Chapter 42
"This is the script for episodes 19 and 20 of the aired Distance Between You and Me."
I pointed to the script Kang Minjae had placed under the lens.
"And this is the unaired version of episodes 19 and 20 that was filmed in advance. Right next to it is the bound version."
Jeong Hyejin's and Yu Jeongwon's faces twisted immediately. It was only natural. This was evidence I'd deliberately omitted from the preparatory documents. The moment they included the inspiration notebook in their answer brief, I'd decided not to reveal it too soon.
"Objection! This is evidence not submitted in advance."
"We submitted it as court evidence today, and we'll resubmit it formally in writing after the trial. May we continue?"
"Proceed."
If I'd thrust it forward claiming it was hastily prepared, the judge would have rejected it outright. His expression was utterly displeased. It was already confirmed that the judge wasn't cooperative, so there was no point complaining now.
"Distance Between You and Me is known to film next week's episodes in advance during pre-production. But episodes 19 and 20 were shot in a rush, with the actors still on set even on the day of airing."
Next, I displayed the actors' shooting schedules. Soon after, screenshots from online forums debating unresolved plot threads filled the screen.
"Episodes 19 and 20 were hastily revised after the plaintiff stated her position. As a result, the so-called foreshadowing—the plot hooks heavily featured up to episode 18—went unexplained to the end. The aired episodes 19 and 20 are clearly different from the plaintiff's script. Of course, that doesn't erase the childhood salvation backstory between the male and female leads..."
I picked up the original script for episodes 19 and 20 first.
"But the originally filmed episodes 19 and 20 follow the plaintiff's script exactly. In Distance Between You and Me, the female lead says, 'It was you? The one who pulled me out of that pitch-black glacier back then?' And in the plaintiff's script, the female lead says, 'It was you, President? The one who pulled me out of that thick, unyielding inferno like a glacier?'"
I set the script down. Comparing flames to a glacier was exceedingly rare. Hell, maybe—but not this.
I continued my argument, explaining that part.
"If they'd gone with this, the foreshadowing would have been perfectly resolved. But the defendant didn't. Instead, they restarted filming that was already done, as if scheming to alter the core backstory now. And one more thing."
A heavy silence fell over the courtroom. I looked at Jeong Hyejin and Yu Jeongwon and slowly opened my mouth.
"The defendant claimed they never saw the plaintiff's entry after it failed the first round of the contest. The plaintiff never shared the script anywhere else. So how did the defendant know to urgently revise it just before airing, matching the plaintiff's script and content?"
Reporters in the gallery began nodding slowly.
"The defendant undoubtedly accessed the plaintiff's script in advance. They kept plagiarizing, thinking they wouldn't get caught, but when the plaintiff announced her intent to sue toward the latter half, they panicked and revised the script."
As I finished, the reporters hurriedly jotted notes. Some pounded away at heavy-looking laptop keyboards.
I sat back down, and Kang Minjae leaned toward me, whispering softly.
"Attorney, that was awesome."
Soon, Yu Jeongwon stood. Her associate lawyer rushed to Kang Minjae's spot, busily preparing documents under the lens. Meanwhile, Yu Jeongwon skimmed the papers in her hand and glanced at me. Her lips curved in a strange smile.
Now it was time for their evidence. Trials with back-and-forth filings like this were just about verifying submitted evidence. Maybe it would have been better not to know. I still had no idea how to counter that unresolved mystery evidence.
"Your Honor, the plaintiff's claims are baseless conjecture. The defendant began outlining Distance Between You and Me before ever seeing the plaintiff's script. Please review Defendant's Evidence 2 and 3."
Familiar evidence appeared on screen: the synopsis production log with the PD, and the inspiration notebook.
"As shown in the synopsis production log, the file creation date is July 2006. And as confirmed in the inspiration notebook, the defendant passed through Samchang-dong in Iyang-gu around September 2006 and hand-wrote a description of this scenery after chancing upon it. She claims this is when she began fleshing out the drama's details from its rough outline."
It had been a copy in the answer brief, but this was the original on screen. The cover read "2006." Flipping to the flagged September page revealed the description from her Samchang-dong visit.
How on earth? It didn't look like paper had been slipped in midway. Even assuming they'd melted the binding glue, inserted pages, and reheated it, something was off. Enough time had passed that the pages should show faint wear. Yet the ink bleed from earlier pages suggested it was genuinely written sequentially, like a real diary.
But then 2006 didn't make sense.
"The defendant drew heavy inspiration from the prevalent red hues in Samchang-dong's nightscape, requesting the drama incorporate a lot of red tones—which it did."
The screen shifted to drama scenes heavy on red, but I ignored them. My eyes were fixed on that inspiration notebook.
"Additionally, this video proves it was indeed the defendant's notebook from 2006. Defendant's Evidence 9."
The associate played making-of footage from a 2006 drama scripted by Jeong Hyejin. She was chatting with the director on set, holding the notebook. It showed creases, smudges, pen scratches—clear signs of use. And it matched the evidence in court exactly.
"The plaintiff submitted her script to the Blues Island Media contest the following year, March 2007. Thus, the defendant couldn't have plagiarized from the start."
The internet was flooded with trial coverage. Exhausted from the long hearing, I lounged on the office sofa with my feet up on the table. Kang Minjae paced frantically around the room.
His fidgeting grated on me, so I finally spoke.
"Sit still."
"...This doesn't feel good."
"What? Bad articles?"
"Nah? Just that the paid Blues Island puff pieces and the 'poor us' stories are about even."
"And?"
"The trial ended on a sour note. We only filed an objection on whether that inspiration notebook is legit evidence or possibly fabricated, and set a judgment date... Argh, driving me crazy."
I closed my eyes, recalling the courtroom notebook. Even without my ability, I knew it was forged—but proving how was still a mystery.
"Attorney, you falling asleep? The judge is already biased their way! How do you know the ruling and sleep like—"
"Not sleeping, thinking. So be quiet."
"Yeah, that's what people caught dozing always say—'thinking.'"
Kang Minjae grumbled. After all this time together, he was sassing back. I couldn't help chuckling.
Anyway, exposing that notebook as fake was the key.
"We need a closer look at that inspiration notebook."
They'd send a copy since I'd requested it for the reopening motion—they wouldn't want to seem guilty.
"...And Taesik, that guy—"
Bang!
Suddenly, the door slammed shut hard. Startled, Kang Minjae whipped around. I sat up from my slouch and turned toward the door.
"Go check."
"Got it."
Kang Minjae opened the office door to find a hulking figure standing there. Taesik.
"Boss?"
"Uh, well, you seemed in a bad mood, Attorney, so I was gonna come back another day..."
"Come in."
I scooted over on the sofa. I shrugged off my still-on jacket and loosened my tie. Tired, but we had business to settle with Taesik.
"Trial go south?"
Taesik sat across from me. Kang Minjae, waving it off, recounted the day's events in detail for me.
"This all 'cause I couldn't find that printout?"
Taesik asked cautiously, uncharacteristically guilty. I shook my head. A printout would've been great, but I'd planned for its absence. Even without it, I should've crushed them today. That inspiration notebook. If not for it...
"Taesik."
"Yes, Attorney."
"Drive. Kang's beat—head home."
I rummaged through the piled papers on my desk and pulled out the secured inspiration notebook copy. Not that I distrusted Kang, but this notebook was too suspicious. I wanted to check Samchang-dong myself.
Taesik nodded blankly and stood. Kang Minjae followed us, asking,
"Where to?"
"I said go home."
Telling Kang I was going back to Samchang-dong would hurt his pride, like I doubted him. It wasn't that. Everyone slips up; I just wanted to double-check.
"Follow us."
I tossed Taesik the car keys. Kang Minjae nodded without arguing. Surprising—he usually insisted on tagging along. He must be wiped too; I got it. He'd run hard enough.
Kang Minjae needed a break.
"To Samchang-dong?"
"Yeah. The hill district."
I settled into the passenger seat as Taesik drove toward Samchang-dong.