Chapter 2

The first episode of the webtoon In the Law School begins with the opening ceremony of the Pre-Law program at Korea University Law School.

Pre-Law is, simply put, a kind of preparatory period organized by the school before the official semester begins. Since students from many different majors—most of whom never studied law in undergrad—are admitted, this period gives them a chance to adjust to the unfamiliar subject before diving in fully.

Of course, there are always exceptions.

“Next, the oath of the new students. Student representative, Shin Seo-jun!”

The protagonist of In the Law School, Shin Seo-jun, strode toward the stage.

He was tall—well over 180 centimeters—with a neatly handsome face and broad shoulders that drew the attention of his peers.

With the creation of law schools, most universities in Korea had abolished their undergraduate law departments. The one exception was the Police Academy, which still retained a law program. Shin Seo-jun was described as having graduated top of his class from that very department.

That explained why he held the undisputed number one spot among the first-years in the story.

With his talent and easygoing personality, Seo-jun quickly took charge of the atmosphere among his classmates. Naturally, he gained the support of many students, became the freshman representative in the student council, and played a key role in solving the various incidents that unfolded throughout the story.

On the surface, he seemed perfect—but of course, he also carried hidden scars and a darker backstory, making him a double-sided character.

“As new students, we pledge… First, we, the students of Korea University Law School…”

His youthful, firm voice echoed across the auditorium, drawing admiring murmurs.

The first time I read this scene, I didn’t notice. But in hindsight, almost all the characters who would later become important in the story were introduced here.

For example, the girl with tied-up hair in the front row was Han Seol, the runner-up to Seo-jun. She was the “manufactured genius” type—raised under strict parental control and training. Later, she would compete with Seo-jun over a coveted internship position at the court.

Three rows back, the short guy shoving a handful of chocolate jelly into his mouth was none other than Jung Min-sik, ranked third. He would join Seo-jun’s first study group and later become central in the “Midterm Exam Leak” storyline. Initially portrayed as unpleasant, he eventually revealed a good nature and ended up helping the protagonist greatly.

And as for all these characters… I was—

“Hey, Park Yoo-seung. Are you sleeping?”

“…No.”

—not outside the story watching them, but sitting in the same auditorium, looking around.

No point in hiding it.

The conclusion was simple: I had possessed someone.

Specifically, I was now in the body of a third-rate side character named Park Yoo-seung—a minor villain who picked fights with the protagonist’s group before quickly disappearing from the story.

When I woke up this morning in a strange room, staring at an unfamiliar face in the mirror, I was completely bewildered. My worn-out thirty-something body, scarred by years of labor, had vanished. Instead, a cocky-looking young man glared back at me.

That was when I realized—I was in Yoo-seung’s body.

Had I been reincarnated? And that voice I’d heard from my junior before I blacked out—what was it? What was he?

The questions swarmed endlessly, but I pushed them aside. There was no way to find the answers now. What mattered more was something else.

Park Yoo-seung had been admitted to Korea University Law School alongside the protagonist’s group.

In other words, I had been given the very “opportunity” I once longed for.

A third-rate villain? Even better.

According to the setting, Yoo-seung came from a wealthy family. Thanks to his spoiled personality, he’d been written off as a black sheep and left to his own devices. Which meant—no financial struggles, no family burdens. And since the protagonist would eventually resolve all the major incidents in the plot, I was free to focus entirely on studying.

The perfect environment.

“You seem pretty happy, huh?”

The guy next to me tried to chat again.

What was his name? In the original, he was just Yoo-seung’s lackey—laughing along whenever the protagonist was mocked. I didn’t remember his name, or even how he became close with Yoo-seung.

To avoid suspicion, I decided not to engage too much.

Fortunately, a distraction arrived.

“Well… ah, here he comes.”

“Who?”

“The dean.”

Thump, thump.

The old wooden stage creaked as footsteps echoed.

The chatter in the auditorium died. All eyes turned toward the man on the podium.

A frail-looking old man stood there. But his presence was anything but small.

His graying, worn hair radiated authority. His sharp eyes still gleamed with intelligence untouched by time. Even the cane at his side seemed less like a sign of weakness and more like a judge’s gavel.

He was none other than Kang Chang-soo, former Supreme Court Justice and now Dean of Korea University Law School.

“You all…”

Without any introduction—none was needed—he spoke in a low voice.

“…must feel proud right now. Am I right?”

“Yes!” came scattered replies.

“That’s because you passed one of the most difficult entrance exams and made it into Korea’s top law school. You’ve proven that you are among the top one percent of the nation’s brightest. Correct?”

The “Yes!” grew louder.

“No. Wrong.”

The dean shook his head.

“Because in law, there is no such thing as genius.”

The auditorium fell silent in an instant.

“Law is the study of the ordinary. Perhaps even of the dull. The one who reads and writes more, who studies harder and longer—that is the one who achieves greater things. Let me ask.”

He raised his hand.

“Has anyone here ever prepared for the old bar exam? Raise your hand.”

I flinched, but didn’t raise mine. In my original life, yes. But this Yoo-seung never would have.

I glanced around. Nobody else raised their hand either.

“Anyone who has taken or passed another state exam that required legal knowledge? Raise your hand.”

Again, no one.

“Anyone who has obtained a professional license—CPA, patent attorney—that required law subjects? Raise your hand.”

Silence.

“Anyone who majored in law and at least completed the basics—the Civil Code, Criminal Code, Constitutional Law? Raise your hand.”

This time, one hand went up—Shin Seo-jun’s.

“One. Out of 150 new students. Of course, that’s expected. Many brilliant young talents enter our school. But…”

He paused.

“…not all law schools are like this. Some gather students who already have licenses, who have already passed state exams. Their textbooks are worn to shreds. If you were to compete against them right now—would you stand a chance?”

He shook his head.

“No. You wouldn’t. You are young, bright, full of potential. But precisely because of that, in terms of legal study, you are the most behind of any group in this country.”

The room buzzed with murmurs. Understandable—most of these students had been called “elites” their whole lives.

“But do not worry.”

The dean raised his voice over the murmuring.

“Korea University Law School will train you to overtake them. If I asked you today what the statute of limitations is, you would be speechless. But by graduation, you will know every latest precedent across the seven codes, and be able to solve any legal problem. We will make sure of it.”

“Therefore, trust us and follow. These two weeks of Pre-Law are the beginning.”
***

“Unbelievable.”

“Us, behind? Who does he think we are?”

“Honestly, even if some second-rate kids studied law earlier, we’d catch up in six months. Why try to scare us?”

The dean left the hall with nothing more than a simple announcement: “You are free until six o’clock.”

Students quickly gathered in groups, chatting. Most of them already knew each other from Korea University undergrad, law school prep academies, or student societies.

So it wasn’t surprising that they were already cliquing up.

But what stood out was their elitist attitude—something that, in the original webtoon, would later explode into a major conflict during the Law Moot Court Competition arc.

“Wow, this law school thing is gonna be tough.”

“Still, we’ve all worked so hard to get here. Let’s give it our best. Hahaha.”

Not everyone was arrogant. Many were just excited to start a new chapter of their lives.

Around Seo-jun, the four main cast members of the story had already gathered. Clearly, things were unfolding just as they had in the original.

“Kang Chang-soo’s speech… that was straight out of the webtoon.”

It was one of my favorite parts.

Law is a matter of effort, not genius. That was the very belief I held as a bar exam candidate.

Nobody passes just by being smart. They pass because, while others read once, they read two or three times.

If the story continued to follow the original episodes, then my task was clear.

Rustle.

I pulled something out of my bag and placed it on the desk.

Knots of Civil Law.

A famous exam prep book, nicknamed “Min-mae.” In reality it had a slightly different name, but in the webtoon it was changed for copyright reasons.

Yes.

I had to study.

And I had to start right now.

No need to seek out friends or groups. In the webtoon, all the people Yoo-seung associated with were rotten anyway. Already a few of them had tried to talk to me, but I brushed them off and slipped into a quiet corner.

Studying was more urgent.

True, in my past life I’d come close to passing the bar exam. But that was more than ten years ago. And what a decade it had been—ten years of forced separation from books, of nonstop labor.

Any scraps of knowledge I once had had long since washed away.

“Especially considering what’s coming soon…”

I needed to recover whatever I could.

As I opened the prep book, memories came flooding back.

General Principles of Civil Law, Property Law, Obligations, Family and Inheritance Law…

Each chapter title carried echoes of the past—of the days when I still dreamed.

Turning to “Principle of Good Faith” brought me back to when I first moved into a tiny room in Sillim-dong, vowing I would pass.

Reading “Creditors’ Revocation Rights” reminded me of scarfing down tear-soaked cup rice in the little diner downstairs after another exhausting day.

In other words, I had forgotten everything I truly needed.

Still, not all was gone. Concepts that felt foreign at first soon sparked recognition—ah, yes, that’s how it was. Pages that seemed impossible to get through began turning smoothly.

It was like rehab. Like an athlete relearning how to walk after years bedridden. I was reawakening my brain to the act of studying.

And it felt good.

Some might call me insane for enjoying legal study. And sure, it was difficult. My head felt like it would split trying to cram in every word.

But to me, that pain itself was a blessing.

I knew the truth—sweat shed from studying is far lighter than the tears shed when you are unable to study.

Smiling to myself, I flipped another page—

“…!”

I froze.

Someone was watching me.

At the end of my gaze stood Dean Kang Chang-soo, looking straight at me with an unreadable expression.