The ticking of the wall clock in Professor Han's office was soft—but to Kang Joon-ho, it echoed like thunder.
2005.
The year he took the bar exam. The year before he interned with Baek & Lee, the firm that would sell his soul piece by piece.
It wasn't a dream. Not a coma-induced fantasy. Not even some bizarre hallucination.
The air felt real. The leather seat beneath him was cracked in the same spot he remembered from years ago. Even Professor Han Ji-sung's half-worn chalk-stained blazer was exactly how it used to be.
Joon-ho stared at the cup of tea in his hand. Weak, lukewarm. Professor Han's usual blend. He used to loathe it.
Now he drank it without a word.
"You've been sitting there for ten minutes without speaking," Professor Han finally said. His voice was calm, but his eyes were sharp—studying Joon-ho like an enigma. "I assume this isn't about your administrative law essay."
Joon-ho placed the teacup on the table with trembling fingers. "Can I ask you something, Professor?"
"By all means."
"If someone told you… that the future is already written. That you know everything that's going to happen. Every scandal, every injustice, every corporate cover-up. But no one would believe you. Would you try to stop it?"
Professor Han leaned back, crossing his arms. "Is this a hypothetical?"
Joon-ho didn't answer.
After a moment, Han offered a slow nod. "If I were that person… I'd first ask myself whether I was a witness, a bystander, or an architect of that future."
Joon-ho's heart thudded. "And if I was all three?"
"Then you have a moral debt," Han said, his tone cool. "The question is: do you repay it… or compound the interest?"
That shut Joon-ho up.
The professor gave him a long, contemplative look before rising from his desk.
"I've taught thousands of students, Joon-ho. Few have minds like yours. But the law isn't just a tool for those who can wield it. It's a sword that draws blood on both ends."
He walked to the bookshelf, pulled out a thin volume, and placed it on the desk.
"The Anatomy of Justice."
"You asked me a similar question once before," Han murmured. "Right before you disappeared into the machine. I always hoped you'd come back with an answer."
Joon-ho stared at the book, then slowly reached for it.
His fingers brushed the cover like it was sacred scripture.
And for the first time since waking up in this nightmare—this miracle—he smiled.
Just a little.
---
Outside the law building, the late spring sun poured over the university like gold-dust. Students in jeans and oversized sweaters walked in small groups. Music played from a nearby bench where someone strummed a guitar. It was a peaceful bubble of youth and oblivion.
And Kang Joon-ho hated it.
In his first life, he had barely noticed this part of campus. He was too busy racing to internships, memorizing precedents, or chasing letters of recommendation.
Now he walked slowly, deliberately.
He passed a girl with a stack of papers clutched to her chest, arguing passionately with a classmate. She had sharp cheekbones and dark brown hair tied in a ponytail. Her voice was full of purpose.
"Statute or not, the labor board won't act unless there's collective pressure. We need media coverage."
The name tag on her file folder read: Yoo Sae-bin.
Joon-ho stopped in his tracks.
Yoo Sae-bin.
In his past life, she had become one of the youngest prosecutors in Seoul. Honest. Brilliant. Absolutely incorruptible. And completely opposed to everything Kang Joon-ho had stood for.
They had clashed in court only once—but it was enough. She had called him a "white-collar executioner" in front of a live broadcast. The phrase had haunted him for weeks.
Now here she was—still idealistic. Still fighting.
He almost laughed.
He wanted to speak to her. Warn her. Apologize. But he couldn't.
Not yet.
Not until he figured out who he was supposed to be.
Instead, he turned toward the cafeteria.
And walked straight into someone.
Books scattered to the ground. A curse flew into the air.
"Damn it—watch where you're going—!"
The guy who had slammed into him was tall and lanky, with a perpetual frown and round glasses slipping off his nose. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.
"Sorry," Joon-ho said, kneeling to pick up the books.
"You'd better be—these are original court transcripts from the Choe Min-su bribery trial—!"
Joon-ho froze. "Where did you get these?"
The guy narrowed his eyes. "Library. Special permission. I'm writing a column on corruption cases for the student press."
"You're in the journalism club?"
"Editor-in-Chief. Baek Hyun, future war reporter. And you?"
Joon-ho paused. "Kang Joon-ho. Third-year law."
Baek tilted his head. "You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The I've-read-too-many-Supreme-Court-rulings-and-forgotten-how-to-smile look."
Despite himself, Joon-ho laughed. Baek blinked.
"Was that a laugh? Damn, that's rare."
Joon-ho handed back the files. "You're not bad at reading people."
"I have to be. Most lawyers are professional liars."
"And journalists?"
"Professional listeners," Baek said with a grin. "We all sin in different ways."
---
That night, Joon-ho didn't sleep.
He sat at his tiny desk, surrounded by books he hadn't opened in years. His calendar still had deadlines for moot court competitions and essay contests.
None of that mattered anymore.
He opened his laptop and pulled out a notepad.
Across the top of the page, he wrote:
Things I Must Change:
1. Stop C&T Group before the water pollution project begins.
2. Prevent the suicide of Attorney Seo Min-jae.
3. Expose Baek & Lee's fabricated litigation scheme from 2008.
4. Convince Yoo Sae-bin not to prosecute Han Seok-gyu too early.
5. Save Ji-young's mother from the false malpractice case.
Each entry was carved from memory.
Each one had a body count.
Each one had blood on his hands.
The door creaked.
Roommate.
A scrawny engineering student whose name he couldn't recall stumbled in and fell onto the mattress without a word.
Joon-ho closed the laptop slowly.
He stared at the ceiling for a long time.
He had lived as a vulture. Preying on tragedy. Sharpening his claws on contracts and human misery.
Now he had the chance to undo that.
But what if the system crushed him?
What if he failed?
Would it be worse… knowing what was coming and still being powerless to stop it?
The thought made his throat tighten.
But then he remembered the knife.
And the photo of the boy.
No.
Even if it killed him again, he wasn't going back.
---
A week passed.
He aced every class. Didn't just ace—dominated.
He spoke with clarity professors rarely saw. Quoted precedents not yet taught. Challenged case studies like someone who had practiced for over a decade.
Rumors spread quickly.
"Kang Joon-ho's changed."
"He used to be quiet. Now he's like a machine."
"Didn't he used to skip lectures?"
"Yeah. Now he's correcting professors."
Professor Han watched him carefully but said nothing.
Only Baek Hyun seemed amused.
"You hiding a secret?" Baek asked over lunch. "Like you're a time traveler or something?"
Joon-ho almost choked on his soup.
"That's ridiculous."
"Yeah, yeah. You'd make a killer novel character though. Like, reborn lawyer takes down corrupt elites one by one?"
Joon-ho didn't laugh.
He just quietly added Baek to his list of allies.
---
The real test came the following Monday.
A flyer was posted in the student lounge:
[NOW HIRING: Legal Interns – C&T GROUP LEGAL DEPARTMENT]
The same department that would destroy lives in five years.
The same office where he had once been praised for shredding evidence so well no judge dared question it.
He stared at the flyer for a long time.
Then tore it off the wall.
An hour later, his phone rang.
A number he hadn't seen in years.
"Hello?"
"Joon-ho? It's Attorney Ma from Baek & Lee. Heard you're applying for internships. We'd like to make you an offer."
He gripped the phone tight. That voice. Sleazy. Calm. Manipulative.
"You'll have your own desk. Real case exposure. Of course, this comes with a confidentiality agreement, but I'm sure you understand."
Joon-ho remembered that agreement.
It was the first leash around his neck.
"I'll think about it," he replied.
"No need. You've already been pre-approved by Senior Partner Baek himself. Just say the word."
"I said I'll think about it," Joon-ho repeated coldly.
He hung up.
Then walked outside into the open air.
It was warm. Breezy.
In his first life, he would've said yes in a heartbeat.
Now?
Now he had work to do.
—