𝙺𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝙳𝚊-𝚠𝚒𝚝 ⚖️🔥 [ 𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗 𝚓𝚞𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 ]

Late 2025. One week after the Pro Bono team’s first major victory. The non-profit law center’s tiny office still smells faintly of celebratory ramyeon and victory coffee. You are Park Gi-ppeum, the passionate, justice-driven female public interest lawyer who's been clashing with Da-wit over his pragmatic approach. and the team successfully defended Elijah in her defamation case against a YouTuber who sued her for cursing at sasaeng fans who had been stalking her, leaking her schedule, and invading her privacy. The win was huge—Elijah’s reputation was protected, the YouTuber was ordered to retract and pay damages, and the case exposed the dangerous obsession of sasaeng culture in the K-pop industry. The team celebrated quietly, but Elijah’s gratitude was overwhelming. Now, just seven days later, the door bursts open. Elijah, Korea's sweetheart K-pop idol, storms in, face pale and determined, her usual glamour hidden under a hoodie and mask. The room falls silent as she slumps into a chair.

Yoo Nan-hui drops her phone, gasping as she recognizes her idol from the Ponies fanclub.

“헉… 엘라이자 씨? 진짜예요? 왜 여기…?” (Gasp… Elijah? Is that really you? Why are you here…?)

Jang Yeong-sil leans forward, eyes sharp with recognition of family betrayal.

“무슨 일 있었어요? 얼굴이 안 좋아 보여요. 앉아서 천천히 말씀하세요.” (What happened? Your face looks bad. Sit down and tell us slowly.)

Hwang Jun-u straightens, sweat beading on his forehead.

“저… 엘라이자 씨, 우리 센터는 공익 사건을 다루긴 하지만, 이런 큰 케이스는… 말씀하세요. 도울 수 있을지도 몰라요.” (Uh… Elijah, our center handles public interest cases, but something this big… tell us. We might be able to help.)

Elijah takes a deep breath, voice shaking but resolute, pulling off her mask.

“엄마 회사 계약 파기하고, 소송 걸고 싶어요. 엄마가… 젊은 남자들 사탕 엄마 노릇 하면서 즐기고 다니는 거 증거 있어요. 그 돈 다 내 돈이에요. 더는 못 참아.” (I want to terminate my contract with my mom’s agency and sue her. I have proof that my mom has been acting as a sugar mommy for young men, enjoying her life with my money. I can’t take it anymore.)

Nan-hui clutches her chest, fan heartbreak mixing with shock.

“아니, 엘라이자 엄마가…? 그럴 사람이 아니라고 생각했는데… 팬클럽에서 항상 완벽한 가족이라고…” (No, Elijah's mom…? I thought she wasn't that kind of person… in the fanclub, they always said it was a perfect family…)

Jang Yeong-sil's face darkens, voice steady but edged.

“그런 쓰레기 가족… 잘 알겠어요. 증거 있으면 이길 수 있어요. 당신 혼자 아니에요.” (That kind of trash family… I know it well. If there's proof, we can win. You're not alone.)

Hwang Jun-u pales.

“이건… 대박 케이스지만, 위험해요. 언론이 폭발할 텐데… 그래도, 공익 사건 맞아요.” (This is… a huge case, but dangerous. The media will explode… but it's public interest.)

Kang Da-wit leans back, processing the bombshell, then turns to you with a serious gaze.

“기쁨 씨, 이건 명백한 공익 사건이야. 어떻게 할까?” (Gi-ppeum, this is clearly a public interest case. What should we do?)

Elijah exhales, shoulders dropping.

“지금 당장 갈 데가 없어요. 집은… 못 돌아가겠어요. 호텔에서 묵을게요.” (I don’t have anywhere to go right now. I can’t go home. I’ll stay in a hotel.)

Nan-hui suddenly perks up and she tugs at your sleeve, eyes wide.

“언니! 언니 집에 빈 객실 있잖아요!” (Unnie! Don’t you have a guest room?)

All eyes turn to you—Da-wit’s steady gaze, Nan-hui’s hopeful one, Yeong-sil’s quiet understanding, Jun-u’s nervous curiosity, and Elijah’s exhausted, vulnerable look. The room waits, the weight of the moment hanging in the air.

Late 2025. One week after the Pro Bono team’s first major victory. The non-profit law center’s tiny office still smells faintly of celebratory ramyeon and victory coffee. You are Park Gi-ppeum, the passionate, justice-driven public interest lawyer who’s been clashing with Kang Da-wit over his pragmatic, sometimes cold approach to cases. The team successfully defended Elijah in her defamation case against a YouTuber who sued her for cursing at sasaeng fans who stalked her, leaked her schedule, and invaded her privacy. The win was huge—Elijah’s reputation was protected, the YouTuber was ordered to retract and pay damages, and the case exposed the dangerous obsession of sasaeng culture in K-pop. The team celebrated quietly, but Elijah’s gratitude was overwhelming. Now, just seven days later, the door bursts open. Elijah, Korea’s sweetheart K-pop idol, storms in, face pale and determined, her usual glamour hidden under a hoodie and mask. The room falls silent as she slumps into a chair.

Yoo Nan-hui drops her phone, gasping as she recognizes her idol from the Ponies fanclub.

“Gasp… Elijah? Is that really you? Why are you here…?”

Jang Yeong-sil leans forward, eyes sharp with recognition of family betrayal.

“What happened? Your face looks bad. Sit down and tell us slowly.”

Hwang Jun-u straightens, sweat beading on his forehead.

“Uh… Elijah, our center handles public interest cases, but something this big… tell us. We might be able to help.”

Elijah takes a deep breath, voice shaking but resolute, pulling off her mask.

“I want to terminate my contract with my mom’s agency and sue her. I have proof that my mom has been acting as a sugar mommy for young men, enjoying her life with my money. I can’t take it anymore.”

Nan-hui clutches her chest, fan heartbreak mixing with shock.

“No, Elijah’s mom…? I thought she wasn’t that kind of person… in the fanclub, they always said it was a perfect family…”

Jang Yeong-sil’s face darkens, voice steady but edged.

“That kind of trash family… I know it well. If there’s proof, we can win. You’re not alone.”

Hwang Jun-u pales.

“This is… a massive case, but dangerous. The media will explode… but it’s definitely public interest.”

Kang Da-wit leans back, processing the bombshell, then turns to you with a serious gaze.

“Gi-ppeum, this is clearly a public interest case. What should we do?”

Elijah exhales, shoulders dropping.

“I don’t have anywhere to go right now. I can’t go home. I’ll stay in a hotel.”

Nan-hui suddenly perks up and she tugs at your sleeve, eyes wide.

“Unnie! Don’t you have a guest room?”

All eyes turn to you—Da-wit’s steady gaze, Nan-hui’s hopeful one, Yeong-sil’s quiet understanding, Jun-u’s nervous curiosity, and Elijah’s exhausted, vulnerable look. The room waits, the weight of the moment hanging in the air.

Early 2026. Late afternoon. The Pro Bono Public Interest Law Center office, Seoul. The tiny space is buzzing with exhausted triumph. The team has just won Elijah's high-profile case in the National Assembly: a landmark ruling that exposed her mother's financial exploitation, terminated the abusive agency contract, and granted Elijah full control over her earnings and career. The media is exploding outside, but inside, the atmosphere is quiet victory—files scattered, empty coffee cups everywhere, and the faint smell of instant noodles from the all-nighter. You are Park Gi-ppeum, the passionate public interest lawyer who fought tooth and nail beside Kang Da-wit. The team is still processing: Yoo Nan-hui is pacing with her phone, replaying clips of the hearing; Jang Yeong-sil is quietly smiling for once; Hwang Jun-u is openly relieved he still has a job. Elijah left earlier, tearfully grateful, promising to donate part of her recovered funds to the center.

Kang Da-wit stands by the window, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up, staring at the city skyline like he's still in court. The arrogant edge he once carried as a famous judge has softened over months of pro bono work, but the confidence—the quiet certainty of a man who knows he's won—remains. He turns, eyes finding yours across the room. The others notice the shift in the air.

Nan-hui suddenly spins toward him, eyes sparkling, voice loud and excited.

“선생님! 오늘 진짜 멋있었어요! 국회에서 엘라이자 씨 변론할 때… 완전 영화 같았어요! 그 차가운 눈빛으로 증거 하나하나 꺼내면서… 와, 진짜 멋있었어요!” (Teacher! You looked so cool today! When you defended Elijah in the National Assembly… it was like a movie! That cold stare while laying out every piece of evidence… wow, you were really cool!)

Jang Yeong-sil nods, rare approval in her voice.

“그렇게 차분하게 몰아붙이면서도… 피해자 목소리를 끝까지 살려줬어요. 보기 좋았어요.” (You stayed calm while pushing hard… but you kept the victim’s voice alive until the end. It was good to see.)

Hwang Jun-u exhales, still a little shaky.

“솔직히… 오늘 지면 저 잘릴 줄 알았어요. 근데 이겼어요. 대박이에요.” (Honestly… I thought if we lost today I’d be fired. But we won. This is huge.)

Da-wit doesn’t respond to the praise. He walks over to you slowly, stopping just close enough that the others notice. His usual arrogance is tempered now, but the intensity in his eyes is unmistakable. He speaks low, voice steady, ignoring everyone else in the room.

“기쁨 씨.” (Gi-ppeum.)

He pauses, the silence stretching just long enough to make Nan-hui’s eyes widen and Yeong-sil smirk.

“오늘… 같이 저녁 먹을래요?” (Today… want to have dinner with me?)

He doesn’t break eye contact. His tone is calm, but there’s an undercurrent—something personal, deliberate, romantic in a way he’s never allowed himself to show before.

“그냥… 저녁이 아니라, 제대로 된 데이트요. 당신이랑.” (Not just dinner… a real date. With you.)

Nan-hui gasps, hand flying to her mouth. Yeong-sil raises an eyebrow, amused. Jun-u freezes mid-sip of coffee. The entire room is suddenly staring.

Da-wit doesn’t flinch. He just waits, eyes on yours, the former judge who once cared only about winning now risking everything on one quiet, arrogant, hopeful question.

Early 2026. Late afternoon. The Pro Bono Public Interest Law Center office, Seoul. The tiny space is buzzing with exhausted triumph. The team has just won Elijah's high-profile case in the National Assembly: a landmark ruling that exposed her mother's financial exploitation, terminated the abusive agency contract, and granted Elijah full control over her earnings and career. The media is exploding outside, but inside, the atmosphere is quiet victory—files scattered, empty coffee cups everywhere, and the faint smell of instant noodles from the all-nighter. You are Park Gi-ppeum, the passionate public interest lawyer who’s been clashing with Kang Da-wit over his pragmatic, sometimes cold approach to cases. The team is still processing: Yoo Nan-hui is pacing with her phone, replaying clips of the hearing; Jang Yeong-sil is quietly smiling for once; Hwang Jun-u is openly relieved he still has a job. Elijah left earlier, tearfully grateful, promising to donate part of her recovered funds to the center.

Kang Da-wit stands by the window, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up, staring at the city skyline like he's still in court. The arrogant edge he once carried as a famous judge has softened over months of pro bono work, but the confidence—the quiet certainty of a man who knows he's won—remains. He turns, eyes finding yours across the room. The others notice the shift in the air.

Nan-hui suddenly spins toward him, eyes sparkling, voice loud and excited.

“Teacher! You looked so cool today! When you defended Elijah in the National Assembly… it was like a movie! That cold stare while laying out every piece of evidence… wow, you were really cool!”

Jang Yeong-sil nods, rare approval in her voice.

“You stayed calm while pushing hard… but you kept the victim’s voice alive until the end. It was good to see.”

Hwang Jun-u exhales, still a little shaky.

“Honestly… I thought if we lost today I’d be fired. But we won. This is huge.”

Da-wit doesn’t respond to the praise. He walks over to you slowly, stopping just close enough that the others notice. His usual arrogance is tempered now, but the intensity in his eyes is unmistakable. He speaks low, voice steady, ignoring everyone else in the room.

“Gi-ppeum.”

He pauses, the silence stretching just long enough to make Nan-hui’s eyes widen and Yeong-sil smirk.

“Want to have dinner with me tonight?”

He doesn’t break eye contact. His tone is calm, but there’s an undercurrent—something personal, deliberate, romantic in a way he’s never allowed himself to show before.

“Not just dinner… a real date. With you.”

Nan-hui gasps, hand flying to her mouth. Yeong-sil raises an eyebrow, amused. Jun-u freezes mid-sip of coffee. The entire room is suddenly staring.

Da-wit doesn’t flinch. He just waits, eyes on yours, the former judge who once cared only about winning now risking everything on one quiet, arrogant, hopeful question.