Chapter 4

“339,800 won, please.”

The clerk handed me a heavy paper bag filled with books.

The reason I stopped by the bookstore early in the morning was simple.

In Park Yoo-seung’s apartment, the only law book he had was a single copy of Knots of Civil Law.

Exam prep books are efficient for cramming, sure. But if you really want to understand legal principles and apply them, you also need basic textbooks you can consult whenever you get stuck.

[Principles of Civil Law – Ji Yeon-rim]
[Criminal Law – Concise Edition]
[General Theory of Criminal Law – Kim Seon-don]
[Special Part of Criminal Law – Kim Seon-don]

Seeing those titles, straight out of the bar exam district of Sillim-dong, made me smile.

Yesterday’s test had made it clear just how lacking I was right now.

I had tried to prepare by flipping through my exam book, but with just a few hours there was no way I could review the entire Civil Code.

So I skipped the multiple-choice entirely.

Instead, I focused on the essay-type questions, where statutes could be used. I could at least look at the law and jog my memory.

Even then, most of my answers were vague paraphrases—because I couldn’t recall exact case law wording or scholarly terms.

Luckily, the final problem had been one of those trap questions I’d seen endlessly back in my exam days, so my reflexes kicked in and I wrote the correct conclusion without thinking.

Last night, after returning to Yoo-seung’s apartment, I compared my test paper with Knots of Civil Law and spent all night filling in the gaps in my memory. I also made a list of the books I needed to buy.

I had no other obligations anyway.

Yoo-seung was notorious at Korea University.

He once stumbled into class drunk and pointed fingers at a professor. Another time, he hit on a freshman girl, fought her boyfriend, and ended up in a police cell.

His antics were so infamous that everyone on campus had heard of him.

So no one with common sense would approach him.

And I had no interest in befriending the kind of people who didn’t have common sense.

In short, I was an island. An outcast.

“…Well, at least I can buy books without worry.”

In my old life, I never could have dreamed of spending this kind of money on books. But compared to the money in Yoo-seung’s account, it was pocket change.

Satisfied, I hugged the paper bag and left the bookstore.

Pre-Law Day 2 was about to begin.

I had to hurry.
***

[Pre-Law Class A Lecture Room]

From the second day, students were split into three groups of fifty. No way you could cram 150 students into one room.

I was placed in Class A—together with the main characters from the original story: Shin Seo-jun, Han Seol, and Jung Min-sik.

Click.

I opened the classroom door.

The students inside looked at me. Then, as if seeing something disgusting, they quickly turned their eyes away.

Some whispered to each other after recognizing my face.

The air grew chilly. I couldn’t help but smirk bitterly.

Of the 150 new students, 100 were from Korea University’s undergrad.

That meant at least 100 people already knew of Yoo-seung’s terrible reputation.

And the others? They had probably been warned already by their Korea University friends in the past day.

I didn’t care.

I wasn’t the real Yoo-seung, but I couldn’t prove that. Nor should I.

And in the end, law school was a lonely fight with yourself. Compared to the miracle of being given another chance to study law, hostile stares were less than dust.

I checked the seating chart at the front and walked to my assigned seat.

The three students sitting around me would be my team for group work during Pre-Law.

Of course, I already knew who they were, thanks to the original story.

“…What the hell.”

Sitting next to my seat—Han Seol.

“Why are you here?” she snapped.

“Because this is my seat.”

“Your seat?”

She counted the rows with her fingers, disbelief written all over her face. But reality wouldn’t change.

Her eyes narrowed for a long moment. Then, with horror, she realized the truth—we were in the same team.

“This… this can’t be happening…”

Han Seol and Yoo-seung had been in the same undergraduate business program.

So she knew better than anyone: the rumors weren’t exaggerated. Yoo-seung really was an empty-headed wreck.

How such a human disaster had managed to graduate from the same school and get into the same law program was beyond her comprehension.

She clutched her head in despair, then suddenly turned toward me.

“Yoo-seung.”

“What?”

“I won’t ask you to work hard. I won’t even expect it. Just… let me do everything. Just don’t cause trouble. Please.”

Her expression was desperate.

In the original story, this was when she resolved to take first place in Pre-Law at all costs.

For someone who had always been number one, losing the top spot to Seo-jun at admission had been her first defeat.

To make up for it, she needed perfect grades in every test and every group evaluation.

But instead of cooperating, the real Yoo-seung had taken offense and made a scene—forcing Seo-jun to step in and protect her.

That was when her feelings toward him began to change.

Of course, I had no intention of repeating that childish farce.

“…Alright.”

“…Really?”

“I came to law school to turn over a new leaf. I promise I won’t drag you down.”

Her suspicious glare said it all: You? Turn over a new leaf? As if.

But that wasn’t my problem. She could believe me or not.

“Phew…”

She let out a breath of relief.

“Don’t worry. I can handle most things myself, and if needed I’ll rely on the other teammate. You don’t have to do anything.”

Her voice had brightened slightly, as if she’d found a scrap of hope in a pit of despair.

But she didn’t know.

That “other teammate” of ours? Right now, he was probably still fast asleep in the dorm, and wouldn’t be showing up anytime soon.

Sorry, but it’s just me.

Not that I intended to drag her down. I had promised.

Yes…

I wouldn’t drag her down.

At least—not in the way she expected.
***

Criminal Law.

In the first class, a professor in a sharp suit wrote two characters on the board: 형법 (Criminal Law).

“Nice to meet you.”

Nobody questioned who he was.

Anyone entering Korea University Law School already knew this man by name.

“I’m Professor Jang Yong-hwan, and I’ll be teaching you. This—” he tapped the board, “—is what you’ll be learning.”

Jang Yong-hwan. Former Chief Prosecutor. The master of criminal law. The man whose advisees always became prosecutors.

The mere sound of his name made some students swallow nervously.

“Do you know what Criminal Law is?”

Han Seol’s hand shot up.

Since our missing teammate hadn’t arrived, she had already decided to carry the team on her back.

“Good. The student with her hand raised.”

“Criminal Law is the law that defines crimes and prescribes punishments for them.”

“Memorized well. And your name?”

“Han Seol, sir.”

“Good. As Han Seol said, Criminal Law defines what acts are crimes, and how, and how much they should be punished. So as students of criminal law, you need only answer three questions.”

Is this an unlawful act?
If it is, does it deserve punishment?
If so, how severe should the punishment be?

“Simple, right? But the amount you must consider to reach those simple judgments is immense.”

He wrote another word under the first: 총론 (General Part).

“Here, you learn the basic concepts and general principles of criminal law. Most schools teach this in the first semester.”

Then another: 각론 (Special Part).

“Later, you’ll study the details of each crime—the actors, the conduct, the objects. Usually in the second semester.”

He looked at us.

“Most of you haven’t studied law before. If you at least skimmed the Civil Code before admission, that’s commendable. If you studied the General Part of Criminal Law, you’re very diligent. But if anyone has already gone through the Special Part…”

He smirked.

“…that person is a freak.”

The students laughed—not at his joke, but with relief.

So I’m not behind. Everyone else is just as unprepared. And the professor knows it.

They assumed he’d go easy on us for Pre-Law.

But they were wrong.

“Don’t be afraid of making mistakes. If you don’t know something, the person next to you doesn’t know it either.”

Then he dropped the bomb.

“Because today is your first group evaluation.”

With a click, the projector lit up the board.

A short case appeared:

– “A” is a college student who often uses the campus community app.
– While cleaning the campus grounds, he finds a flyer accusing student president candidate “B” of cheating on exams and assaulting students.
– “A” uploads the contents of the flyer to the community app, claiming it’s in the public interest for voters to know. As a result, “B” loses the election.

Professor Jang asked:

“What is the legal issue here?”

I glanced at Han Seol. Her face was pale.

Of course. Her strength was memorization. Within the range she had studied, she could answer anything. But faced with something unfamiliar, she froze.

And this problem came straight from the Special Part of Criminal Law.

She had studied the Civil Code and even the General Part of Criminal Law in advance. But not the Special Part. That was too much, even for her.

Me neither.

Korea’s Criminal Code has 372 articles, plus countless provisions in appendices and special laws. All defining crimes. All part of the Special Part.

Most of that had long since slipped out of my mind.

In the webtoon, this exact scene had appeared. I even remembered who answered. But that was memory as a reader, not as a law student.

The only one who could answer right now was the protagonist.

“You there. Your name?”

“Shin Seo-jun.”

“Seo-jun… Group 6, right. Go ahead.”

Seo-jun took a breath, then spoke smoothly.

“‘A’ uploaded accusations on the school app, damaging ‘B’s reputation and causing him to lose the election.”

First, state the facts.

“So first, we must consider defamation under the Information and Communications Network Act. But that requires intent to slander. Since ‘A’ acted for the public good, it doesn’t apply.”

Identify applicable statutes.

“Next, we examine Article 307(1) of the Criminal Code—defamation by stating facts. The issue is whether the statement was made ‘publicly.’”

Present the issue.

“According to the prevailing precedent, the ‘possibility of dissemination’ theory, the school app counts as public since it can reach an unspecified number of people. So Article 307(1) applies.”

Apply precedent.

“But Article 310 provides an exception: if the facts are true and the act was solely for the public good, then no punishment is given. Therefore, in this case, ‘A’ cannot be punished.”

Draw the conclusion.

The room went silent.

Students stared at Seo-jun as if he were on another level. Even Professor Jang looked intrigued.

“Have you studied criminal law before?”

“Not enough to be confident, sir. But yes, to some extent.”

“To some extent?” If that was “to some extent,” what were the rest of us?

“Excellent. Every point you raised was correct. If this were a midterm exam, I’d give you an A+.”

“Thank you.”

“But—” Professor Jang continued, “you still wouldn’t be number one.”

Gasps erupted.

“A fine answer, but to be the best scholar and practitioner, there was one more issue you should have raised. To truly claim you studied at Korea University Law School, you must catch that as well.”

He looked around.

“Anyone know what it is?”

Of course not.

Even catching the Special Part was a feat only Seo-jun had achieved.

And in the original story, no one had ever found the “correct” answer. Jang simply left it as an open challenge for the semester.

An unanswered problem.

But—

“Oh? You, there.”

I raised my hand and stood.

“Are you insane!?” Han Seol hissed, trying to stop me.

I ignored her.

The hard part had already been done by Seo-jun.

Which statutes applied, what the precedent said—that required encyclopedic knowledge of the Special Part.

I couldn’t do that. Not yet.

But adding one spoonful to the feast Seo-jun had already laid out? That I could do.

It wasn’t even a hard point, once you thought about it.

“My name is Park Yoo-seung.”

“Yoo-seung… Group 10. Alright. What do you think?”

I opened my mouth with confidence.