The courtroom smelled like old varnish and fresh ink—paper, sweat, and tension.
Kang Joon-ho sat in the defendant's seat, flanked by Professor Han and a volunteer attorney from the Public Litigation Initiative. Across from them, Taurus Holdings' legal team sat in a cold row of gray suits, their faces blank masks of corporate ruthlessness.
The hearing hadn't even started, but already the judge looked tired.
This wasn't justice.
It was chess.
And the first move belonged to Taurus.
Their lead counsel stood—a man named Oh Sang-cheol, famous for defending conglomerates with surgical efficiency.
He bowed politely.
"Your Honor, the plaintiff argues that Mr. Kang Joon-ho's actions were not journalism, nor protected whistleblowing. They were calculated acts of digital intrusion, theft, and defamation, resulting in measurable harm to Taurus Holdings' stock value and reputation."
He turned, pointing to a printout of the article Ye-rin had published.
"The photos, the files, the claims—they are unverified, potentially doctored, and were taken without permission from restricted government property."
Han rose slowly, adjusting his glasses.
"With respect, the defense will prove not only that the information was real, but that it revealed systemic corruption affecting thousands. That is not defamation. That is exposure. And it is protected by the public interest clause under Korea's Press Freedom Act and Whistleblower Protection Code."
The judge nodded—impassive.
"I'll allow preliminary discovery," he said. "But if the defense cannot authenticate sources, I'll consider sanctions for misuse of confidential data."
The gavel struck once.
A pause.
Then the real war began.
---
Back at the clinic, things were changing.
Too fast.
Too many new people, too many new agendas.
The walls were plastered with posters now—some about Taurus, others about unrelated causes. Climate marches. Education reform. Even a few anarchist flyers that Joon-ho didn't recognize.
He pulled them down quietly when no one was looking.
"We're losing focus," he said to Sae-bin one night.
She was organizing a fundraiser, typing furiously while three freshmen argued in the hallway.
"We're growing," she replied. "Movements evolve."
"But the case—"
"Is still your case. You're still the face. But if we're going to sustain this, we need more than fire. We need infrastructure."
Joon-ho exhaled.
She wasn't wrong.
But he couldn't shake the feeling—some of the people around them weren't here to help.
---
That week, the clinic received a tip.
Anonymous, again.
A USB drive left in their mailbox.
Inside: a video recording.
It showed Director Park in a boardroom, yelling at subordinates. The audio was muffled, but clear enough to catch phrases like "pay them to disappear," and "Baek wants it done quietly."
Han stared at the screen for a long time.
"Where was this filmed?" he asked.
"Looks like the fifth floor of Taurus HQ," said Sae-bin. "Someone filmed it from a ventilation shaft. There's a timestamp: two weeks ago."
"Risky," Han muttered. "Either someone on the inside wants to help…"
"Or wants to trap us," Joon-ho finished.
They debated for hours.
In the end, they didn't publish the video.
They handed it to a judge privately, through back channels.
Better safe than silenced.
---
But Taurus wasn't standing still.
Assemblyman Baek gave a press conference that same week.
He stood beneath the national flag, flanked by officials.
"I have never received illegal donations from Taurus Holdings," he said firmly. "This attack is a coordinated smear campaign orchestrated by radical groups seeking to destabilize our economy."
Radical.
That was the word they used now.
Even the news had started calling the clinic a "hub for youth agitators."
Some headlines questioned if Joon-ho's motivations were personal.
Some reporters claimed his parents had once lost a property bid in Doksan.
The clinic's phones rang constantly—some calls seeking help.
Others, threats.
---
Late one night, Professor Han sat with Joon-ho in the back office.
The old man looked exhausted, but his mind was still sharp.
"Movements like this… they start with the truth. But they don't survive on truth alone."
"What do they survive on?"
"Trust. Discipline. Patience. You're fighting a hydra, Joon-ho. Cut one head, and two grow back. But if you make the people believe in the knife—really believe—then even the hydra starts to feel fear."
Joon-ho nodded.
"Then I'll be the knife."
Han smiled faintly.
"I think you already are."
---
But even knives can be stolen.
It started with rumors.
That someone inside the clinic was leaking information.
Meeting notes. Witness names. Legal strategy.
At first, no one wanted to believe it.
Then an anonymous account posted screenshots of internal chat logs—messages between Sae-bin and a family from Doksan.
The family had been warned off testifying.
And the screenshot hinted at their location.
Joon-ho called a meeting.
All members, all volunteers.
"You all joined for justice," he said. "But justice needs order. No more anonymous forums. No leaks. Anyone found compromising a case will be removed immediately."
The room was silent.
Then someone—one of the newer students—stood up.
"You think this is about you?" she snapped. "You're just playing hero while the rest of us do the work."
Joon-ho blinked.
"I—what?"
"You're the brand now, aren't you? 'Joon-ho the Whistleblower.' Interviews. Profiles. Meanwhile the clinic's overrun, and you're worried about optics."
Sae-bin jumped in.
"Enough."
But it was too late.
The seed of dissent had been planted.
---
The court date for the next hearing approached.
Sae-bin worked overnight, assembling evidence indexes.
Ye-rin filed another article—this one detailing the story of a Doksan grandmother who died waiting for her compensation.
It went viral.
But Joon-ho's sleep grew thinner, restless.
He kept seeing the face of the Taurus lawyer in his dreams.
Kept hearing the judge say "inadmissible."
Kept seeing his mother's photo—torn in half.
---
Then came the betrayal.
The night before the court hearing, someone broke into the clinic.
No damage.
No stolen computers.
But the whistleblower affidavits were gone.
The originals.
Han paced in silence.
"This was internal," he said. "Whoever did it had the keys."
Police came, filed a report.
But there was no sign of forced entry.
And no cameras inside the file room.
"They knew what they wanted," Sae-bin whispered. "And how to take it."
Joon-ho felt cold all over.
Someone close to them was working for Taurus.
Maybe more than one.
---
The next morning in court, Taurus struck hard.
"Oh Sang-cheol" handed the judge a new motion.
"Your Honor, we submit that the defense's foundation is fatally compromised. The key affidavits have been proven invalid. The same witnesses have submitted withdrawal forms, claiming coercion."
He turned to Joon-ho with a cold smile.
"Furthermore, we ask that the court consider the defendant's latest press involvement a violation of judicial confidentiality."
Han stood to object.
"Your Honor, the press is not under court injunction. The defense has not leaked anything protected by statute."
The judge held up a hand.
"I will review both motions. In the meantime, discovery is suspended. We reconvene in one week."
Bang.
The gavel echoed like a death knell.
---
Outside the courtroom, Ye-rin caught up with them.
"That wasn't a strike," she said. "It was a warning shot."
Joon-ho stared at the sidewalk.
"I know."
"You need to hit back. Hard. Publicly. If they're leaking withdrawals, you release the rest of the story."
"No. I can't endanger the other families."
She nodded. "Then find another way."
---
That night, Joon-ho returned to the rooftop.
The wind was sharp.
He pulled his coat tighter, staring at the city that glittered beneath him like a map of decisions.
He was losing ground.
Losing people.
Even losing trust.
But he wasn't done.
Not yet.
He pulled out his phone and opened the encrypted contact list.
There was one more name—someone he hadn't reached out to.
Min Dae-hyun.
A former journalist.
Disgraced after a scandal years ago—framed, most believed, by corporate enemies.
Joon-ho hesitated.
Then hit call.
A raspy voice answered.
"Kang Joon-ho?"
"Yes. I need your help."
A pause.
"You just made the most dangerous decision of your life."
"I'm used to that now."
The voice chuckled darkly.
"Then let's blow this thing open."