Work Text:
“Ready to sell your life, Savior? I’m betting five hundred thousand on your win!” Jung Wooyoung, with that damned mouth of his, started his cruel joke before I even had the chance to sit down. “Please, win the trial,” he added with a dumb grin.
“Don’t go betting on someone else’s career like it’s a game, asshole.” I snapped at him. Besides, I hated being called “Savior,” especially when I knew damn well I couldn’t save a thing. That word always came with its own curse.
Completely ignoring my feelings, Wooyoung went on, “Not your career, my dear Yunho, your life. The people from the Underground Palace are probably watching you very closely right now.” God, he was annoying. Only he could remind me of something that brutal with such ease.
“Hear that? Makes me want to die,” I muttered, humorless. Not that I actually wanted to die. Who really wants to die? Not before I deal with this damn mess. After that? I couldn’t care less what happens to my life.
Wooyoung responded with a loud snort, clearly holding back a laugh — probably at my miserable existence. “Don’t rush it. Sooner or later, it’ll happen anyway,” he said in what I guessed was meant to be a comforting tone. Honestly, sometimes I envied his lack of a functioning conscience.
Wooyoung just kept on rambling, still wrapped in his annoying brand of dark humor. I was made to argue with him, and my resistance only fueled his enjoyment. We were never on the same wavelength — loved clashing, loved insulting each other just for fun. Oh, what a beautiful friendship. Now, where the hell was Kang Yeosang when I needed him to shut this bastard up?
Right on cue, in the middle of my heartwarming banter with Wooyoung the bastard, the real savior descended from heaven. Kang Yeosang greeted us with his usual friendliness. His face was practically glowing today, and Wooyoung and I exchanged a knowing glance. We could guess why Yeosang looked so happy. Neither of us felt like asking.
“This looks fun. What are you two talking about?”
Yeosang dove right into the conversation, and I quickly answered, “Wooyoung placed another bet. This time, it’s my life. Only worth five hundred thousand, the heartless jerk.” I tattled to his beloved best friend. I always enjoyed Wooyoung’s reaction to this. He never snapped back the way he usually did, but the annoyed expression on his face was always worth it.
“It was just a joke. Yunho’s not gonna die that easily. He’s not some delicate little butterfly.”
I let out a harsh snort, replying with a sneer, “I’m up against hot lead, you bastard. Not a damn hand swat.”
Apparently, Yeosang was on my side, because he gave Wooyoung a sharp look. “Death threats aren’t something to joke about. We all know how bad this case could get.”
Success, as always. I grinned when Wooyoung fell silent, stirring his drink instead — clearly annoyed by the lecture, even if his face stayed expressionless.
This is what a healthy, balanced friendship looks like. There always needs to be one person who brings a bit of heaven between two flames straight out of hell. Even though Wooyoung and I were friends first, Yeosang’s presence became essential. He was the perfect missing piece.
If you count it, fifteen years is no short time. The fact that we’d been friends that long was honestly kind of shocking. It felt like just yesterday I met Wooyoung and recklessly helped him “propose” to Yeosang to join our ridiculous research team. A treasured memory. Sometimes I wish I could go back to those days. College adventures were so much more fun than this career path that’s basically leading me straight to the grave.
Oh, shit. That just reminded me of a funny joke Wooyoung once made — totally unintentionally — years ago, back when we first became friends. Back then, neither of us had any idea what kind of specialty Yeosang was planning to pursue. We both just assumed he’d end up as a general practitioner. So Wooyoung joked about us getting ‘special best-friend discounts’ once Yeosang graduated and started practicing. Who would’ve thought Yeosang would actually take it seriously?
His words — and that quiet generosity in his expression — still stuck with me. If I remember correctly, he said, “Of course. I’d never charge my patients anything. After all, corpses don’t pay bills.”
Back then, I laughed so hard I nearly fell out of my chair — especially seeing Wooyoung’s dumbfounded face like he’d just dropped to the Earth’s core. But now? Laughing at that feels almost tragic. There’s a real chance I’ll end up being Yeosang’s next patient. And Wooyoung? He’ll be the one laughing at me — once we meet again in hell. I’m sure of it: the two of us will be reunited in hell.
“Life in this place is really tough, huh?” Yeosang said, sympathetic as always. “That kind of threat… it’s like a nightmare. You two shouldn’t even be here. It’s dangerous to be out without any protection.”
Yeosang had a kind heart — maybe a little too kind. Or maybe, as Wooyoung once whispered to me, he’d just been raised to always be unfailingly polite.
“I don’t know, Yeosang. I wasn’t born to live in fear,” Wooyoung replied, casual as ever. “If I feared death, I wouldn’t have walked into this mess of a profession in the first place.” And yeah, that’s pretty much who Wooyoung is — heartless and fearless. A reckless bastard with a magnetic charm. Even death itself seemed to avoid him. He’d dodged death three times. Twice by untraceable shooters, once by a certified lunatic. Three times, a bullet nearly kissed his skull. Three times, the city was thrown into chaos because of him. That’s the kind of chaos you get from a judge with too much nerve and zero chill.
Sometimes I couldn’t believe it. How the hell does someone like Jung Wooyoung stay alive and perfectly fine after all that? That might be his greatest accomplishment of the century. He was practically a walking urban legend.
“You really should hire protection — seriously. Especially you, Wooyoung.” Yeosang said, his tone unusually firm. “A wild card like you is practically a magnet for danger.”
“This bastard’s too busy partying at trashy bars in the red-light district to care if someone’s aiming at his forehead.”
“Worry about your own forehead, asshole.”
“You’re both idiots. Not even surprised anymore,” Yeosang said flatly. Fair point. I didn’t even bother responding. At least Wooyoung finally shut up.
As for hiring security, I hadn’t really considered it. Maybe I should have. This case could be deadly — that much was clear from the death threat I got three days ago. That kind of thing wasn’t something to take lightly.
Taking this case felt like digging my own grave. Maybe — just maybe — after fifteen years of being friends with Wooyoung, I’d picked up some of his madness. Maybe that’s where I got the guts to take this on.
“Don’t worry, Yeosang. Our sins will protect us. Neither this idiot nor I are going to die. You just have to trust me.”
As annoying as that sounded, there was something oddly… somber about it. There was a hint of sincerity in Wooyoung’s voice that caught me off guard. I hated that I couldn’t even laugh at it.
“Yeah, don’t stress too much, Yeosang,” I said, not wanting to drown in thoughts of death hanging over our heads. “As long as Wooyoung’s still out there playing Casanova, there’s nothing to worry about.”
Wooyoung snorted. “You always think I’m out there hooking up with people? You’re dead wrong, Yunho. I’m just looking for someone to talk to.”
“I don’t even want to picture you getting shot while drunk in some sleazy bar,” Yeosang muttered. Still not on board. And honestly, he had a point. The image made me shiver a little. If you’re not afraid of dying, at least try not to get maimed.
“That’s not gonna happen. I’ve got a shield — Choi San’s always got my back.”
That actually made me pause.
“Seriously? Choi San? Out of all the decent cops in the city?”
“Don’t call him that, Yunho. He’d cry if he heard you,” Wooyoung said with a mischievous grin. “The guy’s well-respected. Having ties with him won’t do you any harm — even if the risks are… considerable. But you’ll be shocked by what I found out. Turns out there’s way more to Choi San than we ever imagined.”
I gave him a confused look. Yeosang did too. Now we were both dying to know — who the hell was Choi San, really?
“What did you find?”
A few agonizing moments passed in silence. Our curiosity was practically eating us alive.
“Don’t be dramatic, you bastard. Just spit it out already,” I snapped, frustrated that he was stringing us along.
“Relax. Don’t you wanna order something first?”
Oh. Right. I hadn’t ordered yet. Neither had Yeosang.
We both got up in unison, heading to the counter to get our usual drinks and lunch before returning to deal with the enigma that was Jung Wooyoung.
“Alright, alright. I know you two — his number-one fans — can’t wait to hear this cop’s dirty little secret.”
“Not his fan. At all,” Yeosang said flatly.
“Same here,” I added.
“Poor San. The two people he practically worships don’t even like him back.”
I scoffed. “Just get to the point, Jung.”
“You already know it, Jung,” he said, dropping the act. His tone shifted, the grin fading from his face. “You, me, and Yeosang — we all know Choi San works for the people behind the Underground Palace. We’ve all called him out as a dirty, corrupt cop.”
Wasn’t that basically public knowledge? His ties to the criminal underworld were the root of Choi San’s tainted reputation. People said he’d do whatever it took to climb — and stay — on top. Some even chalked it up to ‘survival instinct.’
“Recently, I found out something else. Turns out, getting a notorious cop drunk at some sleazy booze party, loosening his tongue enough to make him spill state secrets, isn’t actually that hard. San’s clever, no doubt — sharp, even. But he’s also surprisingly naive. All I had to do was name-drop you two, and suddenly, he trusted me like we were childhood buddies. One thing led to another, and boom — his trump card ended up in my hands. Now? That man’s under my heel.”
“That’s horrible. Aren’t judges supposed to not think like criminals?”
“That’s not crime — it’s called strategy,” Wooyoung replied with a smug, frosty grin.
“You used us to trap him,” Yeosang accused coldly.
Wooyoung let out an exaggerated sigh. “I simply told him you two were my friends. That’s not a lie — that’s honesty.”
“Who said I was your friend?”
“Even though I’m allergic to idiots, I still call Jung Yunho my friend.”
Before our banter could escalate, Yeosang quickly stepped in — thankfully, just as our order arrived. Once the mood had settled a bit, Yeosang circled back and asked Wooyoung what exactly Choi San had spilled. Whatever it was, it must’ve been serious — serious enough for Wooyoung to treat it like leverage. And considering just how unhinged Wooyoung could be, Yeosang genuinely seemed concerned about poor San, who’d clearly fallen into the hands of the wrong bastard.
Naturally, Wooyoung didn’t answer. He planned to tell Yeosang later, in private — when I wasn’t around. Just the two of them. Honestly, I was an idiot to think he’d ever spill anything in front of me.
After that, we took a break to eat and let the silence settle between us. I stayed mostly quiet, caught up in the mess inside my head. Work had been overwhelming lately — especially a case that had just landed on my desk. It came to me through a handwritten letter from a death row inmate who’s been locked up for nearly seven years.
Before I tell you how dangerous this case is, maybe I should explain why it’s dangerous.
In short,this case is believed to have deep ties to a ruthless underground organization. People refer to it as the Underground Palace, though no one really knows what its real name is — or if it even has one. Rumor has it the group is made up of the city’s most powerful elites — business tycoons, politicians, even legal authorities — all pulling strings behind the curtain. So it’s no surprise that almost anything in this city can be bent to their will. Even the law seems to kneel at their feet.
I once had a friend — a lawyer — who lost a case not because she was wrong, but because she went up against them.
That was years ago, around the time I first met Na Hanmi. She introduced herself as a human rights lawyer and the founder of a law firm that specialized in domestic violence and civil rights cases.
The pay wasn’t great, but I genuinely enjoyed working with her. She was remarkable — one of a kind. We were the same age and hit it off right away.
She was stunning, brilliant, quick on her feet, deeply empathetic, and unstoppable in court. If Themis ever walked among mortals, I’m pretty sure it would’ve been her.
Almost flawless. Her only flaw?
The goddess was married.
At first, I didn’t mind. I even said her husband was a lucky man. But once I had one of my contacts dig into her personal life… I found out something I couldn’t forgive.
That amazing woman was married to that idiot —another lawyer, sure, but one who handled nothing but dry civil cases. I’m not saying she deserved someone better just because, but… of all people, why him? Why Song Mingi?
I would’ve been fine with anyone else. Anyone — anyone but that bastard. It physically hurt to think someone as precious as Na Hanmi belonged to him. That man’s filth. He belongs in the gutter with the rest of the bottom-feeders. He’s not worthy of sitting beside a goddess. He didn’t deserve a seat beside a goddess.
If fairy tales have taught me anything, it’s that forbidden love always ends in tragedy. And I was starting to wonder if life would play out the same way.
Mingi and I go way back — and not in a good way. We’ve known each other since high school, and it’s only gone downhill from there. After graduation, I went off to study law, where I met Wooyoung and Yeosang — those two rare creatures who should honestly be kept in a human sanctuary. We lived through the chaos of college, graduated, and moved on to real careers. In all that time, I never imagined the school’s number-one troublemaker would one day enforce the law.
The world really does have a sick sense of humor. Almost as bad as one of Wooyoung’s punchlines. I sat through a few of Mingi’s trials. To my surprise, he actually carried himself well. He knew his case files, held his ground, and his arguments were solid. That alone stunned me. But the biggest shock? He cleaned up well. Gone was the scruffy delinquent I used to catch smoking behind the school gym.
His face hadn’t changed, though — still as dumb-looking as ever. Or maybe I was the only one who could still see the idiot behind that fake serious expression.
So that’s the face that Na Hanmi fell for? God. I’d rather not insult her taste.
My friends, of course, were endlessly supportive — especially when it came to tearing me apart for criticizing her husband. The actual judge in the room even turned judgment on me.
“She’s gorgeous, sure. I kind of feel bad for her, though — working with an old, bitter bachelor who can’t stop trash-talking her husband,” Wooyoung said.
Yeosang chimed in, half-joking, “There must be a reason she chose him. And anyway, she’s only just met you. What are you to her, Yunho? Just a coworker. Meanwhile, she and Song have years of history behind them.”
“I second that,” Wooyoung added. “Who even are you, Yunho? Huh? Nobody. Just nobody.” He burst into cruel laughter.
Alright, fine. Their words hit harder than I expected. The rest of the afternoon was a back-and-forth of scolding and mockery from those two bastards—I mean, my best friends. They’d already decided I was some shameless guy trying to steal another man’s wife. They didn’t know the real story — my complicated, much longer history with Song Mingi. But that didn’t matter.
What did matter was this: Song Mingi is an idiot. I’d only worked with his wife for two years before he found himself in deep trouble. Not that it had anything to do with me — but it certainly dragged Hanmi through hell.
For months, she fought tirelessly in court to defend him after Mingi was accused of shooting one of his former clients point-blank in the head. Honestly? I almost laughed when I first heard it. The guy couldn’t even kill a fly in high school, and now they thought he’d committed murder? Sure, people change — but I still couldn’t picture it.
As a supportive colleague, I made sure to attend every one of those hearings. I’d become a regular in the audience, watching the courtroom unfold like a slow-burning tragedy. No matter how fiercely Hanmi defended her husband, it all seemed pointless.
The judge still found Song Mingi guilty. And a week later, Na Hanmi was found dead.
I’m not joking. The poor woman was dead—taken out like a martyr. She’d lost everything: her dignity, her rights, and, ultimately, her life.
At first, they said it was suicide. But the coroner who performed the autopsy confirmed it was murder.
Kang Yeosang brought up the case during one of our usual meetups. As one of the few licensed forensic pathologists on the police payroll, he handled most of the corpses in the city. That day, his tone was more somber than usual. “Two weeks ago, Na Hanmi was found dead in her own home,” he said. “Two bullets to the left side of her chest — fired at close range.”
He looked at both me and Wooyoung before continuing. “The bullets didn’t come from just any weapon. Firearms are illegal here. And yet, one lawyer was murdered and another was accused — possibly with the same kind of gun. Even more suspicious, the gun presented during Mingi’s trial didn’t match the bullets found in the victim. That’s what makes it so bizarre. The courtroom that day was full of lies. The public was spoon-fed garbage and expected to believe it.”
Yeosang hesitated, then added, “It might sound like a conspiracy theory, but I believe Hanmi’s enemy wasn’t just anyone. Someone with real power wanted her gone.”
Of course. The three of us had thought the same thing. This went deeper than any of us wanted to admit. It had been planned. Calculated. Life itself had turned into a game—and the ones pulling the strings were the ones with power.
God knows what kind of mess that idiot Song got himself into to end up in the crosshairs of the Underground Palace.
Ugh… Speaking of idiots, I felt like an even bigger one. What was I thinking, diving into something this dangerous?
Come on, Jung Yunho. These people have killed lawyers before — what makes you think you’re untouchable now? You might as well have sold your body to be riddled with bullets or dumped into some crocodile-infested river.
Maybe it’s time I wrote my will. I’m not planning to die just yet — but better to be prepared than sorry. I’ll say it out loud now, just in case I never get the chance.
“If I disappear, please tell my mother that I love her. And Yeosang — please take care of Pinky for me. She’s like a daughter to me.”
“Okay,” Yeosang replied with a polite smile. I really do hope Pinky finds peace and happiness with him.
“You act like you’re dying tomorrow.”
I scoffed softly, glancing around. “We never know what the future holds. It could happen anytime.”
“My advice?” Wooyoung spoke up. “Don’t you dare die. No one else is insane enough to touch Mingi’s case but you. So finish what you started.”
Harsh words, but I knew he meant well. Deep down, I knew Wooyoung didn’t want me dead either.
I chuckled faintly and stirred my drink. The humor fell flat — tinged with irony. My head was spinning with too many possibilities. Becoming a lawyer was never easy. And maybe, just maybe, I’d end up like Na Hanmi: the next martyr. But truth be told, I didn’t deserve that kind of title. I wasn’t some saint. Martyr, savior, whatever label they wanted to throw — none of them fit me. I didn’t earn it.
“Speaking of your mother… does she know you’re involved in this case?”
Of course she does. I’ve never kept secrets from my mother — not even the darkest ones. I couldn’t lie to her.
All I could do was smile quietly and nod. Talking about Mom always pulled at something emotional in me. I knew I couldn’t live without her — and I was pretty sure the feeling was mutual. Out of everything in the world she had to worry about, I was at the top of her list. So when I told her I was taking on a case tied to a criminal organization, she completely broke down. The thought of losing her only son without a trace was too much for her.
Yeah… I’ve been thinking too much lately. Sure, my life matters — but dying isn’t the priority right now. I need a plan. I have to win this case. No matter what it takes, I’ll win. Even if I have to fight fire with fire. If I’m going to face a rigged game, I’ll play dirty too. After all, fairness is just another performance in court.
Suddenly, an idea came to me. I looked across the table and locked eyes with Jung Wooyoung. He could probably already guess what I was thinking.
And so, I went for it.
“Wooyoung, my dear friend. I need a favor.”
He simply looked at me, waiting. No resistance. So I didn’t hold back.
“Do something — anything — to make sure my trial goes smoothly. I need it to be airtight. No interference. No dirty hands involved.”
“Oh? And how exactly am I supposed to do that? It’s your case, Yunho. I don’t have any say in it.”
Liar. He didn’t get his reputation as the “crazy judge” for nothing. Jung Wooyoung was famous for presiding over the most controversial cases in the city.
Wooyoung claimed it was all for the thrill — that there was no greater high than delivering a verdict in a case soaked in scandal. But I knew better. He didn’t get assigned those trials by chance. He chose them. He made things happen behind the scenes. That lunatic probably had half the court under his thumb by now — and the other half terrified of him. The Underground Palace must have already stamped his name in their ledgers.
“I know you’ve got everyone’s trump cards, Wooyoung. You love pulling strings. So help me out — and you might just win that stupid bet of yours.”
His brow arched, lips curling into a sly smirk. I had his attention now.
“Even if I could do it, Yunho… it would come at a price. I don’t play fairy godmother for free.”
“I’ll pay.”
“A shady backroom deal between legal professionals,” Yeosang muttered dryly. “You two really do keep things exciting.”
“It’s just business,” Wooyoung said with a wink. Then he turned back to me. “Alright, Yunho. Since we’re friends, I won’t ask for money.”
I hummed in agreement. “Then what will you ask for, my friend?”
“You said it yourself — I hold everyone’s trump card. And yes, I do enjoy collecting them…”
For some reason, I felt a chill run down my spine. Was he asking me to confess some buried secret?
“…So here’s my offer: someday, I’ll ask you a question. And when that day comes, you must answer it. But you can’t die before giving me that answer. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Wooyoung grinned, far too pleased. “You agreed too fast.”
“I don’t have any skeletons in my closet that could help you anyway,” I replied, taking a sip from my almost-empty glass.
“Oh, please,” he chuckled. “A skeleton in your closet? A gun in your coat? Who knows what you’re hiding.”
I laughed along. He was joking — but in this country, owning a firearm is a felony. And in our world? Secrets are more dangerous than bullets.
After a few more exchanges, we finally decided to end the meeting. Yeosang left first — something urgent had come up at work — leaving Wooyoung and me to linger a little longer. Neither of us brought up the deal we’d made earlier. We weren’t in the mood to talk about work. Just the thought of it was nauseating. Naturally, Wooyoung changed the topic — straight to Kang Yeosang, as always.
“He’s acting strange. Happier than usual,” Wooyoung said out of nowhere.
“You know how Yeosang is. He loves his job more than anything.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. It’s just… weird.”
“Maybe he found something interesting at work. Or — who knows — someone interesting. And alive.”
Wooyoung shot me a sharp look. “As if that’s possible.”
“You’re the weird one. Of course it’s possible. He doesn’t work alone, does he?”
“I still don’t think he’s into anyone.”
“You never know. People change.”
“True. But I still think he’s hung up on that Jane of his.”
Ah. Here we go again.
“And you’re still jealous of Jane. Aren’t you?”
“Always.”
I patted his shoulder gently, trying to offer some comfort. For all his arrogance and narcissism, Jung Wooyoung was still human. He could orchestrate chaos, bend situations to his will — but when it came to his own heart, he was helpless.
I’m not sure when it started. Maybe from the very beginning, from the moment he met Yeosang. Dramatic as it sounds, maybe it was love at first sight. Who knows? Only Wooyoung himself.
It was kind of fun to talk about — mainly because I enjoyed dragging Jung Wooyoung through the mud. At first, I didn’t believe someone like him would care about romantic feelings. I thought he wasn’t even wired that way. This man barely had a conscience. But as our friendship grew over the years, I realized Wooyoung was dead serious about his feelings. And to this day, I don’t think that’s ever changed. Neither has Yeosang.
Yeosang, I suspect, doesn’t even fully understand the concept of falling in love. He operates on courtesy, respect, and professionalism. Even though he’s often admired — okay, low-key worshipped — by others, Yeosang remains detached. His joy has always come from his work, something he talks about now and then. That’s what made me believe his “object of affection” might be something… a bit different.
The problem is, Wooyoung doesn’t see it that way. He’s still hung up on something Yeosang said years ago. Even now, I can still see the flicker of jealousy in his eyes whenever the name “Jane” comes up in conversation.
Honestly, I don’t even know how to explain who Jane is. She’s… a bit of an anomaly.
Yeosang still carries a photo of her — Jane. I caught a glimpse of it earlier when we were ordering food. The picture’s tucked neatly into his wallet.
One memory in particular has stuck with me over the years. We were in our sixth semester when Yeosang casually mentioned he might have feelings for someone named Jane. He’d recently been given the rare opportunity to assist in a dissection of an unidentified cadaver. In our most rational minds, Wooyoung and I assumed he was talking about a fellow intern — maybe a female colleague from the lab.
Then came the day he showed us the photo. He’d asked one of his peers to take a portrait of Jane’s face — cleaned up and composed — and had it printed. Yeosang’s expression lit up as he showed it off, beaming with pride. I remember getting chills. Wooyoung, on the other hand, visibly paled.
Yeosang… was attracted to her?
Our friend had officially lost it.
I usually reserved the word “crazy” for Wooyoung, but that day, Yeosang earned it fair and square.
Jane Doe. That was the name given to the unnamed cadaver. And Yeosang had told us, in all honesty, that he was drawn to her beauty.
Even now, that moment gives me goosebumps. Yeosang has always been genuine, honest — almost painfully so — when it comes to expressing what he feels. But that day, I was genuinely afraid of him.
Thankfully, he’s not some kind of sexual deviant. Both Wooyoung and I had been quietly panicking for a while, especially Wooyoung. We’d started to worry that maybe the reason Yeosang loved his job so much was… because it constantly surrounded him with corpses. Wooyoung even tried to force him into counseling once. It turned into a fight between them.
Yeosang, of course, immediately clarified everything. He said his interest in Jane had been purely aesthetic. A form of admiration, nothing more. He said there was no way he could ever be attracted to a lifeless body in that way. He was clear about it: he had never harbored any perverse intentions.
Thank God.
Yeosang stayed true to his words, and I’ve always respected the way he devotes himself to such a difficult, often thankless job. He’s a voice for the voiceless — for the bodies left behind, seeking justice.
So yeah, the conclusion here is simple: Wooyoung has been jealous of a corpse this whole time. That’s the fun part. Haha. What a crazy.
It’s no wonder our friendship has lasted this long. Me, Wooyoung, and Yeosang — we’re all a little crazy in our own special ways.