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# Chapter 114: The Trembling of the Witness Stand
The fluorescent lights of the courtroom exposed Sae-ah’s hands.
Her fingers trembled. In front of the microphone. Beneath the judge’s gaze. At the distance where Kang Ri-u could see. Sae-ah looked down at her own hands as if seeing them for the first time. She couldn’t be certain they were hers. Had these hands trembled like this yesterday as well? Or was it this space, this moment, this courtroom that made them shake?
“Ms. Na Sae-ah, would you please explain your relationship with the defendant at your own pace?”
The prosecutor asked. Her voice was gentle. Almost maternal. Yet more official than a mother’s. As if to signal that this wasn’t a simple question, but a ritual.
Sae-ah opened her mouth. Then closed it. Opened it again.
“I saw Kang Ri-u for approximately one year.”
Her voice came out. Her own voice. Yet she wasn’t certain it was truly hers. It must have been altered passing through the microphone. Amplified. Transformed into something else in the courtroom’s air. Like music. No—music was never this cold.
“How did you first meet?”
The prosecutor continued. That question would already be in the records. Already written down when Sae-ah had given her statement to the police. But the judge wanted to hear it. Directly from Sae-ah’s lips. He must have known that was what determined the weight of truth.
“It was when I was working at a convenience store.”
Sae-ah said.
“He… came in like a customer at first.”
Sae-ah’s hands trembled more. Memory moved her body. That night. Around 3 a.m. Beneath the fluorescent lights. The atmosphere when Kang Ri-u had entered. It had entered the courtroom now. Through Sae-ah’s body.
“And then?”
The prosecutor asked.
Sae-ah closed her eyes. The judge had never told her not to look, but it felt like she could only speak with her eyes shut. If she opened them, she felt she would see Kang Ri-u’s face. And if she saw his face, Sae-ah felt she would lose herself again. Become his again. Once more.
“And he found out my address. Found out my phone number. And he kept contacting me.”
Sae-ah spoke with her eyes closed.
“How many times a day?”
“More than ten times when it was frequent.”
“What was the content?”
Sae-ah sealed her lips. She knew she had to speak about that content. But speaking it was reliving it. Feeling those emotions in her body again. And Sae-ah wasn’t certain she could bear it.
“Was it asking to see you?”
The prosecutor helped her. Like throwing a rope to someone drowning in water.
“Yes. At first, it was.”
Sae-ah said.
“And later?”
Sae-ah opened her eyes. The courtroom came into view. Gray walls. Gray people. And at the very back. Kang Ri-u was sitting.
In that moment, Sae-ah’s breathing stopped.
Kang Ri-u’s hands were trembling. In the defendant’s box. Next to his lawyer. Those hands trembled slightly on the table, continuously. Just like Sae-ah’s hands. Identical. Resonating.
Sae-ah watched those hands. And met Kang Ri-u’s eyes.
His eyes were crying. Yet tears weren’t falling. As if tears were preparing to come, but wouldn’t. As if some emotion he didn’t understand was doing something in those eyes.
Sae-ah’s chest sank.
“…And later?”
The prosecutor asked again. Sae-ah’s silence had been too long.
“Later, he said he would commit suicide if I didn’t see him.”
Sae-ah spoke. Still watching Kang Ri-u.
The courtroom shook. No—Sae-ah’s body shook. The very act of speaking those words. The fact that it had become truth.
“Under what circumstances?”
“When I went to Jeju Island.”
“Why did you go to Jeju Island?”
Before answering, Sae-ah breathed. Deeply. Like her mother. Like that breath before entering water.
“I ran away.”
“From what?”
“From him.”
Sae-ah said.
“But he came to Jeju Island.”
“And?”
The prosecutor asked. But her voice already carried the tone of knowing the answer. This wasn’t a question but a silent pressure for Sae-ah to complete her testimony.
“And he attempted suicide. Taking me with him.”
Sae-ah’s voice grew small.
“What do you mean by attempted suicide?”
“He asked me to drink poison. Together. And when I refused, he… he started strangling me.”
The courtroom went silent. An absolute silence. A silence where even breathing felt like a crime.
Kang Ri-u’s hands trembled more. Sae-ah could see them. Those hands in the defendant’s box. Speaking to Sae-ah’s hands as if in conversation.
“So?”
The prosecutor continued.
“So I… I broke his arm.”
Sae-ah said.
“To protect yourself?”
“Yes. And after that, I left the hotel.”
“Alone?”
“Yes. I got in the car alone and drove to the airport.”
“And?”
“And I came to Seoul.”
Sae-ah said.
“I reported it to the police. My friend Hae-won… helped me.”
The prosecutor nodded. As if everything had gone exactly as expected.
“When did the defendant first force you to meet him?”
“From the beginning.”
Sae-ah said.
“From the moment we first met at the convenience store, he tried to control my schedule. When I worked. Who I saw. Everything.”
“And why did you accept that?”
Now the question had changed. This wasn’t simple fact-checking. This was asking about Sae-ah’s motives. Why were you with this man? Why didn’t you run away? Why aren’t you also responsible?
Such implicit questions.
Sae-ah remained silent.
“I thought… I loved him.”
Sae-ah finally spoke.
“But now I understand. It wasn’t love.”
“Then what was it?”
“Survival.”
Sae-ah said.
“I thought being with him was how I survived.”
The courtroom stirred again. The judge took notes. Kang Ri-u’s lawyer murmured something. And Kang Ri-u… Kang Ri-u began to cry.
Real tears. Silent crying. His body shook as if trying to emerge from water. His hands covered his face.
Sae-ah saw it.
And she wanted to cry too. But no tears came. As if Kang Ri-u was crying for both of them. As if they were two parts of the same body.
“…Anyway, what happened after that?”
The prosecutor continued. As if ignoring Kang Ri-u’s tears.
“After returning to Seoul, I reported it to the police, submitted hospital records, and submitted audio files.”
Sae-ah said. Mechanically.
“What audio files?”
“My friend recorded my testimony in Jeju Island. I submitted it when the police requested it.”
“Is that friend in this courtroom?”
Sae-ah looked around the courtroom. Hae-won. Sitting at the very back. When their eyes met, Hae-won nodded. A small movement. But it was all Sae-ah needed.
“Yes. She’s back there.”
Sae-ah said.
“Next, what kind of emotional control did the defendant exercise over you? More specifically.”
The prosecutor asked.
At that moment, Kang Ri-u’s lawyer stood up.
“I object. ‘Emotional control’ is a subjective expression, and the question prompts the witness to speculate about the defendant’s intentions.”
The lawyer said. His voice was sharp.
The judge raised his hand.
“Rephrase the question.”
The judge told the prosecutor.
“What specific actions did the defendant take toward you?”
The prosecutor asked again.
Sae-ah exhaled. That question was easier. Because actions were objective. Because actions couldn’t lie.
“He called more than ten times a day. When I didn’t answer, he came in person. He objected when I tried to see other people. He told me to quit my job. He told me not to see my friends. He asked me to let him manage my money. When I ran away to Jeju Island, he came and told me to come back.”
Sae-ah spoke. Like a list. Like shopping.
“And finally?”
“Finally, he tried to kill me.”
Sae-ah said.
The courtroom went quiet again.
Kang Ri-u was no longer crying. Instead, he looked hollow. As if his soul had left the courtroom.
“Do you remember what Kang Ri-u said when he first met you?”
The prosecutor asked.
Sae-ah closed her eyes.
“He said he would protect me. That he would save me. That he loved me.”
Sae-ah said.
“And?”
“And I believed him.”
Sae-ah said.
“Because no one had protected me. No one had saved me. So those words sounded to me like… music.”
Sae-ah’s voice wavered.
“Music?”
The prosecutor asked.
“Yes. I’m a musician. Music is my language. And his words were music to my ears. Beautiful music. But it was… false music.”
Sae-ah said.
“False?”
“Yes. It wasn’t music but only rhythm. Not music but only repetition. Not music but control.”
Sae-ah said.
The courtroom stirred again. The judge took notes once more.
“One last question. How do you feel now? Toward the defendant?”
The prosecutor asked.
Sae-ah looked at Kang Ri-u again.
Kang Ri-u still looked hollow. But his hands were still trembling.
And Sae-ah understood.
That Kang Ri-u’s trembling was different from her own. His trembling was the trembling of fear. Sae-ah’s trembling was the trembling of survival.
“I… pity him.”
Sae-ah said.
“Because he doesn’t know what he did. Or maybe he does. But he can’t admit it. And that’s the most frightening thing. When someone cannot admit their own wrongdoing.”
Sae-ah’s voice grew stronger.
“But I know my testimony is the truth. And that’s enough. I will no longer listen to his music. I will find my own music.”
The prosecutor nodded.
“That concludes my questioning, Your Honor.”
The judge raised his hand.
“The defense will have an opportunity for cross-examination.”
Kang Ri-u’s lawyer stood up. His expression was cold. As if this were a game and he believed he could win.
“Ms. Na Sae-ah, when you first met the defendant, could you explain what kind of help the defendant provided you?”
The lawyer asked.
Sae-ah remained silent.
It was a complex question. Because it was true that Kang Ri-u had helped her.
“I was… working at a convenience store, and I was in financial difficulty.”
Sae-ah spoke slowly.
“And he tried to help me. With money. And… with attention.”
“So you were grateful?”
“Yes.”
Sae-ah said.
“And did that gratitude turn into love?”
“Yes.”
“Then when you say the defendant controlled you, doesn’t that actually mean you interpreted his control as love?”
The lawyer asked.
Sae-ah’s chest sank.
That question seemed right. Like everything said in a courtroom.
But Sae-ah knew.
That it was a trap.
“No.”
Sae-ah said.
“Control is control. It’s not the victim’s responsibility to interpret control as love. It’s the perpetrator’s responsibility to make control look like love.”
The courtroom stirred again.
“Such an argument…”
The lawyer began.
But the judge raised his hand.
“That’s enough. Ask your next question.”
The judge said.
The lawyer asked a few more things. But Sae-ah already knew her answers. And those answers would not change.
Finally, the courtroom ended.
Sae-ah came down from the witness stand. Not knowing how her feet moved. As if her body moved automatically. As if she wasn’t controlling her own body.
Hae-won was waiting.
And when Hae-won’s hand grasped Sae-ah’s hand, only then did Sae-ah’s tears come.
Silent tears. Like tears rising from underwater.
“You did well. Really well.”
Hae-won said.
Sae-ah didn’t answer. Instead, she looked at her hands.
Those hands were no longer trembling.
On the courthouse steps, Sae-ah looked at the sky.
Seoul’s sky. It was gray. But within that grayness, there was something. Light. Small light. Like a star.
And Sae-ah understood.
That she could burn again now. But this time, not for someone else—for herself.
That was the greatest difference.