The Lawyer Who Never Loses

CHAPTER 3: The Star Prosecutor

The glowing blue text didn't vanish when I blinked. It didn't disappear when I splashed freezing tap water onto my face, and it certainly didn't go away when I dry-heaved over my stained porcelain sink.

[Victory Probability: 0%]

It hovered in the upper right corner of my vision, a persistent, silent judge. 

I gripped the edges of the sink, staring at my reflection in the cracked mirror. My eyes were bloodshot, surrounded by deep, bruised purple bags. My black hair stuck up in greasy clumps. I looked like a corpse that had been forced to wear a necktie. 

"This isn't real," I muttered, my voice raspy. "It's stress. It's a hallucination."

I turned my back on the mirror and grabbed the case file from the folding table. The moment my eyes focused on the police report, the blue screen expanded, dropping a waterfall of text down the center of my vision.

[Analyzing Evidence Document]

[Contradiction Found: None]

[Legal Precedent: State vs. Choi (2021) - Guilty]

[Case Difficulty: F]

[Victory Probability: 0%]

It wasn't just a static image. It was reacting to what I was reading. I flipped to the grainy CCTV photo of the thief in the black hoodie. The system immediately overlaid a green wireframe over the blurry figure, then projected another wireframe based on Lee Ji-Won's physical description in the file. 

The two wireframes merged. A red notification pulsed.

[Biometric Match: 98.4%]

I dropped the file. The papers scattered across the linoleum. The system overlay instantly minimized back to the corner of my eye, leaving only that mocking zero percent.

I didn't have time to go insane. It was 7:15 AM. The trial started at nine. 

I threw on my cheap grey suit. It smelled faintly of yesterday's panic and old subway air. I grabbed my battered briefcase, shoved the scattered papers inside, and ran out the door into the biting morning cold of Sillim-dong. 

The walk to the subway station was a blur of shivering commuters and the sharp smell of frying hotteok from street vendors. I swiped my transit card, wincing at the low-balance beep, and crammed myself into a packed Line 2 train. 

Pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers, the air thick with damp wool and cheap perfume, I closed my eyes. The blue panel remained, vivid against the darkness of my eyelids. 

If this was a psychotic break, it was a strangely helpful one. It confirmed what I already knew: the case was unwinnable. But why show me a probability at all if there was no way to change it? A system implies mechanics. Mechanics imply a way to play the game. 

I opened my eyes as the train rattled into Seocho Station. 

Stepping out onto the street, the atmosphere shifted immediately. This was Seocho Legal Town. The buildings here were monuments of glass and steel, housing the city's elite law firms. Men and women in bespoke suits walked with aggressive purpose, carrying leather briefcases that cost more than my apartment's deposit. 

Looming ahead was my destination. 

The Seoul Central District Court was a massive, intimidating structure of gray stone and harsh geometric lines. It was designed to make you feel small. It worked. 

I pushed through the heavy glass doors, the sudden blast of heated air carrying the distinct courthouse scent: floor wax, stale coffee, and the sharp, acidic tang of nervous sweat. The lobby was a chaotic swarm of desperate families, bored reporters, and lawyers whispering last-minute instructions to their clients. 

"Jin Tae-Rin."

The voice sliced through the low roar of the crowd. It was sharp, smooth, and entirely devoid of warmth. 

I froze, turning slowly. 

Walking toward the elevator bank was a woman who commanded the space around her. Prosecutor Han Seo-Young. She wore a tailored burgundy suit that looked like armor. Her dark hair was cut into a sharp, unforgiving bob, and her heels clicked against the marble floor with the rhythmic precision of a ticking clock. 

She didn't stop walking. She didn't even turn her head to look at me. She just spoke as she passed by, her eyes fixed on the elevator doors.

"I hope you brought a toothbrush for your client, Attorney Jin. I'm asking for two years."

My throat closed up. Two years? For a first-time petty theft charge, that was absurd. But Ji-Won had two prior shoplifting offenses as a minor. Han was going to use those to paint her as a career criminal in the making.

I opened my mouth to reply, to offer some kind of witty, confident defense, but nothing came out. 

The system panel in my eye blinked rapidly.

[Opponent Identified: Prosecutor Han Seo-Young]

[Threat Level: High]

[Opponent Strategy: Maximum Sentencing via Character Assassination]

[Judge Bias Analysis: Pending Trial Start]

The elevator doors slid shut behind her, cutting off her cold smirk. 

My hands were shaking. I shoved them deep into my pockets and headed for the holding cells in the basement. 

The holding area was a sterile, fluorescent-lit nightmare. Cages of thick plexiglass and steel bars lined the hallway. I found Lee Ji-Won in Interview Room 3.