Chapter Text
Chapter One: A Seat in the Lecture Hall
Kim Ga On stood at the threshold of the lecture hall, gripping the strap of his worn backpack like a lifeline. The buzz of conversation hit him in waves, a chaotic symphony of voices and laughter. The room felt larger than it had any right to be, its vaulted ceiling amplifying the sound and making him feel impossibly small.
His chest tightened as his gaze swept over the sea of unfamiliar faces. The first week of the semester was always nerve-wracking, but today carried a unique weight. It wasn’t just the crowd or the looming workload. It was him.
Professor Kang Yo Han.
The name was practically legend on campus, spoken with either hushed reverence or thinly veiled dread. He wasn’t just a professor; he was the professor. The man whose lectures were rumored to make or break a student’s academic career. Tales of his razor-sharp intellect, brutal critiques, and an enigmatic personal life swirled around the university like urban myths. And now, Kim Ga On was standing at the edge of that storm.
Taking a deep breath, he adjusted the strap of his backpack and stepped inside. His sneakers squeaked faintly against the polished floor, drawing a few glances as he wove through the narrow aisles. He spotted an empty seat near the back and shuffled toward it, apologizing softly when his backpack bumped someone’s knee.
Settling into his seat, Ga On scanned the room. A pair of girls in the middle row whispered animatedly, their eyes darting toward the podium. A boy near the front fiddled with his tie, his face pale with what Ga On could only assume was dread. Despite the lively chatter, an undercurrent of tension hung in the air, thick and oppressive.
Ga On pulled out his notebook, the blank pages staring back at him like a challenge he wasn’t sure he could meet. His pulse quickened as he fumbled with his pen, the chatter around him beginning to fade.
The door at the front of the hall opened with a soft click.
The room fell silent.
Professor Kang Yo Han entered with an air of authority so palpable it felt like the temperature had dropped. His steps were measured, deliberate, as though he were entirely aware of the effect he had on the room. His dark suit fit impeccably, every line tailored to perfection. He wore no tie, the open collar of his crisp white shirt a subtle defiance that suited him more than formality ever could.
Ga On’s breath hitched as Yo Han strode to the podium, a leather-bound notebook in hand. He paused there, surveying the room with sharp, hawk-like eyes. For a moment, he said nothing, letting the silence stretch until it felt like a tangible force pressing against them.
“Welcome to Legal Ethics,” he said at last, his voice smooth and commanding. “Or, as I like to call it, the study of hypocrisy.”
A ripple of nervous laughter passed through the hall, but Yo Han didn’t so much as smirk. He let the tension build again, his gaze sweeping across the room like a predator assessing its prey.
“This course will challenge you,” he continued, his voice low but carrying effortlessly. “Not just intellectually, but morally. You will learn to question the law, to dissect its motives, and to confront the lies it conceals. Some of you will thrive. Most of you will not. That is not my concern.”
Ga On tightened his grip on his pen, his pulse hammering in his ears. There was something magnetic about Yo Han, something that demanded attention and refused to let it go.
“For your first assignment,” Yo Han said, pacing slowly across the front of the room, “you will write a 2,000-word essay on the moral justification of vigilante justice. Due next Monday.”
The collective groan was immediate, and Ga On’s stomach churned. A 2,000-word essay in a week? On vigilante justice? The weight of the task felt suffocating.
“I expect thoughtful, well-argued responses,” Yo Han added, his tone sharp enough to cut. “Don’t waste my time with platitudes or sentimentality. Surprise me.”
His gaze swept the room once more, lingering briefly on Ga On. It was a fleeting moment, but it felt like an eternity. Yo Han’s eyes seemed to pierce through him, seeing more than Ga On wanted anyone to see.
The lecture proceeded, a whirlwind of philosophical dilemmas and case studies that left most of the students scrambling to keep up. Ga On scribbled notes frantically, though his thoughts kept drifting back to that piercing gaze. What had Yo Han seen in him? And why did it leave him feeling so exposed?
When the lecture finally ended, the room erupted into a flurry of movement and chatter. Ga On remained seated, watching as Yo Han gathered his notes at the podium.
“Are you planning to sit there all day, Mr. Kim?”
The voice startled him, sharp and direct. Ga On looked up to find Yo Han standing at the foot of the lecture hall, his expression unreadable.
“I—uh, no, Professor,” Ga On stammered, hastily shoving his notebook into his bag.
Yo Han tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Good. Then I expect to see something compelling in your essay. Don’t disappoint me.”
With that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the emptying hall. Ga On sat frozen for a moment, his mind racing.