Chapter 6
“Sehun, if you have something to say, speak up instead of hovering around. Don’t you know Monday mornings are my busiest?” Senior Attorney Song snapped, her voice laced with annoyance. “It’s been nearly a month since Attorney Yoonshin Do started, and you haven’t called him into your office once, have you? He’s under your direct supervision, so if you won’t assign him work, at least take him out for lunch. It’s rare to have a young man on your team,” Mihee prodded, anticipating Sehun’s response.
Sehun furrowed his brow slowly, expecting Mihee to bring this up. “I even split my lunch hour to fit in another meeting.”
“Come on, do what you have to do, even if you’re busy. Just so you know, I go shopping and have hobbies,” Mihee retorted, urging Sehun to make an effort.
“Isn’t it enough to assign him some pro bono cases? Why should I feed him too? I already told you, I’m not interested in babysitting,” Sehun argued.
“Then buy him a coffee, will you? I know you pretty well. You’ve practically finished investigating him. Since you’re not eager to kick him out, he’s passed your criteria. I don’t know what you’re waiting for exactly, but at least engage in a conversation. It can be brief. I need some progress to report to Director Do as well. Whenever she calls and asks, I have nothing to say, and it’s embarrassing. I’m not asking for much, just a coffee. Okay? Coffee,” Mihee pressed, her voice firm.
“Don’t give me orders. Leave,” Sehun curtly dismissed her.
“Sehun,” Mihee called out, unwilling to back down easily.
“I don’t care about superiors or anything. I don’t discriminate; I’ll even yell at those above me. Leave when I’m not yelling,” Sehun retorted with a touch of defiance.
“You’re such a hothead. Fine, I’m leaving,” Mihee conceded, regarding Sehun like a defiant younger brother. She took a step back, pretending to retreat quietly, before briskly walking forward and placing both coffee cups on his desk. “Looking forward to hearing good news!”
Sehun had expected Mihee to do this, and for a moment, he stood still, staring at Mihee, who waved at him. He let out a deep sigh, finally prepared to sit at his desk. However, his gaze shifted to Yoonshin’s brightly lit office, the young attorney already engrossed in his work. Sehun hesitated.
Shortly after, his eyes fell upon the neatly arranged cups of coffee on his desk, Mihee’s words echoing in his mind.
“One month. One month…” he muttered to himself before picking up one of the disposable cups.
Turning around, he left his office and made his way to the reception area located between his and Yoonshin’s offices. The support staff seemed oblivious to Sehun’s approach, engrossed in hushed conversation amongst themselves. Sehun clapped his hands once, catching Secretary Tak’s attention as he promptly rose from his seat.
“Oh my Lord. S-senior Attorney, do you need something else?”
“Secretary Tak, send the documents I asked you to organize last week to Yoonshin Do’s office,” Sehun commanded.
“Both cases? Right away?” Secretary Tak inquired.
“Do you want to leave the second one for tomorrow? I can stand here and wait while you happily chat away,” Sehun retorted, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
“My apologies. I’ll send them immediately,” Secretary Tak replied, rushing to fulfill the request.
Without another word, Sehun headed straight to Yoonshin’s room and pushed the door open. Yoonshin, just starting up his laptop, quickly bowed at a right angle upon realizing his uninvited guest’s identity. This was the first time Sehun had visited his office, leaving Yoonshin taken aback.
“Sir, did you just arrive at work?”
“Are you in the military? Relax. Have a seat,” Sehun replied curtly, standing in front of Yoonshin’s desk.
Locking his gaze on the other’s puzzled expression, Sehun forcefully placed the cup of coffee Mihee had handed him on the desk. Naturally, Yoonshin’s clear eyes held questions as he looked up.
“This is…” Yoonshin trailed off.
“Coffee,” Sehun replied plainly.
“I can see that. Did you have something to tell me, perhaps…?”
“Drink it first.”
“You’re giving this to me?”
“Yeah, I think I’ll feel less agitated if you drink it.”
Yoonshin, unsure of what to make of Sehun’s intense gaze, hastily took a sip. He tilted his head in confusion. “I don’t understand your intentions.”
“Someone keeps pestering me. Anyway, I’ve done what I needed to,” Sehun explained vaguely, leaving Yoonshin still puzzled about his intentions.
Instead of pressing further, he glanced at the black coffee sleeve and drew the cup closer. He silently expressed gratitude with a nod, and Sehun reciprocated the gesture before walking over to the couch in Yoonshin’s office. Leaning against the armrest, Sehun fixed an intense gaze on the young lawyer.
Yoonshin’s face contorted under the weight of Sehun’s unrelenting stare. He was bewildered by Sehun’s sudden intrusion, the reason behind it still unknown to him. Furthermore, the partner lawyer’s gaze was so piercing and intense that Yoonshin felt a twinge of awkwardness and shyness.
In truth, openly and directly staring at another person was rather impolite. They had only met a few times, and on each occasion, the older man had been rude. However, Sehun Kang was the one who initiated it, leaving Yoonshin no choice but to tolerate it.
As he pondered this, a realization struck him.
“Oh, I was being narrow-minded. I’ll quickly buy you coffee too.” Yoonshin began to rise from his seat.
But Sehun waved his hand, dismissing the offer. “Forget it. You haven’t signed your contract yet. How much were you promised annually?”
“I’ve only practiced for four years, with no legal background. I mostly handled minor cases, so I had no significant factors to consider when joining this firm. I was informed about the firm’s performance-based compensation system, starting from the third year, and was offered the average second-year salary. Ms. Song mentioned renegotiating at the end of the year after evaluating my performance…”
“What you’re suggesting is that despite your appointment through nepotism, you endeavored to maintain your professional boundaries,” Yoonshin was accused, while he absently toyed with his coffee cup.
He neither confirmed nor denied the accusation, allowing a pregnant silence to hang in the air. In that fleeting moment, a knock on his partially open door interrupted their conversation, and without waiting for a response, two unfamiliar faces barged into the room, pushing in a cart laden with files.
The duo meticulously piled the mountainous stacks of papers onto the coffee table before signaling their departure, leaving Sehun composed and Yoonshin bewildered.
As the door clicked shut, Yoonshin, taken aback by the overwhelming number of documents, glared at Sehun with undisguised animosity. “Senior Attorney, pray tell, what do these entail? Your reaction suggests that you’re well acquainted with their contents.”
“They are two litigation files, comparable in size to those handled by our junior lawyers in their third and fourth years. One pertains to a civil case, while the other involves a criminal matter,” Sehun disclosed.
One of the primary duties of a partner lawyer was case acquisition. While they occasionally led cases in their area of expertise or those with the potential for substantial financial gain, smaller files were often delegated to associates to handle autonomously. Many law firms followed a top-down approach, where partners’ words held the weight of law for associates. It seemed that Doguk was no exception.
Yoonshin could discern that these documents before him were connected to cases Sehun had procured.
“These papers must be assigned files. Will I be entrusted with one or both of these cases?” Yoonshin inquired.
Sehun scoffed disbelievingly. “You aspire to handle litigation? Do you believe yourself fit for that task? Should I arrange for your transfer to the litigation team?”
Feeling cornered, Yoonshin opted for silence.
Sehun continued, his tone tinged with incredulity, “Granted you are not a complete imbecile, you must have observed the firm’s atmosphere over the past month. This will be my initial assessment of your ability to prove your worth.”
“An assessment? Very well. What must I do?” Yoonshin asked, determined to rise to the challenge.
“I will grant you a two-day window. Peruse these documents meticulously, leaving no page unturned. Then, provide a comprehensive summary to our senior colleagues, who possess no prior knowledge of the case. They must grasp the entirety of the matter based solely on your briefing, and when they inquire, your responses must be flawless, devoid of any gaps or errors. Can you accomplish that?”
Yoonshin surmised that this was a test of his capacity to work efficiently within a limited timeframe. However, two days seemed woefully inadequate to process such an extensive volume of documents.
“You expect me to tackle all of this in two days? I also have pro bono files that urgently require my attention, some of which are in the midst of a trial.”
Sehun, accustomed to unquestioning compliance, raised an eyebrow. He rose from his seat and approached Yoonshin, positioning his arms shoulder-width apart on the desk as he leaned forward, locking eyes with him.
Their faces were in close proximity. Sehun’s narrow eyes, symmetrically placed on his smooth countenance, blinked deliberately. He exuded an air of malevolence. Yoonshin winced and tightened his grip on the cup in his hands.
“Listen, fourth-year associate. It appears I possess some semblance of metacognition,” Sehun remarked.
“I can discern that to some extent,” Yoonshin replied.
“And the paramount key to swaying a judge is maintaining a consistent stance from beginning to end.”
“I am well aware of that.”
“If you possess this knowledge, why are you behaving this way? You pledged to give it your all. Should you contradict yourself, I implore you, as someone with an exceptional memory, recall my words: it would cause me immense distress. Don’t you think so, fourth-year?”
“I must excel for the sake of my sister’s peace of mind, so I shall give it my all,” Yoonshin recollected his earlier statement, leaving no room for excuses or protests. “I apologize. I can accomplish this.”
Sehun’s satisfaction seemed somewhat lacking, but in any case, he could accept this response. Slowly straightening his posture, he loomed over Yoonshin with an intimidating aura. His face revealed no discernible emotions. Yet, beneath the surface, Yoonshin glimpsed a confidence bordering on arrogance. Sehun’s life, adorned with victories acquired through any means necessary, had shaped him into the individual he was today.
It occurred to Yoonshin, physically positioned lower and gazing upward, that Sehun Kang was perhaps the most fitting person in the world to look down upon others. He sensed that the man before him would never comprehend the depths of loneliness or humiliation, even if he were to experience death and resurrection.
At that moment, for some inexplicable reason, Yoonshin harbored a desire to witness Sehun’s countenance contorted with the agony of defeat, if only once. He had never contemplated another person’s expression of anguish before. Finding this peculiarity within himself, he attempted to shake off such thoughts.
Sehun quickly noticed Yoonshin’s lack of focus, lost in his own world, and snapped his fingers in front of Yoonshin’s face. “Two days from today, this time in the morning. In the main conference room. Any further queries?”
“Um, so am I expected to deliver the case brief solely to you? And field questions from the senior lawyers?”
“I have delegated this case to other teams, so I have no interest in attending. I won’t be there. Your response rate must approach 100%, and you cannot take longer than two seconds to answer a question. Ultimately, the senior lawyers will evaluate and appraise your value. If it proves satisfactory, I will adjust your salary to match that of an average fourth-year associate.”