Chapter 9

“Case number 2001Da66369.”

The sudden mention of a case number sent ripples of confusion through the room.

“In that case, the court held: when money is transferred into a corporation’s account under a void legal act, the corporation immediately gains an ‘unjust enrichment.’ That enrichment exists even if someone withdraws the money right away. Meaning, in this case, Eul Bank can also sue Gap for restitution under Article 741 of the Civil Code.”

Everyone scrambled to open their statutes.

***
Civil Code Article 741 (Unjust Enrichment):
If a person benefits from another’s property or services without legal grounds, thereby causing loss to the other, the person shall return such benefit.

“Wh–what’s your point? Either way, Eul lost 500 million won. They’d get the same money back!”

Bae Hyun-jung’s panic was showing—he had even dropped the formal tone he’d used with the professor.

“No. Not the same.”

I cut him off easily.

“If Eul pursues tort liability, then because of their own negligence, the amount can be reduced through comparative negligence.”

Hyun-jung’s face went pale.

“Civil Code Article 396: Comparative Negligence. If the creditor has been negligent in a breach of contract claim, the court shall take that into account in determining liability and damages. Article 764 applies this rule to tort liability as well.”

Put simply:

Someone wronged me, so I suffered damage. But on closer inspection, some of that damage happened because of my own mistake.

In such cases, the court reduces my claim by the amount of my own negligence.

“Here, Eul Bank was negligent. Not grossly negligent, so they can still claim under tort law. But they must reduce their damages. That means the amount they recover is less. Whereas under unjust enrichment, there’s no such reduction.”

The conclusion was obvious: the legal ground chosen changes how much Eul can recover.

For Eul, a restitution claim under Article 741 is far more favorable than relying on Article 35’s corporate tort liability.

“Do I need to spell it out any further, Professor?”

I handed the baton to Professor Park Soo-geun.

“What did you write on the board?” he asked.

“Two lines for unjust enrichment’s requirements and precedent. One line noting that tort liability is possible, but comparative negligence reduces damages. One final line for the conclusion: restitution is the better claim.”

Of course, if this had been an actual written exam, that would’ve been a disaster.

You must still analyze corporate tort liability in detail, otherwise you lose all the points tied to that issue.

But this wasn’t a written exam—it was an oral presentation.

In a presentation, it’s not about exhaustively covering every word. It’s about who seizes the room, who makes the most convincing case.

And in that arena, I had just delivered a crushing win.

“Wow…”

“That was insane. Hyun-jung’s explanation of Article 35 wasn’t bad, but Yoo-seung tied in unjust enrichment from a completely different part of the Civil Code and turned the whole thing around.”

“Didn’t you guys say he was the infamous screw-up of the business school? He looks like a genius right now.”

“Damn. If lawyers really work like that, maybe this is what it takes.”

The murmurs that once dismissed me as useless now sang like praise.

“Quiet down, everyone. Class isn’t over yet,” the professor said, smiling faintly.

“Yoo-seung.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Have you done professional exam prep before? Patent bar, judicial administration exam, something like that? Not the old bar exam—too young for that.”

If only he knew—I’d passed the second stage of the bar exam.

But I simply shook my head. Technically, ‘Park Yoo-seung’ hadn’t studied for any of those, so it wasn’t a lie.

“Remarkable. To be honest, this wasn’t a particularly difficult issue. But for an incoming student to connect broad concepts across civil law like that? Rare.”

He clapped me on the shoulder.

“Excellent sense for when to shift emphasis in response to the question. That’s something people usually only pick up after years of exam prep. Group 10 gets 5 bonus points. Group 9… well done as well. You may return to your seats.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

The contrast couldn’t have been clearer.

Victory, decisive and overwhelming.

I turned to Hyun-jung, flashed him a grin. His face turned crimson as he choked out, trembling:

“…Th–thank… you…”

***
Later that evening.

“Cheers!”

Han Seol clinked her soju glass against mine in a barbecue joint.

“You’re really paying for this, right?”

“When have I ever gone back on my word? Eat up.”

Her voice was unusually cheerful.

Sure, I had inherited the wallet of a spoiled rich kid, so money was no problem. But even if it hadn’t been, free barbecue always tastes best.

“Did you see his face? Like the world was ending.”

Apparently, Hyun-jung had been pestering her for ages. No matter how many times she rejected him, he kept hovering, trapped in his own delusions.

So watching him crash and burn today had been cathartic for her.

“I hate guys like that. Always ranking people, always sneering at anyone they think is beneath them.”

“You mean like how you told me not to drag the group down on our first day?”

“H-hey, that was different!”

I knew.

Han Seol hadn’t said it out of malice. If anything, she was the kind to carry even dead weight just to make sure the team did well.

It was only because the “original” Yoo-seung had been such human garbage that ignoring him was the safest strategy.

“Relax, I was kidding.”

“…You had me worried for a second.”

Her scowl eased into a smile.

In the original story, Han Seol almost never smiled—always stone-faced. Readers used to complain in the comments: “She’s prettier when she smiles! Why does the author make her look so stiff all the time?”

The thought made me chuckle.

“You should smile like that more often. Looks better on you.”

“…W-what—! cough cough!”

She choked on her lettuce wrap.

“Serves you right for stuffing your face. Here.”

I handed her tissues. She shot me a glare, but still murmured thanks as she accepted them.

Seriously, she was earnest to a fault.

“By the way, don’t you have a curfew? Is it okay for you to be here?”

“…Yeah. It used to be 8 p.m. when I was an undergrad, but now that I’m in law school, Mom extended it to 9.”

“Nice. And you’re pretty good at grilling, by the way.”

“Of course! Back when I was class president, they called me the goddess of the barbecue grill at MTs!”

…Right, just like in the original.

Her mom was a classic helicopter parent—micromanaging her life down to the minute, even as an adult. Curfews, daily study reports, the works.

The fact that Han Seol turned out so diligent instead of rebelling was a miracle in itself.

I snatched another piece of meat she’d left on the side. Delicious.

“So how did you know? That the professor wanted unjust enrichment as the real answer?”

“There were too many restrictions in the prompt. Felt forced. Like he was trying to point us away from the obvious.”

I explained how stripping away agency, apparent authority, and abuse of power—all core issues—basically screamed that he wanted something else.

“Then I reread the line, ‘You are the attorney for Eul.’ Normally, you don’t need that phrasing. It was the hint.”

“…Huh. Makes sense.”

She gave a little impressed nod—then smirked.

“Still, that line of yours was kinda cool. What was it? ‘As a lawyer, have you truly tried to secure your client’s greatest benefit?’”

“…Don’t.”

I’d only said it to get under Hyun-jung’s skin, but hearing her mimic it back made me want to crawl under the table.

“I swear, you sounded like some hotshot lawyer out of a drama. I almost stood up and clapped.”

“Stop.”

“‘Bae Hyun-jung, was that really your best?’” she teased in a singsong voice.

“Gahh!”

I drowned my embarrassment in another drink. She laughed and clinked my glass again.

The soju burned extra bitter going down.

…Maybe I’d overdone the theatrics.

Truth was, this problem had been relatively easy—for me.

All the key points were right there in the Civil Code.

For someone like me, whose memory of doctrine was rusty, but who still knew how to navigate a statute book, it was the perfect setup.

Hyun-jung had it harder, ironically—he had to recall unwritten concepts like “external appearance theory” to flesh out Article 35.

As for the case citation? Pure luck. I’d happened to flip through it during prep that very morning, reminiscing about how, back in the bar exam days, we often had to tie unjust enrichment into corporate liability.

“Still, remembering it like that’s impressive,” Han Seol admitted.

Compliments about memorization from her of all people—awkward. I waved it off and refocused on the meat. She followed my lead, shoving food into her mouth with renewed vigor.

When we finally stepped out, she sighed happily.

“That was great. Next time’s on you.”

“Keep dreaming. Do you know how expensive meat is these days?”

We parted early, to make her curfew. She left grumbling, but with a bright smile on her face.

…Guess the food really was that good.

I headed home too, the pleasant buzz fading as reality crept back in.

There was still a huge problem left unsolved.

The missing teammate: Lee Ha-ru.

Hyun-jung might’ve been humiliated, but his words about our “ghost member” still rang true. If we didn’t fix that, our group would take a massive attendance penalty.

I had until the weekend to find him.

The trouble was: where the hell was he?

And even if I did find him, how would I drag him to class every day?

“That damn problem child…”