BITM Ch6

The jurors were asked which side they supported. It was only near the end that Han Naeyung raised his hand to align with one of the opinions.

The trial, which had dragged on for 12 hours, finally came to a close, and the judge’s ruling aligned with the majority opinion of the jury.

“Defendant Chu Jinsung is sentenced to three years in prison. However, considering the defendant’s exemplary behavior, recognized by the victim’s family, classmates, and doctors as a model student, the execution of the sentence will be suspended for four years. This concludes the trial.”

The jury’s decision leaned 5 to 3 in favor of a suspended sentence. Three years of imprisonment with a four-year suspension — a penalty that could be considered lenient for a murder conviction. For a while, mixed feelings of relief and dissatisfaction filled the room.

Some jurors exited the courthouse in groups, walking with those who shared similar views. Han Naeyung waited until everyone had left, then finally stood up to leave.

A long time ago, he too had taken the witness stand.

The defense attorney’s intimidating gaze crushed his young frame, and the prosecutor demanded rational testimony from a child no older than nine. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the defendant’s seat even once. He was terrified.

But his courage came from his sibling’s death, and he chose to place his faith in people, not divine intervention. That faith allowed the trembling little bird, frail and pale, to chirp out testimony on the stand despite the fear of losing his voice.

On the day of the verdict, he had asked the judge:

“Why don’t they die?”

The judge couldn’t answer, so he asked again.

“My sibling is dead… so why don’t they die?”

“The law is like that,” was the eventual response.

He despaired. The judge, filled with regret, tried to console him, taking his small hand in theirs. His small body trembled violently, and he screamed. For him, salvation for his sibling and himself could only be achieved through the death of those perpetrators. His screams turned into tears, soaking his back. His delicate skin ruptured, staining the pristine white shirt the adults had dressed him in.

Han Naeyung leaned his back against the hallway wall, which grew warmer with each passing moment. Like that day, he slid down to the floor as if collapsing. Being asked to make a judgment felt like a cruel joke. His gloves were damp, but he didn’t have a spare pair, so he covered his face with the clammy fabric.

“Are you unwell?”

Through the gap in his hands, he saw a pair of black shoes.

Han Naeyung shook his head toward the figure before him. He didn’t want anyone, not even this person, to come closer right now. Forcing himself to his feet, he looked at the man, who offered an awkward smile.

“I thought white gloves were in fashion these days.”

The man tried a lighthearted joke but studied Han Naeyung with concern.

“What brings you here?”

The man’s gaze dropped to the badge pinned to Han Naeyung’s chest, quickly understanding the situation. He pulled a handkerchief from his suit pocket and offered it, holding it by one corner so it drooped slightly.

It seemed he wouldn’t stop until it was accepted. Reluctantly, Han Naeyung muttered a faint thank-you and took the handkerchief. His forehead was damp with sweat. He barely wiped his face, focusing more on steadying his breath.

“You really don’t look well. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“…Yes.”

Suddenly, he felt like he might break down. Covering his mouth with the handkerchief, he glanced at the man. The faint scent of fabric softener lingered. The man, who had stepped back slightly, waited silently until Han Naeyung composed himself.

Despite the late hour, the hallway was still bustling. The man headed toward a restricted area for authorized personnel only. He opened the door and gestured for Han Naeyung to follow him inside.

Holding the handkerchief tightly, Han Naeyung walked in that direction. The man closed the door behind them, plunging the space into darkness. The sound of a switch being flipped followed, and light filled the room. It seemed to be an HVAC control room, with long pipes emitting a low hum.

“Feeling better now?”

Han Naeyung nodded slightly. This secluded space was far more bearable than the crowded hallway. The trembling and cold sweat had subsided, and he regained his usual composure. He had assumed today would be manageable, but that assumption had been a mistake.

“To be honest, I saw you from the end of the hallway earlier and was alarmed when you suddenly collapsed. I recognized you as Dr. Han right away — I have sharp eyes, you see.”

“I see.”

“It was surprising to find you in front of the criminal courtroom, of all places.”

“…”

“But I’m glad it was just jury duty.”

The man pointed to the badge on Han Naeyung’s chest. He observed as Han Naeyung regained his composure, then asked:

“Did you drive here?”

“…No.”

“Let me give you a ride. You could collapse on the bus at this rate.”

“I’ll be fine—”

“Dr. Han, you saved Nari. Let me do this for you.”

“Really, I’m okay. I’d just like to walk for a bit.”

Han Naeyung glanced at the handkerchief.

“I’ll return this to you later.”

His voice sounded slightly hoarse. He opened the door himself and left, walking faster than usual as he exited the courthouse.

After returning his jury badge at the entrance, he gathered his belongings — just a small bag — and stepped outside. The cool air was refreshing and helped him regain his breath. He thought to himself that the man’s help had been beneficial.

But beneficial?

Han Naeyung slipped the handkerchief into his pocket, puzzled. Even though they had entered an isolated room together, the presence of the man hadn’t been discomforting. Normally, he would have still felt uneasy, yet the tension had dissipated. Come to think of it, this had happened once before — during a meal they shared.

He stopped his thoughts abruptly. Someone was behind him. When he paused, the person also stopped at a slight distance. Turning around, he saw the man rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile.

“Uh… since we’re headed the same way, shall we walk together?”

Without a word, Han Naeyung resumed walking. If their paths were indeed the same, he had no right to refuse. After all, the sidewalk was for everyone.

Jin also sensed unspoken permission and walked at a distance. After crossing an intersection and walking for about ten more minutes, he was the first to break the silence.

“What kind of case were you a juror for?”

There was no particular reason to avoid answering, so Han Naeyung replied.

“Parricide.”

On the dark night road, white breath puffed into the cold air.

“Ah, was it the case involving the minor defendant?”

“Yes.”

Jin slipped his hands into his pockets and glanced up at the sky.

“A bitter case.”

Han Naeyung found himself looking at the man walking beside him. He was slightly surprised that Jin knew about the case.

“I was in charge of the initial investigation, actually. By the way, the defense attorney in that case was quite something, wasn’t she?”

He recalled the female defense attorney who had cornered the prosecutor with short hair. Her presence had been impressive.

“She certainly was.”

“She’s quite well-known in the field of human rights law and is very selective about the cases she takes on.”

“…She must be a good person.”

“Well, that’s a tricky question. She might be a good person to the defendant, but not necessarily to the victim. Around this time last year, I was working as a trial prosecutor. I went up against her in court, and ever since then, I’ve tried to avoid facing her. She has a way of making you feel like a scolded child.”

Jin grinned. His lighthearted effort to ease the tension made Han Naeyung force a faint smile—the kind he wore on the day he played ball with Nari, a barely visible curve of the lips.

“What time did the trial start?”

“10 a.m.”

“No wonder you’re exhausted enough to collapse.”

Even without the intrusive memories, the day had been taxing, just as Jin suggested.

“If you think of it as a unique experience, it might feel a bit easier to process.”

Jin sympathized with Han Naeyung’s predicament as a juror in a parricide case. Most jury cases involved serious crimes, making them emotionally and mentally draining.

“This is where I get off,” Han Naeyung said, pointing toward the direction of the veterinary clinic at the intersection.

“Looks like we part ways here.”

“Thank you… for today.”

“Dr. Han Naeyung.”

As Han Naeyung turned to leave, Jin called out to him.

“Can I ask which verdict you supported?”

“…Why do you want to know?”

“To ease your guilt, if even a little.”

Han Naeyung tilted his head slightly. White breath escaped his lips as he silently mouthed the words “guilt?” His eyes, tinged with puzzlement, reflected the streetlamp’s glow.

Jin couldn’t take his eyes off that faint exhalation. When he had spotted Han Naeyung in the courthouse hallway earlier, he had doubted his own sight for a moment. The reason he hadn’t rushed to his side immediately was the sheer pain he had seen on Han Naeyung’s face.

Knowing he had served as a juror, Jin assumed that pain stemmed from inner conflict over the verdict. So, he had deliberately maintained a certain distance while leading him to the quieter space. Seeing Han Naeyung gradually regain his composure in the secluded room reassured him that he wasn’t entirely an outsider in Naeyung’s world.

Looking at the changing traffic light, Han Naeyung finally answered while glancing at Jin.

“Probation.”

* * *

“Hey, when did this bastard get out?”

“Who are you talking about?”

“A high-risk individual.”

“What is he, Bin Laden or something?”

“Come on, Bin Laden’s been dead for how long now? This guy pretended to repent and then got caught again a few years later. Back then, I was already boiling with anger when he only got a measly five years. I’m wondering how long it’ll take for him to get caught again this time.”

Seon Wookjae flicked the monitor he had been staring at with his finger.

“What’s the charge?”

“Attempted murder.”

“Plenty of people like that. Five years isn’t bad for an attempt.”

Working in the major crimes division had dulled Lee Inyeong’s sensitivity. Jin gave a wry smile at his colleague’s nonchalance.

“He got five years because he was a repeat offender with an enhanced sentence. And this guy’s case was my first assignment when I joined the legal profession. That’s why he’s stuck in my memory. You won’t find scum worse than this.”

Seon Wookjae closed the database window. Lee Inyeong, too, quickly lost interest and packed her wallet into her bag.

“Prosecutor, I’ve handed over all the documents for next week’s trials.”

“Thanks for the hard work.”

Jin also shut down his computer, preparing to leave. Work-related chatter didn’t cease even as they wrapped up for the day.

“For every case we hand over, there’s always another waiting for us.”

Though Mondays were light on trial schedules, new investigations kept them busier than ever. Jin organized the documents he could take home and stood from his desk.

“That’s enough for today. Let’s call it a night.”

Two chairs scraped backward simultaneously.

“Wow! Music to my ears.”

“Prosecutor, Chief, how about dinner? It’s been a while since we finished early.”

“Gotta hurry and go see my lovely daughter. Sorry.”

“Then let’s plan for next time.”

Jin could have had dinner with her, but she decisively postponed it. Despite that, she couldn’t completely hide the hint of disappointment in her gaze. Jin was aware that Lee Inyeong had feelings for him that went beyond simple affection. However, she was someone who generally drew a clear line between personal and professional matters.

The three of them went down to the parking lot together before parting ways. Jin had recently changed his route home so it would pass by Han Naeyung’s veterinary clinic. Not that it mattered much—9 out of 10 times, the clinic was already closed.

Every time he saw the thick blinds drawn shut, he found it strange how disappointed he felt. But tonight, a little after 7 PM, the clinic lights were on.

As Jin had guessed, the interior of the veterinary clinic was brightly lit. He drove past quickly, not hitting any red lights, but even if he had stopped, he wouldn’t have been able to catch a glimpse of Han Naeyung in the examination room.

“Suspended sentence.”

Han Naeyung’s voice echoed faintly in his mind. Contrary to expectations that the patricide would result in a prison sentence, the first trial had ended with a suspended sentence. Even the jury had been split, 5:3, between suspension and imprisonment. Which meant Han Naeyung had likely been one of those five. Perhaps he was more tender-hearted than he let on.

In truth, it wasn’t his cold voice that lingered with him, but the flicker of his expression under the streetlights. Jin had replayed his face in his mind countless times, and that was the reason he’d changed his route home.

When Jin entered his apartment, Nari greeted him enthusiastically. It had only been a month since he’d taken her in from a dogfighting ring, but she now clung to him completely. Even the rich smell of fermented soybean stew wafting through his home felt welcoming today.

The smell had been faintly present for some time, but today it hit its peak. Unless a fairy godmother had shown up to cook for him, the source of the smell had to be… Nari.

Lifting her into his arms, Jin brought his nose close to her fur. He felt a sense of pride in not losing his patience entirely. The familiar scent of Han Naeyung was long gone from Nari.

Of course, it was a human’s job to bathe their dog, so he couldn’t blame the clueless creature wagging her tail.

“They say even human food isn’t good for them.”

Jin crossed his arms, glaring down at the stinky dog.

“Same probably goes for human shampoo. Too bad I don’t have dog shampoo at home.”

Muttering to himself, Jin let out a low chuckle.

He fastened Nari’s leash and headed outside. He decided to walk to the vet clinic to bathe her, killing two birds with one stone by taking her on a walk. Even though he walked her early in the morning and after work, he still felt guilty about how much time she spent alone.

As they walked, Nari’s excitement was palpable. Her tail wagged as she sniffed everything in sight. Gone was the timid, fearful dog she once was—she now walked proudly, her face bright with happiness. She was simple like that. But it was far better than her previous state, where she’d tremble and cower at every turn.

As they neared the clinic, Nari became more impatient, tugging at her leash and whining as if urging him to hurry. Jin, on the other hand, slowed his steps.

The closer they got to the clinic, the more his stomach churned with a mix of nervousness and anticipation—like the kind he felt when he faced a decisive criminal or someone he couldn’t help but feel drawn to.

Taking a deep breath, Jin exhaled slowly. “Let’s call it a crush,” he told himself. “The doctor’s good-looking, after all.”

Jin pushed the clinic door open with a cheerful greeting.

“It’s been a while.”

Han Naeyung looked at him with the same neutral expression he had that night, his gaze fixed on the monitor at the reception desk. Though Jin’s visit was sudden, he showed little surprise, parting his lips only slightly.

“…Yes.”

“The veterinary nurse?”

Without glancing around, Jin got straight to the point.

“She’s gone home for the day.”

“So, consultations are done? This one reeks like you wouldn’t believe.”

With a snap, Nari’s leash broke, and the dog darted toward the desk. Overjoyed, she bounded over to Han Naeyung, wagging her tail furiously and jumping up to greet him. Jin, holding the broken leash, made a mental note to switch to a sturdier metal one.

Han Naeyung knelt down and stroked the dog, who responded by eagerly licking his face.

“You must’ve cared for her a lot in the meantime.”

Gone was the dog’s old habit of watching warily. Han Naeyung reflected on the passage of time—this was Jin’s first visit in three weeks, and even longer since they’d last seen each other at court.

“Maybe it’s all the food I’ve been giving her.”

As he petted Nari, Han Naeyung wrinkled his nose.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“…Yes.”

Han Naeyung bent closer to sniff Nari and grimaced. Jin burst out laughing.

“I figured human shampoo might cause hair loss, so I brought her here.”

Han Naeyung nodded, picking up the smelly dog without hesitation. Despite the overpowering stench, he didn’t seem too bothered. He gestured toward a room next to the examination area.

“I’ll wash her up and bring her right out.”

Though Jin briefly considered watching, the closed door convinced him otherwise, and he sat on the sofa instead.

The sound of running water filled the air, muffled through the door. Jin leaned back, crossing his arms, and tilted his head toward the ceiling.

Once again, he realized how comfortable this place made him feel.

* * *

Inside the room, Han Naeyung wiped stray shampoo from his face. Lee Seolhwa had been right—filthy water practically poured off the dog’s short fur. Nari, enjoying the rare bath, relaxed under his touch.

After two rounds of shampooing, the dog’s coat finally returned to its natural color. Being short-haired, she dried quickly with a pet dryer. Han Naeyung patted the now-clean dog, murmuring to himself that it was a relief.

Animals with scars often struggled to open up. Dogs, despite their innate bond with humans, required enormous care to truly recover. But contrary to Lee Seolhwa’s concerns, this one seemed to be doing just fine with her new owner.

When Han Naeyung opened the door, Nari darted outside with rapid steps. Drying his hands, Han Naeyung followed her and fixed his gaze on the sofa. Jin was fast asleep with his arms crossed, unaware of the dog wagging her tail furiously as if asking for attention.

From a distance, Han Naeyung called out to him.

“Prosecutor.”

But Jin’s eyelids didn’t budge. Han Naeyung stepped closer.

“It’s all done.”

Still no response. Jin was sound asleep, so still that, if not for the sound of his steady breathing, one might have thought he wasn’t alive. Then, a pained expression briefly crossed his smooth forehead, as though he was either on the verge of waking or dreaming in an uncomfortable position. Feeling unexplainably anxious, Han Naeyung called him again.

“Nari… is waiting.”

“…Min…ah.”

Jin’s eyes flew open, accompanied by a hoarse, broken voice that rose from deep within him. At the same moment, he grabbed Han Naeyung’s wrist. Startled eyes met in a tense clash.

Jin released his grip faster than Han Naeyung could pull away.

“…Sorry. I mistook you for someone else in my sleep.”

Awake now, Jin stammered uncharacteristically. Han Naeyung stepped back, pressing his lips together. Words of reassurance didn’t come.

“She’s clean now.”

Jin tried to regain composure, lifting Nari and sniffing her coat.

“The leash broke, though. Could you recommend a sturdier one?”

Han Naeyung’s gloved hands trembled as he pulled a durable leash meant for large dogs from the shelf. Pressing his hands tightly together to steady them, he waited for the shaking to subside before laying the leash on the sofa. Without a word, he returned to the reception desk, silently wishing Jin would pay and leave soon.

Jin fixed the new leash onto Nari and approached the desk, pulling out his wallet as he spoke.

“How about dinner?”

“…As I mentioned before—”

Jin let out a soft sigh. He had taken comfort in the thought that he wasn’t being treated as an outsider, but a single mistake had caused Han Naeyung to put up a perfect wall of rejection. Running a hand down his face in frustration, Jin pressed on.

“What did you think of what we had last time?”

“……”

“It’s a street food stand I frequent. How about going there together today? The food tastes better when you eat it fresh instead of packed to-go. You drink, don’t you?”

“…I have work tomorrow.”

“Sorry for touching you. I promise it won’t happen again.”

Jin’s sincere apology left Han Naeyung feeling even guiltier. Jin wasn’t at fault. The problem was his own inability to handle another person’s breath or touch.

“No need to apologize.”

“So what should we do, Dr. Han?”

By now, Han Naeyung’s trembling hands had calmed.

“I feel like I’m starting to crave something.”

“……”

Han Naeyung seemed about to say something but fell silent at Jin’s sly grin. The sound of Nari shaking herself rang out, her new metal leash jingling softly. Watching it sway, Han Naeyung finally spoke.

“Twenty thousand won.”

Jin frowned slightly but paid without waiting for change, setting the cash on the desk instead of handing it to Han Naeyung.

“Is business done for the day?”

“Yes,” Han Naeyung murmured, placing the money in the cash box. Jin wound the leash around his hand and walked toward the entrance. Though it seemed he would leave, he unexpectedly lowered the blinds over the large windows. Han Naeyung looked at him quizzically.

“You said it’s over. Close up and get ready to leave.”

Without waiting for a reply, Jin declared boldly, “If the thought of sharing a drink with me is unbearable, I’ll step back. But if not, let’s have one together.”

Even Jin thought his tactic was a bit underhanded. He had gone to all this trouble and couldn’t simply walk away after giving Nari a bath. That would feel unfair to himself for even changing his usual commute.

When Jin’s gaze silently asked, Is it truly unbearable?, Han Naeyung ducked under the desk. Jin briefly wondered if the doctor was doing something adorable like hiding, but that couldn’t be the case.

“What are you doing?” Jin asked.

After a while, Han Naeyung straightened up, holding a black plastic bag.

“I packed some food for Nari.”

Jin bit his lip to stifle a laugh. While he’d insisted out of stubbornness, he’d fully expected to be rejected. Han Naeyung was as iron-willed as he was unexpectedly soft.

Jin watched with mild curiosity as Han Naeyung locked the clinic’s doors and carefully inspected the space one last time. He waited for him to finish tidying up before pushing open the glass door.

Han Naeyung, wrapped in a brown overcoat buttoned to the neck, fumbled through his pockets.

“Also, this.”

He handed over a neatly pressed handkerchief that Jin had apparently left behind, kept at the desk for safekeeping. Jin took the edge of it, noting its crisp folds.

“Thank you.”

“Not at all.”

With gloved hands, Han Naeyung locked the door and double-checked it before slipping his hands into his pockets. Then he stared blankly at Jin, as if to say, Aren’t you going to lead the way?

“It’s not far from here.”

Jin tugged gently on Nari’s leash and started walking confidently. Han Naeyung followed. Jin glanced back a few times on the way, unsure if he was being followed—there were no footsteps to be heard.