Chapter Text
Chapter I
(Messing it up)
mess up (phrasal verb)
1. to spoil or ruin something
→ I’m sorry, I messed up your plans.
2. to do something badly
→ He messed up at work and lost his job.
3. to make somebody feel confused or unhappy (informal)
→ Her parents’ divorce really messed her up.
(Oxford Dictionary)
Wednesday, November 15, 2023, 9:13 a.m.
As she reached the penultimate semester of her law degree at Seoul University, Kang Hyo-min finally had the chance to do what she had been planning since high school: live with her best friends. After almost six months of searching and countless attempts at negotiation, they finally managed to find a three-bedroom apartment in Yeonnam-dong. It was relatively close to a subway station and just a short bus ride away from Severance Hospital, where her friend Seol-ah would begin her medical residency. Of the three, Seolah was probably the one who would have the most unpredictable routine, prone to last-minute calls, which was why the priority had always been finding an apartment not too far from the hospital.
The choice had been fair, but especially today, Kang Hyo-min felt relieved to know she would hardly need to make the long trip to the law school campus every day, since it would have been exhausting. Now that she was entering her penultimate semester, she practically didn’t need to attend classes on campus anymore, as the final stretch of the degree was dedicated to the thesis and the bar exam. She honestly didn’t know what she would have done if she had to travel that distance every single day.
To begin with, although she considered herself an intelligent and responsible person, Kang Hyo-min was well aware of how easily distracted she could be (even if she was capable of deep hyperfocus whenever she set her mind to something) and of how clumsy she could get. If she weren’t so absent-minded, she would have noticed that she had spent far too much time studying the case for the “Seoul Law School Moot Court Competition” (an annual simulation) in which she would act as a prosecutor, and that she was now late for the event that was about to start in just a few minutes. And if she weren’t so clumsy, she wouldn’t have spilled coffee on her own coat after tripping on the staircase that led up to the campus auditorium.
And it was while she was trying to clean up the mess she had made with the spilled coffee that she saw him for the first time. Against her will, he was utterly impeccable, standing at the entrance of the auditorium talking to what seemed to be two other lawyers. His suit was flawless, the white shirt beneath it looked perfectly pressed, and the graphite-colored tie with fine gray lines hung neatly in place. But what distracted her most was his face: he was insanely handsome. With dark hair, thick eyebrows, and a sharp jawline, he was probably one of the most attractive men she had ever seen at Seoul University—unlike the boys in her year, and completely different from her professors with their shabby suits. There was also a slight curve in his nose that set him apart even from the models featured on posters and billboards in Gangnam.
As soon as she felt her phone buzzing in her pocket, Hyomin smacked her forehead three times, realizing she was wasting even more time staring at a stranger, when she herself already had a perfectly handsome boyfriend with whom she would be having dinner that evening. Pulling herself together, she threw away what was left of the coffee, ready to win the simulation—and to forget the face she most likely would never see again.
Wednesday, November 15, 2023, 10:31 a.m.
Yoon Seok-hoon did not like attending these simulations, much less as a guest observer tasked with scouting and recruiting potential new lawyers for Yullim. The company’s HR department should have been able to handle that; it made no sense for a senior partner to walk around like some sort of talent scout. But out of respect for his former professors and his superiors at Yullim, there he was, sitting in the auditorium, watching students with little poise attempt to perform what was supposed to be a trial. The case revolved around an action for the recognition of the nonexistence of paternal affiliation, involving issues such as presumption of paternity, rights in families formed by assisted reproduction, and the child’s well-being.
The only student who stood out was the one in the prosecutor’s seat, but he had already forgotten her name, since the moment the case was introduced his thoughts had wandered to himself, to his own life. While those awkward young people spoke about the existence of paternal affiliation, he was thinking instead about his own impossibility of being a father. He had spent the last years of his marriage yearning for his wife to change her mind, but in the end, not only did she never change it—she also aborted the child that had been conceived by accident, and now she was ready to marry one of his closest friends. And that was unjust on so many levels, because Yoon Seok-hoon would have done anything to save their marriage. Even after crying for weeks, he had left the abortion behind; even burning with anger, he had managed to overlook the betrayal. Ashamed, humiliated, he still would have taken her back. But that very morning, when he received the news of her wedding, he knew she would never return.
And that was why he didn’t know the name of the student speaking for the prosecution. Maybe, at another time, he would have been able to focus on her solid arguments and on her ability to mobilize every available resource to defend her point. If today hadn’t been the day he realized he had lost his wife forever—the day he understood how she had made him give up everything, even his own dignity—if it hadn’t been the day of his life’s greatest loss, Yoon Seok-hoon would have paid more attention to the one who, in the end, ended up winning the simulation, showing everyone in that auditorium just how promising she was. Maybe he really would have been able to appreciate her sharp mind and her quick tongue disguised as unreal sweetness.
But he didn’t notice any of that. He didn’t notice that her name was Kang Hyo-min, he didn’t notice when they mentioned that she was at the top of her class, he didn’t hear when the colleague beside him said she was already receiving offers from major law firms even before taking the bar exam.
In his head, he could only think that his ex-wife was the love of his life—and the loss of his life.
Monday, February 3, 2025, 10:00 a.m.
Kang Hyomin was certain that her absent-mindedness would ruin her. After staining her shirt, missing the subway station that would take her to the Mugyo-dong area, and then having to run so she could make it in time for the interview, she promised herself that she would be more punctual, that she would leave home earlier. She was supposed to present herself for the interview at 10 a.m., but at 10 sharp she was stepping into the elevator of the imposing Stone Tower, desperate and hoping it would carry her to the top as quickly as possible. But as always happens in such moments, the elevator stopped on several floors, making her arrive at the recruitment room at 10:03.
She knew she was late, she knew this was not the best impression for someone applying for a position as a lawyer in a firm like Yullim, but she also knew she wasn’t ready to give up so easily. That was why, when the relentless senior lawyer dismissed her without hesitation, she decided she would wait until the end of the interviews, hoping they might change their minds. As she waited, she thought about how inflexible he had been—and for a second she wondered if she hadn’t seen him somewhere before.
Monday, February 3, 2025, 11:00 a.m.
After hours of interviews, Yoon Seok-hoon was tired of watching recent graduates offer pretentious solutions and obvious definitions to the cases presented to them. So far, no candidate had truly stood out, and the fact that his colleagues were willing to give a second chance to a tardy, awkward candidate was nothing short of outrageous.
There were many reasons why Yoon Seok-hoon had chosen law. He had always carried with him a strong sense of justice, a perfectionism that he knew made him relentless, and a deep respect for rules. And to Seok-hoon, the world would function much better if people would simply follow the rules. Korean society would be on a whole different level if people were simply capable of doing what was written in the Constitution. If they were capable of respecting other people’s time.
But then Mr. Ko Seung-cheol mentioned that she had graduated first in her class at Seoul University and had won the famous university simulation in 2023. Seok-hoon had a vague recollection of the event—at the time, he had been somewhat distracted by everything that had been happening in his personal life, which made anything nonessential slip by unnoticed. Still, not remembering the simulation precisely, he decided at least to listen to her. If Mr. Ko had been impressed, there was no harm in understanding what had caught his superior’s attention. Of all people, the young woman with the stained shirt and torn sock would never become part of the litigation team.
And yet, just a few minutes later, he had to admit to himself that the tardy candidate’s mind worked in an interesting way, running counter to all the others he had listened to for hours on end. It was a shame that such an interesting mind, with such well-organized ideas, could come in the form of a woman with such a chaotic appearance. Still, at the very least, he would now be able to remember the name Kang Hyo-min.
Monday, February 17, 2025, 9:02 a.m.
Being accepted at Yullim had been a huge surprise. Look, it wasn’t as if she had low self-esteem. She had graduated first in her class at the university, was fully aware of her own intelligence, and knew she was capable of achieving great things if that was her priority. Still, she was also realistic: she had arrived late to the interview, and she wasn’t sure if her case analysis during the group exercise had been enough for her small slip to be overlooked. After all, hundreds of people had applied for the junior positions at Yullim—recent graduates and even lawyers with experience and accomplishments as impressive as hers, not to mention spotless shirts—were all competing for a spot at the prestigious firm.
And understanding that, at least on this occasion, she had been lucky, this time she decided she would not ruin everything. She left home early, made sure her clothes were in perfect order, and didn’t even go near a cup of coffee. She was fully determined to do everything to arrive at Yullim perfectly composed and with her dignity intact.
Then the ceremony began, with each senior lawyer explaining the advantages of their department and why they were the best choice: higher salaries, more vacation days, better benefits, more prestige. But none of them sparked her mind, none of them made her curious or motivated. Until it was the turn of the senior lawyer from the litigation department. Hyo-min certainly remembered him from the day of her interview—how he had dismissed her because of her slight delay. Just how meticulous must he be? Unlike all the other lawyers, Mr. Yoon did not present any corporate advantages. In fact, what he presented seemed to be nothing but disadvantages, causing a stir among her future colleagues. But then again, how interesting could that be? What kind of case would make a junior lawyer always be the last one to leave the firm?
If she said that Mr. Yoon’s speech was the only thing that motivated her, she would be lying. Since the middle of her studies, she had been drawn to litigation, even if her parents insisted that she would probably get better bonuses in financial or corporate law. But how boring would that be? She wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted, but she certainly wasn’t excited at the idea of spending the rest of her life staring at numbers (even though she was good at it) and making sure financial institutions grew richer by the day. Hyo-min cared about money, but she also cared about ethics and justice, about offering her best to society. And she wanted to enjoy what she was doing. She wanted to feel motivated, challenged, and passionate—she wanted it to be fun.
So she decided to go against the tide of her colleagues, certain that she was making the right choice.
Monday, February 17, 2025, 11:13 a.m.
Yoon Seok-hoon knew he would remember the name Kang Hyo-min. What he didn’t expect was that, after the candidate’s lack of decorum, she would have the audacity to choose to join his very own team. After all, what good was a brilliant mind if she couldn’t even arrive on time? He took a deep breath, because there was no way that chaotic woman would work with him.
Wednesday, February 26, 2025, 3:04 p.m.
Seok-hoon had to admit he was impressed. He was sitting in the last row of the courtroom, watching the hearing about the Gangdong gas company. Miss Kang had not only defended her point perfectly, but she had also caught the attention of representatives from other companies, bringing more clients to the firm. He had almost regretted giving her a second chance. She was still extremely irritating and clumsy, but at the same time, there was something about her. Seok-hoon saw in Miss Kang someone he could teach. Her idealism was pure, but not naïve. And although she struggled to keep herself in line, she worked harder than anyone else, and her mind seemed to function differently, always seeking unconventional perspectives—which, if used correctly, could be a trump card in the world of litigation. And well, her willpower almost reminded him of himself nearly ten years ago. He saw potential in her.
Friday, February 28, 2025, 12:13 a.m.
Kang Hyo-min was lying in her bed, trying to sleep. The room was completely dark, so she couldn’t see the mess she had left over the past few days. Tonight was especially cold, and she eagerly awaited the arrival of spring, so she curled up a little deeper under the floral blanket her mother had left on her last visit. She knew what was keeping her awake, and it wasn’t the cold.
She remembered how Han Seong-chan had courted her for almost two years, insisting that she give him a chance. She still had two years left before graduating from university, and he had already graduated and was starting to establish himself at a prestigious firm. The first impression hadn’t been good: she met him at a lecture hosted by the university, and the first thing he asked her was whether she was the daughter of Jurist Kang, showing more interest in her father than in her. But little by little, that first impression faded. The next morning, he sent flowers to her dorm saying he would love to take her out to dinner. And Hyo-min, still burned by his initial interest in her family, ignored him. Yet he kept insisting, kept seeking her out, always being very kind, a perfect gentleman. At one point, even her parents insisted she give him a chance. So she did—and up until now, she hadn’t regretted that decision.
During this past year, he had been a good boyfriend to her. He showed up at the agreed time, and he didn’t complain when she didn’t. He sent flowers with the proper frequency and called whenever he said he would. He was adequately handsome, adequately successful, and seemed willing to do everything in an adequate way. It was comfortable. But then, that night, he once again talked about moving in together, and she wondered why on earth she would want something like that. It hadn’t even been a year since she had started sharing her current apartment with her friends, and she liked living there.
Then he did it again. When they ran into a couple of acquaintances at the entrance of the restaurant, Seong-chan introduced her family before he introduced her, spoke of her perfect parents before mentioning her at all. And that was a sore spot that from time to time became a raw nerve and made her question her role in that relationship. Seong-chan could talk about every detail of her grades, about her family’s status, and about how successful she would be in the future. But he didn’t seem to have the same interest in her favorite song or in the novel she had just finished reading. And even without knowing what her favorite song was, he started talking about their future to that couple before even trying to understand how she felt about it. Deep down, Hyo-min wanted that—she wanted him to care about her feelings, about what she liked, about what she wanted, instead of just taking steps according to what was expected, as if checking off a list. Instead of sending her random flowers, she wanted Seong-chan to know her preference for plum blossoms, one of the most common flowers in Korea, but he insisted on giving her red roses.
It wasn’t as if she didn’t like him. Hyo-min wanted Seong-chan to have the chance to truly like her. She wanted him, before making such ambitious plans for the future, to know about the existence of her sister—maybe even to learn sign language? She wanted to get to know him, and she wanted him to get to know her too.
She wanted the chance to fall in love with him, and maybe even to love him.
Then she sighed, pulling the blanket over her head.