heirs compared to other chaebols, the youngest son had turned out to be a lunatic worth ten from other families combined. Even someone who owned half of Korea couldn't handle his own kid, it seemed.

"Go Yunseong already said he won't appeal anyway. Even if you settle now, it won't reduce his sentence. Civil suits are purely about compensation. In a way, it's the only path to getting what you want—or even more—without a courtroom fight."

"True. That's probably why Oh Sanghyeon went that route."

He had a family: an elderly mother, a wife, and three young kids. For him, scraping by with a small civil award was less appealing than pocketing a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠huge sum that might even polish Go Yunseong's image a bit. The thug's reputation couldn't get much worse anyway—better to bleed them for cash instead. In fact, he'd gotten 150 million won, enough to pay off his full housing deposit loan. He could finally send his daughter to the English kindergarten his wife wanted and buy her pretty clothes.

It never should've happened at all, of course—but nothing could compensate Oh Sanghyeon more than that now.

I harbored massive grudge against Go Yunseong and was venting some stress through the civil trial, sure. But putting him behind bars was satisfaction enough. I was pushing forward with this suit solely out of respect for Han Yeongseon's will.

"But I don't want to."

Han Yeongseon said with a small smile.

"I don't need the money. I just don't want to do whatever they say. And I don't want to be used in their PR spin either. I've already broken up with my boyfriend—nothing left to fear. ...Though reinstatement at Seoul Wooshin Hospital is tempting. Still, giving those bastards what they want pisses me off more."

The terrified woman who'd feared her boyfriend dumping her if she testified was gone. As I'd worried, he hadn't dumped her—she'd dumped him. In her moment of despair, the man who'd made her think he'd bail had planted doubts: Did he really love her? Spot on. A truly reliable guy wouldn't have unsettled her from the start.

That was when it started.

...That familiar tune blared obnoxiously. I glanced around. It was Kang Minjae's alarm sound—who the hell had set this on my phone too?

"Lawyer, your phone's ringing?"

Han Yeongseon pointed at my phone on the table. Shockingly, my phone was belting out the Go Yunseong ppap remix at full volume.

"...Sorry about that. Give me a sec." "Hello?"

I hung up, and Han Yeongseon was already covering her mouth, laughing. I sighed.

"Looks like Kang the lawyer pulled a prank."

"...Kang's been obsessed with memes lately."

"Seemed like work calling. Shall we head out? My bus is coming up too."

I cleared the drink tray roughly and left the terminal cafe. I figured I should see her to the platform, so we walked side by side.

"How much time till your bus?"

"About 30 minutes."

She said, checking the terminal display. I glanced at my phone: 4:30. I'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠said the meeting would wrap by 4—why no word yet?

"Lawyer, if you're waiting on a call, go ahead. Really."

As I started to say it was fine, the ringtone blared again. I'd changed it, so why still this Go Yunseong remix? I cleared my throat awkwardly and answered.

"Yeah, Dongjin."

My old friend Dongjin's Myungwoon University Hospital had long been rivals with Seoul Wooshin Hospital. They poached staff, sniped each other via ads—Wooshin edged ahead by a hair. But Myungwoon had seized first place in hospital trust rankings after five years, capitalizing on Go Yunseong's scandal.

I'd figured scouting the two unfairly demoted from Wooshin and spinning good PR could lock in that lead. Dongjin, who knew the place inside out, agreed. It benefited Myungwoon, and beat staying at Wooshin under glares. One of Korea's Big 5 hospitals, after all.

So I'd floated the idea via Dongjin, and it panned out.

"Great. Thanks, Dongjin."

"Thanks? We're the ones worried—they haven't decided yet. If they come, we'll roll out the red carpet. Probably feature 'em in the newsletter. Tell them."

"Will do."

Hanging up, Han Yeongseon smiled curiously at me, waiting blankly. Wonder what she'd think of the call.

"Han Yeongseon."

"Yes?"

"Not heading straight home?"

"No, dinner plans with Nurse Seo Hyejin."

"Perfect. Why not discuss transferring together to Myungwoon University Hospital main branch?"

"...Myungwoon? That Myungwoon?"

"Yeah. They're interested in you both."

I pulled Dongjin's business card from my wallet and handed it over.

"Call this number for details. He's my friend—ask whatever, I'll tell him to fill you in."

Her eyes widened as she took it, staring between the card and me in disbelief.

"That call just now... was about this?"

"Yes. Big social issue, so the director couldn't decide solo—put it to committee. Just heard it cleared. They're waiting for you two."

"Lawyer, I never dreamed... I was just gonna job hunt after the civil trial..."

Tears welled in her eyes.

"My friend says university hospitals have tough environments—private clinics might be better. Did I overstep?"

She didn't seem sad, but I checked.

"No! Absolutely not. I'm just... so grateful. Sniff."

She'd braved court to expose Go Yunseong's crimes, risking much despite her demotion. No lawyer can shield clients or witnesses forever. So I'd sought another way.

"Hope Nurse Seo likes it too. No pressure—give 'em a call."

"She will. Thank you, Lawyer. Really..."

"Bus time."

I nodded at the display. Clutching the card, she wiped tears hastily and stood.

"Gotta go. Thanks again, Lawyer."

"You'll miss it."

"Oh no—right now. Bye! Head back safe!"

"You too."

"Yes! Thank you!"

She yelled loud enough for the terminal to echo, then dashed to her bus. Once she was gone, I stood. Kang Minjae's dinner invite echoed—time to hustle.

"...This is driving me nuts."

Forgot to reset after telling Dongjin the news. This time, for real—I'd fix it. Answering:

"Cha Juhan speaking."

National Tax Service? I pulled the phone from my ear, checking the screen. Voice phishing? Felt too slick. I'd listen more.

"Yes?"

Tax audit? I'd half-expected a commendation for good taxpayer or something. The curveball drew a hollow laugh from me.