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# Chapter 117: The Lawyer’s Blade
The silence in the courtroom felt physical. As if someone had drained all the air from the space. Sae-ah’s final words—if you hold my hand, only I can stop you—didn’t evaporate. They hung suspended in the air, refusing to dissipate.
The judge removed his glasses. That single gesture shifted the weight of the courtroom. Until now, it had been procedure. Now it would be judgment.
Kang Ri-u’s lawyer stood. His movement was sharper than before. Like a hunter sensing the first blood of prey. Sae-ah saw it. And she understood she had said something fatal.
“Witness, what you just stated is very serious. But was it recorded? Were there witnesses?”
The lawyer’s voice had shed all pretense of gentleness. Now it was a pure instrument. A blade sharpened to protect his client.
“No.”
“So it happened when you were alone.”
“Yes.”
“Then isn’t your testimony, at its core, merely your interpretation of the defendant’s actions?”
It wasn’t a question. It was a declaration.
Sae-ah’s chest sank. In that moment, she understood how weak her position was. Testimony without evidence. Confession without witnesses. Her word against his silence.
“You said you were in a romantic relationship with defendant Kang Ri-u, and that it was complicated. You loved him, then feared him.”
The lawyer continued.
“So isn’t it possible you intentionally distorted his actions?”
“No.”
Sae-ah said it. But the word was fragile.
“If you wanted to leave and he tried to hold on, wouldn’t all his actions have appeared as threats to you? Might not those threats have felt even larger because you loved him?”
The lawyer asked.
Sae-ah closed her mouth. Not because it was a lie, but because it was partially true. Not all of Kang Ri-u’s actions had been rooted in malice. There was desperation in them. Frantic affection. And all of it tangled together had become abuse. But the lawyer was reducing that complexity to a simple “difference in interpretation.”
“You said you fled Jeju, didn’t you?”
The lawyer asked again.
“So where did you go from there?”
“I found my mother.”
“Did your mother help you?”
“Yes.”
“Then did you report it to the police with your mother as well?”
The lawyer asked.
Sae-ah fell silent. And in that silence, the courtroom’s air shifted again.
“Did you report it alone? Or did someone help you?”
“A friend helped me.”
“A friend? Who?”
“Someone called Hae-neul.”
The lawyer made a note. It looked innocent, but Sae-ah knew better. It was preparation for the next attack. To undermine the witness’s credibility.
“What is your relationship with this Hae-neul?”
“A friend. A long-standing one.”
“A friend who supports you, then.”
The lawyer said.
“So isn’t it possible this friend influenced you to harbor negative feelings toward defendant Kang Ri-u?”
“No.”
Sae-ah said it. But that wasn’t entirely true either. Hae-neul had supported her, and that support had played a role in her leaving Kang Ri-u. But it wasn’t Hae-neul’s influence. It was Sae-ah’s own survival instinct.
“You labeled defendant Kang Ri-u as an aggressor. But what of your own actions in that relationship?”
The lawyer shifted his line of questioning.
“Did you ever lie to him?”
Sae-ah’s breath stopped.
“You said you were going to Jeju, but you actually fled, didn’t you?”
The lawyer said.
“You deceived him about your location, didn’t you?”
“That was—”
Sae-ah began.
“There are statements that you met with defendant Kang Ri-u before reporting him to the police. What happened at that meeting?”
The lawyer cut in.
“Didn’t you tell him you forgave him?”
“Yes, we met, but—”
Sae-ah answered.
“Did you forgive him or not?”
The lawyer’s voice rose.
“Forgiveness and reporting aren’t contradictory.”
Sae-ah said. In that moment, her voice changed. No longer trembling—something solid had emerged.
“Really? Then what were you truly afraid of? Defendant Kang Ri-u, or yourself?”
The lawyer asked.
The courtroom erupted. The prosecutor stood.
“Objection! That’s insulting to the witness!”
The prosecutor shouted.
“Objection sustained.”
The judge said.
“Counsel, please rephrase your question.”
Kang Ri-u’s lawyer bowed. But it wasn’t a genuine apology. It was calculation. He had already done enough. He had planted in the courtroom’s mind that Sae-ah’s testimony was inconsistent, based solely on her word, influenced by a friend, and came from a woman who had even forgiven Kang Ri-u.
“Witness, when was the last time you saw defendant Kang Ri-u?”
The lawyer asked again. This question was gentler than before.
“After I reported him to the police.”
Sae-ah answered.
“Why did you have that meeting?”
“I wanted to tell him how I felt.”
“What feelings?”
“That I was sorry.”
The courtroom shifted again.
Sae-ah realized what she had just said. And how catastrophic that mistake was. Sorry meant she had done something wrong. Sorry meant reporting Kang Ri-u might have been excessive.
“So you were sorry.”
The lawyer confirmed, as if clarifying.
“Then you don’t think defendant Kang Ri-u is a bad person?”
“No. He is a bad person.”
Sae-ah said.
“But you were sorry?”
The lawyer said. And that was enough. Everyone in the courtroom saw the contradiction. A woman who thinks someone is bad, yet feels sorry for him. A woman who feels sorry for the man who tormented her.
Tears formed in Sae-ah’s eyes. But these weren’t the same tears as before. These were tears of anger.
“What I was sorry about was—”
Sae-ah began.
“I think we can conclude.”
The lawyer said.
“I have no further questions for this witness.”
The lawyer sat down. And in that moment, Sae-ah understood completely. That Kang Ri-u would be acquitted. At least in this courtroom. What he needed to prove, and how well he had done it. It wasn’t that Kang Ri-u was innocent. It was that Sae-ah wasn’t certain. And the law doesn’t convict on uncertainty.
“You may step down from the witness stand.”
The judge said.
Sae-ah rose. Her legs trembled. Her fingers too. Her entire body. As if she had been held in Kang Ri-u’s grip and was only now being released. That trembling exposed everything.
As she walked toward the exit, her eyes met Kang Ri-u’s.
His eyes were different from before. No longer tearless eyes. Now they were clearly weeping. Tears streaming down. And in those tears, what did Sae-ah see?
Not guilt. Not remorse.
Victory.
Kang Ri-u was crying not because of Sae-ah. It was the joy of winning. The joy that his lawyer had defeated Sae-ah. And that realization crushed her completely.
After leaving the courtroom, Sae-ah stopped in the hallway. She leaned against the wall. Fluorescent lights illuminated her. Cold. Merciless.
“Sae-ah!”
Hae-neul’s voice. She came running. But even Hae-neul’s voice didn’t reach Sae-ah’s ears.
Sae-ah looked at her hands. Still trembling. And in that moment, she understood something.
It didn’t matter when those hands began to tremble. Because of Kang Ri-u, or long before. What mattered was different.
What mattered was that those hands must never belong to anyone again.
Sae-ah took out her phone. And decided to call someone.
Her mother.
Her finger trembled as she pressed the button. But Sae-ah didn’t stop it.
The dial tone rang. And in that ringing, Sae-ah heard the sound of Jeju’s waves.
Chapter 118 Preview
Kang Ri-u’s lawyer shatters Sae-ah’s testimony in the courtroom. What will her mother say when Sae-ah calls? And outside the court, what is Kang Ri-u planning?