Lawyer Hyunwoo

By Sanghoon

The courtroom was silent. When the final words were spoken, a few seconds of stillness followed— Then came the applause, erupting from one side and quickly filling the room. He remained seated, bowing his head slightly. A multibillion-dollar lawsuit—he had won. And that evening, at the victory party, his name was called. "Attorney Hyun-woo, congratulations on your promotion to partner as of today." "You're the treasure of this firm," the CEO said, raising his glass with a smile. The celebration continued late into the night at a luxurious hotel lounge. People gathered around him—champagne toasts, handshakes, flashing cameras, laughter. But amidst the praise and noise, Hyun-woo quietly slipped away. Someone tried to call out to him, but he simply raised a hand, signaling he was fine, and stepped into the elevator. (Heading back to his home) — His apartment was silent. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, city lights flickered faintly. Stacks of unfinished paperwork were spread across his desk. Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, he opened his laptop. The lawsuit was over, but the work never seemed to end. And maybe that was easier—this quiet, this solitude—than all the noise of success. While sorting through documents, he found an old envelope. A sticker on the front read: “LAW SCHOOL INTERVIEW – 10 Years Ago.” Inside was a single sheet of paper. The question was simple: "Why do you want to become a lawyer?" He read his own answer, written in his younger handwriting. “There is someone I failed to protect. If I could go back, I would change everything.“ He stared at the page and muttered softly, “…If I could go back… could I really change it?” And in that moment, something inside him snapped. Time itself seemed to halt. The paper in his hand began to tremble. The air in the room shifted. The ticking of the clock stopped. The lights flickered once, briefly. A tight pain gripped his chest. His breathing quickened, and his head tilted back. When he opened his eyes again, he wasn’t at his desk anymore. His head rested on a hard surface. He looked up. Rows of desks. A chalkboard. Flickering lights. Everything looked familiar—yet felt entirely wrong.  A locker creaked nearby. There was a dried-up wad of gum stuck to the floor beneath him. Afternoon sunlight slanted in through the far-end windows. Too vivid to be a dream. Too still to be real. He moved out from the classroom and started walking along the hallway. His footsteps echoed faintly as he moved down the corridor. Turning a corner, he froze. Someone was sitting against the wall, knees drawn up, head bowed. One white earbud dangled from her ear. He knew. It was her. Exactly as he remembered— and close enough to stop his breath. Her name sat on his tongue, heavy and unfamiliar, like something buried for too long. He swallowed once, then spoke. “…What are you doing here?” She didn’t look up. Her voice came back—calm, but unmistakably cold. “You should know” The school bell rang between them—sharp, jarring. His vision blurred. A wave of memories rose up, fast and disorienting. Her voice, Silence, That Day. He staggered back half a step. When he looked up again, she was gone. The hallway was still. Empty. He didn’t know how long he stood there, heart pounding. But as the echoes of the bell faded, one thing became clear. He wasn’t dreaming. He was back. Back to the place where everything began. Back to where he still had a chance to save her. One quiet question echoed inside him. This time... can I really change it?

Story Content

The courtroom was silent. When the final words were spoken, a few seconds of stillness followed— Then came the applause, erupting from one side and quickly filling the room. He remained seated, bowing his head slightly. A multibillion-dollar lawsuit—he had won. And that evening, at the victory party, his name was called. "Attorney Hyun-woo, congratulations on your promotion to partner as of today." "You're the treasure of this firm," the CEO said, raising his glass with a smile. The celebration continued late into the night at a luxurious hotel lounge. People gathered around him—champagne toasts, handshakes, flashing cameras, laughter. But amidst the praise and noise, Hyun-woo quietly slipped away. Someone tried to call out to him, but he simply raised a hand, signaling he was fine, and stepped into the elevator. (Heading back to his home) — His apartment was silent. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, city lights flickered faintly. Stacks of unfinished paperwork were spread across his desk. Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, he opened his laptop. The lawsuit was over, but the work never seemed to end. And maybe that was easier—this quiet, this solitude—than all the noise of success. While sorting through documents, he found an old envelope. A sticker on the front read: “LAW SCHOOL INTERVIEW – 10 Years Ago.” Inside was a single sheet of paper. The question was simple: "Why do you want to become a lawyer?" He read his own answer, written in his younger handwriting. “There is someone I failed to protect. If I could go back, I would change everything.“ He stared at the page and muttered softly, “…If I could go back… could I really change it?” And in that moment, something inside him snapped. Time itself seemed to halt. The paper in his hand began to tremble. The air in the room shifted. The ticking of the clock stopped. The lights flickered once, briefly. A tight pain gripped his chest. His breathing quickened, and his head tilted back. When he opened his eyes again, he wasn’t at his desk anymore. His head rested on a hard surface. He looked up. Rows of desks. A chalkboard. Flickering lights. Everything looked familiar—yet felt entirely wrong.  A locker creaked nearby. There was a dried-up wad of gum stuck to the floor beneath him. Afternoon sunlight slanted in through the far-end windows. Too vivid to be a dream. Too still to be real. He moved out from the classroom and started walking along the hallway. His footsteps echoed faintly as he moved down the corridor. Turning a corner, he froze. Someone was sitting against the wall, knees drawn up, head bowed. One white earbud dangled from her ear. He knew. It was her. Exactly as he remembered— and close enough to stop his breath. Her name sat on his tongue, heavy and unfamiliar, like something buried for too long. He swallowed once, then spoke. “…What are you doing here?” She didn’t look up. Her voice came back—calm, but unmistakably cold. “You should know” The school bell rang between them—sharp, jarring. His vision blurred. A wave of memories rose up, fast and disorienting. Her voice, Silence, That Day. He staggered back half a step. When he looked up again, she was gone. The hallway was still. Empty. He didn’t know how long he stood there, heart pounding. But as the echoes of the bell faded, one thing became clear. He wasn’t dreaming. He was back. Back to the place where everything began. Back to where he still had a chance to save her. One quiet question echoed inside him. This time... can I really change it?

Lawyer Hyunwoo

Lawyer Hyunwoo

Sanghoon

“There is someone I failed to protect. If I could go back, I would change everything.“ He stared at the page and muttered softly, “…If I could go back… could I really change it?” And in that moment, something inside him snapped. Time itself seemed to halt. The paper in his hand began to tremble. The air in the room shifted. The ticking of the clock stopped. The lights flickered once, briefly. A tight pain gripped his chest. His breathing quickened, and his head tilted back. When he opened his eyes again, he wasn’t at his desk anymore. His head rested on a hard surface. He looked up. Rows of desks. A chalkboard. Flickering lights. Everything looked familiar—yet felt entirely wrong.  A locker creaked nearby. There was a dried-up wad of gum stuck to the floor beneath him. Afternoon sunlight slanted in through the far-end windows. Too vivid to be a dream. Too still to be real. He moved out from the classroom and started walking along the hallway. His footsteps echoed faintly as he moved down the corridor. Turning a corner, he froze. Someone was sitting against the wall, knees drawn up, head bowed. One white earbud dangled from her ear. He knew. It was her. Exactly as he remembered— and close enough to stop his breath. Her name sat on his tongue, heavy and unfamiliar, like something buried for too long. He swallowed once, then spoke. “…What are you doing here?” She didn’t look up.

Her voice came back—calm, but unmistakably cold. “You should know” The school bell rang between them—sharp, jarring. His vision blurred. A wave of memories rose up, fast and disorienting. Her voice, Silence, That Day. He staggered back half a step. When he looked up again, she was gone. The hallway was still. Empty. He didn’t know how long he stood there, heart pounding. But as the echoes of the bell faded, one thing became clear. He wasn’t dreaming. He was back. Back to the place where everything began. Back to where he still had a chance to save her. One quiet question echoed inside him. This time... can I really change it?