TLWSL 10

Chapter 10

The courtroom stirred with commotion.

The judge called for order several times, but the noise didn’t subside.

I suppressed the corners of my lips from rising and continued questioning.

“Sir, quite some time has passed, yet you still remember these two people?”

“Yes. Normally, when people ask for contact information, I tell them to use the email written under the painting. But those two said they were computer illiterate and insisted on getting a phone number. They were so persistent, it was exhausting.”

So, the acquaintance mentioned by the defendant, Jeon Jae-hyun, turned out to be this very shop owner, Mr. Heo.

Jeon Jae-hyun leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

“Is there a reason you wrote your email address under the artwork?”

“The artist gave me his business card, sure—but that was for me, not for anyone else, don’t you agree?”

“That’s true.”

…Because it’s personal information.

“As you know, with phone numbers there’s voice phishing, and even smishing if they pretend it’s from me. But with email, even if someone impersonates me, the artist could just call our restaurant to check. And it’s easier for Mr. Shim to block, too.”

The audience nodded.

“So I wrote the email as a second-best option. I wanted to help the artist, even if just a little.”

The man had a commanding presence that overwhelmed the room.

As the questioning ended, I thanked the witness once again.

Then Prosecutor Han began his cross-examination.

At the defense bench, the defendant Shim Oh-han swallowed nervously.

His hands were trembling again today.

He must’ve taken calming pills and attended court several times by now, yet he still quaked.

“Mr. Shim,” I whispered, “it’s about to get more interesting, so focus.”

The prosecutor began:

“Sir, the CCTV footage from that time no longer exists. Why is that? Did you delete it on purpose?”

“The rental company told me the machine I leased only keeps footage for a month.”

No matter how many questions the prosecutor asked, nothing incriminating came out.

At this rate, Prosecutor Han will lose his patience and lash out, I thought.

Just like he had during Shim Oh-han’s first trial.

Sure enough—

“Witness Heo! Did you conspire with Shim’s lawyer? You realize perjury is punishable by law?”

The shop owner scowled, as if to say, What kind of bastard is this calling himself a prosecutor?

“Prosecutor, I brought something just in case you’d say that.”

“Brought something? You can’t just bring anything into court.”

“Your Honor.”

Ignoring the prosecutor, the witness looked to the judge.

“May I take something out of my bag? The bailiff has already inspected it.”

The judge glanced at the bailiff, then spoke into the microphone.

“Go ahead.”

The bailiff followed the witness as he stepped down and rummaged through his bag.

What he pulled out was none other than Shim Oh-han’s painting.

“Oh!”

“It’s the real artwork?”

Gasps broke out among the spectators. With shoulders squared, the shop owner handed a laminated sheet to the judge.

“Too many people had touched it, so I laminated it on December 31st last year. Which means it should still have the fingerprints of those two defendants sitting over there.”

“……!”

Poke. Poke.

Mr. Shim jabbed me in the side.

“L-Lawyer…”

“What is it?”

“W-Was this… part of your strategy too?”

“Of course it was.”

When I had visited the shop owner earlier, he’d mentioned laminating the piece because Jeon Jae-hyun and Min I-young had handled it so much. That was when I knew this was the key.

Any competent lawyer would’ve done the same—but to Shim, who’d only ever been beaten down by attorneys, it seemed almost unbelievable.

Maybe now’s the time to let him taste the value of money.

I glanced at him, then up at the judge’s bench.

“A winning lawyer is simply… on another level.”

The course of the trial had shifted.

---

The questioning turned to the defendant.

With each successive hearing, Shim grew bolder, now confidently voicing his logic.

“Defendant Shim, when did you first start drawing currency?”

“Even before I enrolled in Hongseong University’s painting department.”

“Why choose currency, among so many subjects?”

“In high school, my friend Ji-woo went to Japan for summer break and gave me 1,000 yen as a gift. It was the first foreign bill I’d ever seen…”

“And why do you keep sketchbooks?”

“For an artist, sketchbooks capture the process from idea to creation. If you look at the ones I submitted, you’ll see detailed notes—how I worked on this section, what interpretations I considered, even the strokes I used.”

“Why go to such lengths?”

“To some it might look like copying currency, but to me, it’s art.”

His steady voice echoed through the courtroom. The scratching of pens came from the gallery—reporters, hungry like hyenas.

“Nothing further.”

“Prosecutor, any cross?”

The prosecutor’s weak questioning only made it clearer: the case was heading toward acquittal.

---

The trial neared its end.

After final statements from prosecution, defense, and defendants—

Shim stood last, unfolding an A4 sheet he had neatly folded into quarters.

“Your Honor.”

His eyes shone with determination.

“I know the prosecution charged me with counterfeiting in this currency forgery case. But I am nothing more than a poor artist who paints money. My ‘Art of Money’ is…”

He had talent.

But he was poor.

And with no one to back him, he had become the target of a prosecutor’s ambitious show trial.

Unaware of the echoes of 1988’s infamous “the rich are innocent, the poor are guilty” case, Shim awaited his own verdict.

“I conclude my statement. The ruling will be given on October 23.”

October 23—Chungyangjeol.

A day when odd numbers align, said to bring fortune.

And the appellate ruling was announced.

“Defendant Shim Oh-han is hereby acquitted.”

Click. Click.

In front of the Seoul Northern District Court, reporters thrust microphones forward.

“Mr. Shim, over here, please!”

“What was the decisive reason the first ruling was overturned?”

“Though your name spread unintentionally through this trial, you’ve now been dubbed the rising star of Korean hyperrealism. How do you feel about that?”

“Have you read the column by Kang Hoon, Korea’s leading hyperrealist painter?”

Amid the barrage of questions, Shim spoke without flinching.

“First, I’d like to thank my attorney, Cha Do-hyuk, who fought tirelessly for me. The decisive evidence overturning the first ruling came from the testimony of my client…”

Perhaps thanks to rehearsing his final statement so many times, Shim handled the media with ease.

“…It was difficult, going through something I never expected. But Judge Lim Sang-hee reminded me in her reasoning that poverty should not mean one must give up their dreams. For that, I am deeply grateful.”

As he wrapped up, about to leave, one reporter pressed:

“Mr. Shim, in major cases, the lawyer usually appears with the defendant for the photo line. But your attorney is nowhere to be seen. Where is Mr. Cha Do-hyuk? Is he perhaps meeting with court officials?”

The reporter’s glasses glinted, his tone suggesting suspicion about the lawyer himself.

For a case this public, the defense attorney had effectively received the ultimate advertisement.

But Shim, either not catching the insinuation or simply channeling his lawyer’s slyness, replied with an apologetic smile.

“No, Attorney Cha went to pay respects at a grave.”

“…What?”

“He’s not here because of that. He even missed the trial date because of me. I just hope he doesn’t miss his bus.”

---

Taking a long-distance bus toward the Jian Resort, famous for horror films, and stopping midway, one arrives at the KBC Training Center.

Behind it, a short ridge led to his mother’s grave.

“Phew… Mother, I’m here.”

Because of his grandmother’s insistence not to trouble the dead, he only came on her memorial day.

But visiting always felt like returning to the warmth of home when she was alive.

He stroked the neatly trimmed grass.

“You’ve been well, right? Looks like the caretaker’s been here. He didn’t complain too much, did he?”

Chuseok had kept the man busy, yet he’d left everything tidy.

He spread a mat, laid out simple offerings, and placed a hamburger—his mother’s favorite.

Now it was time to recount the past year.

“I quit at Continet and opened my own office at Goteo Mall. Across from me is a flower shop—these are from there. Pretty, right?”

The florist had tried to pack more flowers, but he’d politely declined.

“Min Ho-jun and Choi Jae-woo want to drink tonight. Should I go? …Though I probably will. We always gather around your memorial.”

He chuckled.

“Ho-jun says he’s getting married next year. After swearing he’d be single forever! Honestly, what a liar.”

He muttered that raising “a black beast” (marriage) wasn’t worth it.

“You’d scold me for refusing, but I won’t do it. Whatever you say, it’s useless. I won’t meet anyone, and there’s no chance anyway. So marriage is out of the question.”

Mother would probably reply, ‘The word “give up” should only be used when counting cabbages.’

But that was a saying of the past.

As the sun set, he opened his status window:

Cha Do-hyuk (Attorney)

• Stamina: C+

• Intelligence: A–

• Grit: S

• Morality: A

• ???: –

Potential Ability

• Psychometry: E (↑)

“By the way, Mother… I think I’ll be able to request a retrial soon.”