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# Chapter 118: Fingers Beyond the Courtroom
When Seo-ah stepped out of the courthouse, the sunlight was too bright.
Seoul’s spring sun was cruel. The kind of brightness that melted away all the gray accumulated during winter in one merciless moment. Seo-ah blinked. Once, then again. As if checking where she was. Inside the courtroom, there had been the white fluorescent glow. Here, there was sunlight. Were both real, or were both lies.
“Seo-ah.”
Hae-neul’s voice reached her ears. Hae-neul was waiting at the bottom of the courthouse steps. In a white shirt that somehow looked oddly formal to Seo-ah. Hae-neul, who always wore oversized hoodies, was dressed in white. To become evidence. To become a witness.
“Is it over?”
Hae-neul asked. That question contained many things. Is the trial finished? Has Kang Ri-woo been found guilty? Did you win?
Seo-ah couldn’t answer. Because nothing was over.
“His lawyer was ruthless. Seriously.”
Hae-neul muttered. As if interpreting Seo-ah’s silence. Hae-neul had also sat in that courtroom. As a witness and as a friend. Standing there to support Seo-ah.
“But what did you say at the end? I couldn’t hear.”
Hae-neul asked. When Seo-ah had spoken the most important words in the courtroom, Hae-neul had missed them. Or Seo-ah hadn’t been able to say them completely.
“Nothing. It was nothing.”
Seo-ah said.
The final scene of the courtroom had remained incomplete. When the lawyer had said, “Before you reported this to the police, you met with defendant Kang Ri-woo,” the judge had cut off Seo-ah’s words and declared an adjournment. The next trial was in three weeks. In the meantime, there would be evidence verification. Kang Ri-woo’s lawyer would prepare more rebuttals. And Seo-ah would have to live through three weeks in this incomplete state.
“Let’s grab lunch.”
Hae-neul said.
They went to a café near the courthouse. When Seo-ah ordered a drink, her hand trembled. The café worker didn’t notice. But Hae-neul did. And she narrowed her eyes as if recording it.
“Your hands keep shaking?”
Hae-neul asked.
“Stress.”
Seo-ah answered.
“That too, but I think it’s also because of what that lawyer said to you.”
Hae-neul said as she sat down.
“That guy is seriously the worst as a human being. ‘The possibility that Hae-neul influenced you’—really? What was I supposed to say? Oh, I pressured you to sue Kang Ri-woo, is that it? Or should I have testified that ‘I was neutral’? But that would’ve been a lie. I supported you. What’s wrong with that?”
Hae-neul’s voice grew louder. Other customers in the café naturally avoided them.
“Calm down.”
Seo-ah said.
“I can’t calm down. Seriously. Did you hear what that lawyer threw at you? ‘Have you ever deceived someone with lies?’ And ‘Didn’t you run away?’ Seo-ah, you’re the victim. So why does he keep treating you like the defendant? That’s my question.”
Hae-neul said. And in that moment, Seo-ah realized how much she had shared with Hae-neul. Things she couldn’t say in court.
Hae-neul had seen Seo-ah’s phone records. Kang Ri-woo’s messages. “Where are you right now?” “Call me.” “What will you do without me?” She had seen how obsessive those messages were. The court’s lawyer would try to call them “expressions of affection.” But Hae-neul knew. It wasn’t affection. It was possession.
“What else did the lawyer ask? At the end?”
Seo-ah asked.
“Whether you met with Kang Ri-woo before reporting him.”
Hae-neul answered.
“And?”
“And you couldn’t answer. The judge declared an adjournment.”
Hae-neul said.
Seo-ah drank her Americano. The bitter taste spread across her tongue. Café Americanos were always over-roasted. As if someone intentionally maximized the bitterness.
“I did meet him.”
Seo-ah said.
“What?”
Hae-neul’s voice rose.
“Before I reported Kang Ri-woo. At the hospital.”
Seo-ah said.
It was the part Seo-ah hadn’t told anyone. She’d told the police, but not Hae-neul. Because it could weaken her testimony. And the lawyer had targeted exactly that.
“The hospital?”
Hae-neul asked.
“Kang Ri-woo was admitted. Knife wounds. Self-harm. Things like that. I got a call. Under his brother’s name.”
Seo-ah said. That too was a lie. Not his brother—Kang Ri-woo himself had called. His voice was weak, shattered, and it had pulled Seo-ah back in.
“So you went to the hospital?”
Hae-neul asked. In a voice that didn’t judge. A voice that only tried to understand.
“Yeah.”
Seo-ah answered.
“And?”
“Kang Ri-woo took my hand. And he said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. Don’t leave me.’”
Seo-ah’s voice trembled.
Hae-neul didn’t move. She just looked at Seo-ah. As if to receive all of her words.
“And I… didn’t know what to say. So I just stayed. Holding his hand. And in that moment, I thought. Is this love, or is this addiction? Is this what I should do, or is this a sin I have to commit?”
Seo-ah said.
“So what did you do?”
Hae-neul asked.
“So I reported him to the police. On the way back from the hospital. In a rest stop bathroom.”
Seo-ah said.
“In a rest stop bathroom?”
Hae-neul repeated.
“Yeah. And from that moment on, I became the defendant.”
Seo-ah said.
It was true. The moment she accused Kang Ri-woo, she simultaneously had to prepare for her own actions to be legally interrogated. Her meeting with Kang Ri-woo. The reason for that meeting. What Seo-ah had said during that meeting. What she hadn’t said. Her silences.
Every question the lawyer asked in court was really this: Are you really a victim? Or did you betray him?
“Seo-ah.”
Hae-neul extended her hand. Across the café table. Within Seo-ah’s reach.
“What?”
Seo-ah asked.
“You’re a victim. Not a defendant.”
Hae-neul said.
“Then why doesn’t it feel that way?”
Seo-ah asked.
Hae-neul didn’t answer. Because it was also a question without an answer. Being a victim is a legal status, not a feeling. Legally, Seo-ah might be a victim, but emotionally, she was still holding Kang Ri-woo’s hand.
Three hours after leaving the courthouse, Seo-ah walked into a convenience store.
It still smelled the same. The greasy smell of fried chicken. The broth smell of ramen. And that particular plastic smell under the fluorescent lights. Seo-ah didn’t work there anymore. She’d quit three months ago. But she still went there. As if the courthouse wasn’t the courthouse, but the convenience store was.
“Oh? Seo-ah?”
A convenience store worker saw her. Her name was Young-mi. Twenty-three years old. She graduated high school and works here. Someone walking the same path as Seo-ah.
“Hey.”
Seo-ah said.
“It’s been a while. What’ve you been up to?”
Young-mi asked.
“Just… here and there.”
Seo-ah answered. It wasn’t a lie. She really was going here and there. The courthouse. The police station. The hospital. Hae-neul’s tattoo shop. And Jeju, where her mother was. But she hadn’t settled anywhere.
“Hang in there.”
Young-mi said. It sounded like something someone who knew something would say. Or what people say when they need to support someone.
Seo-ah went to the convenience store’s bento box section. There were still the same bentos. Kimbap. Rice balls. Kimchi fried rice. All in plastic containers, all slightly cooled. Seo-ah picked one up.
When she went to the register, her hands trembled. Again.
“Your hands okay?”
Young-mi asked.
“Stress.”
Seo-ah answered. It had become an automated answer by now.
Seo-ah left the convenience store and headed back toward the courthouse. With no purpose. Just back to where she’d been that morning.
In front of the courthouse steps, Seo-ah saw a man.
It was Kang Ri-woo.
He was in a wheelchair. A man who appeared to be his father stood behind him. Kang Ri-woo’s legs were wrapped in a cast. Someone who should have been in a hospital had come to court.
Their eyes met. Kang Ri-woo’s and Seo-ah’s.
And in that moment, Seo-ah saw Kang Ri-woo’s hands. They were still trembling. But now that trembling wasn’t weakness—it was pain. From the cast. Or from something deeper.
Kang Ri-woo opened his mouth. As if to speak. But nothing came out. Instead, only his tears did.
Seo-ah saw it. And once again, she was confused.
Was this winning, or was this losing?
Hae-neul found Seo-ah thirty minutes later.
“Why do you keep disappearing? I can’t find you.”
Hae-neul said.
“Sorry.”
Seo-ah answered.
“Did you see Kang Ri-woo?”
Hae-neul asked.
Seo-ah nodded.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing. Just… I saw him.”
Seo-ah said.
Hae-neul grabbed Seo-ah’s arm. As if afraid she would disappear again.
“What are you going to do for the next three weeks?”
Hae-neul asked.
“I don’t know.”
Seo-ah answered.
“Then I’ll tell you. You’re going to live. You’re going to keep living. Regardless of Kang Ri-woo. Regardless of the court. You’re just going to live.”
Hae-neul said.
Seo-ah took Hae-neul’s hand. That hand was warm. Not a hunting hand like Kang Ri-woo’s, but simply a hand that was there with her.
And for the first time, Seo-ah thought that maybe she could survive.