After 56 grueling hours, Juhyuk stirs, awakening to the haunting echoes of the same nightmare. The weight of his ordeal lingers, a palpable heaviness in the air. His gradual return to consciousness is a tentative journey, each waking moment a step toward the harsh reality awaiting him.
With the nightmare's grip slowly loosening, Juhyuk's recovery becomes a beacon of hope. The hospital room, once a confined space of vulnerability, now holds the promise of healing. As he is discharged, the emotional turbulence is evident - a mix of relief, apprehension, and the lingering specter of what lies ahead.
His court date, now rescheduled, dangles like a sword of Damocles. The ticking clock amplifies the emotions swirling within Juhyuk - the fear of facing those who sought to harm him, the uncertainty of justice, and the resilient spirit awakening from the depths of adversity. The atmosphere is charged with anticipation and resilience, a testament to Juhyuk's unwavering determination to confront the shadows of his ordeal.
Time unfurls its relentless march, and the day of Juhyuk's court appearance arrives, casting a heavy shadow of apprehension. Seated on the unforgiving defendant's chair in the courtroom, his emotions are a tempest - a mix of anxiety, resilience, and the haunting echoes of the past.
The courtroom itself becomes an arena of judgment, the air thick with anticipation. Juhyuk's gaze weaves through the faces, searching for empathy amidst the sea of scrutinizing eyes. The weight of the moment is tangible, each heartbeat resonating with the gravity of his predicament.
As the legal proceedings unfold, emotions oscillate - a pendulum swinging between hope and fear. The clinking of chains, the hushed whispers, and the measured cadence of the judge's words all contribute to the emotional crescendo. In that courtroom, time seems suspended, and Juhyuk grapples with the profound stakes of his fate, his every expression etched with the indelible ink of his journey.
A hush falls over the courtroom as the judge strides in, a figure of authority whose entrance commands respect. The air tightens with anticipation, acknowledging the gravity of the moment. For Juhyuk, seated on the precipice of judgment, every gaze fixates on the robed arbiter of fate.
People rise in unison, a collective acknowledgment of the judge's arrival, and the emotional temperature in the room intensifies. Respect and apprehension mingle in the charged atmosphere, each gesture and murmur underscoring the weight of the impending proceedings.
In this courtroom theater, the judge's presence becomes a focal point, a catalyst for the swirling emotions. A spectrum of feelings - reverence, anxiety, and an undercurrent of hope - paints the canvas of the room. As the judge takes his seat, the emotional symphony reaches its crescendo, setting the stage for the dramatic unfolding of Juhyuk's fate.
The judge eases into his chair, a symbol of authority and the arbiter of destinies in this solemn courtroom. A collective breath is held, the weight of the moment hanging in the air as he delves into the intricacies of Juhyuk's case file. Emotions fluctuate between hope and trepidation, the room a tableau of anticipation.
With a measured glance, the judge directs the prosecutor to present the case, the words resonating with a sense of inevitability. The emotional undercurrent intensifies - Juhyuk's fate now entrusted to the hands of legal discourse. Anxiety lingers, palpable in the collective gaze that fixates on the prosecutor, each heartbeat echoing the stakes of this judicial performance.
The courtroom becomes a stage, emotions rising and falling with each uttered word. The prosecutor's narrative unfolds, and the air becomes charged with the emotional cadence of legal scrutiny. In the midst of this legal drama, Juhyuk's emotions ride the currents of uncertainty, the unfolding events determining the trajectory of his fate.
As Prosecutor Han Joosung unfolds a barrage of false allegations against Juhyuk, the courtroom atmosphere thickens with tension. Each fabricated claim becomes a verbal assault, and the weight of injustice hangs heavily in the air. Juhyuk's visceral reaction is palpable - a mix of disbelief, frustration, and a growing sense of urgency to defend his tarnished honor.
In a surge of emotion, Juhyuk, his voice tinged with desperation, vehemently rebuts the allegations. The room resonates with the clash of conflicting narratives, an emotional battlefield where truth battles deception. The judge, a stoic figure in this legal drama, observes the exchange, his gaze reflecting a nuanced understanding of the human drama unfolding before him.
With a measured instruction, the judge calms the tempest, instructing Juhyuk to take his seat. The promise of an opportunity to present his side hangs like a lifeline, injecting a glimmer of hope into the emotional crucible of the courtroom. Juhyuk's emotions, now a swirling tempest, await the moment when his voice can rise above the false accusations, seeking justice in the face of adversity.
The prosecutor, Han Joosung, asserts his intent with a cold determination, "Judge, I want to ask the accused some questions." The air in the courtroom tightens, an undertow of tension threading through the proceedings. Juhyuk, now facing the prosecutor's pointed scrutiny, senses the weight of impending interrogation, emotions veering between apprehension and defiance.
The judge, with a measured response, grants permission, further heightening the emotional stakes. The room becomes a crucible where truth and deception collide. The prosecutor's question, "Where were you that night when the incident occurred with the others?" hangs in the air, laden with accusatory undertones. Juhyuk's emotions intensify - a mixture of frustration, indignation, and a resolute determination to unveil the falsity shrouding his innocence.
As Juhyuk responds, each word becomes a brushstroke on the canvas of his defense. The emotional charge in the courtroom escalates, a silent battle waged through words and gestures. The prosecutor's interrogation becomes a trial by emotion, where the truth seeks to emerge from the shadows of fabricated accusations.
Juhyuk, his voice tinged with frustration, counters the prosecutor's inquiry, "I don't know which day you're asking about; I don't even remember. A whole day has passed, and I can't recall." The courtroom atmosphere becomes charged with the weight of Juhyuk's apparent struggle to grasp the specifics of the alleged incident. His words echo with a mixture of exasperation and a genuine struggle to recollect.
In the tense silence that follows, Juhyuk's emotional state becomes a focal point. The struggle to recall, to navigate the fog of uncertainty, paints his demeanor with a palpable vulnerability. The air is thick with the unspoken tension, each word a brushstroke on the canvas of his defense, revealing the emotional complexity of a man facing the shadows of false accusations.
As the prosecutor lingers on Juhyuk's response, the emotional currents in the courtroom intensify. The struggle for clarity, the battle against memory's elusive grip, becomes a poignant testament to the human fragility entwined with the pursuit of justice.
The prosecutor retorts with a scornful edge, "So, you didn't remember that a whole day had passed? That's quite a statement." The courtroom atmosphere tightens, the accusation resonating with an insinuation of deceit. Juhyuk's emotional struggle becomes more pronounced, a clash of frustration and defense against the implied skepticism.
The prosecutor's words cut through the air, dripping with cynicism, "People remember everything, only forget when they want to. Here, it seems this gentleman has conveniently forgotten everything." The emotional charge heightens, casting Juhyuk into a spotlight of doubt and suspicion. The weight of the accusation lingers, and Juhyuk's defense takes on a tone of urgency, emotions now a tempest of defiance and a plea for understanding.
In the courtroom drama, the atmosphere becomes charged with an adversarial energy. The prosecutor's words, a rhetorical dagger, pierce through the emotional landscape, revealing a battle not just for facts but for perception and the preservation of Juhyuk's tarnished integrity.
In a surge of frustration and anger, Juhyuk lashes out, "Is it my fault that I don't remember anything?" The courtroom echoes with the raw emotion of his protest, the weight of unjust accusations fueling the intensity of his words.
The prosecutor, with a sarcastic retort, replies, "No, no, it's not your fault; the entire blame is ours." The air becomes charged with a bitter irony, the prosecutor's words hanging in the space between accusation and acknowledgment. The emotional temperature in the room intensifies, a clash of emotions simmering beneath the surface.
"Anyway, leave these matters aside," the prosecutor urges, attempting to shift the focus. The emotional landscape remains fraught with tension, Juhyuk caught in the crossfire of shifting accusations. The prosecutor's subsequent inquiry, "Tell me, how did both of you get involved in drugs, and when did it happen? Did your brother give them to you, or did you give them to your brother?" deepens the emotional complexity, dragging Juhyuk into a web of insinuation and scrutiny, emotions now a swirling maelstrom of defensiveness and frustration.
Juhyuk passionately declares, "I've repeatedly emphasized that neither my brother nor I have ever indulged in drugs. Our lives have remained untouched by the ominous presence of substances, our only exposure confined to the haunting portrayals in the media."
The prosecutor presses on, skepticism laced in their tone, "And what about alcohol? Have you and your brother ever indulged in it?"
Juhyuk, a hint of frustration coloring his reply, shoots back, "Why on earth would I have consumed alcohol? I was just 17 years old, navigating the complexities of adolescence. And as for my brother, he's been plagued by an unrelenting allergy to alcohol throughout his entire life, a constant source of frustration for him."to
The prosecutor presses with a hint of impatience, "All types of alcohol?"
Juhyuk, a touch of uncertainty coloring his voice, responds, "I don't know."
The prosecutor, frustration evident, retorts sharply, "Don't you know anything? What unfolded when your brother first tasted alcohol?"
Juhyuk reminisces with a nostalgic tone, "When my brother hit 20, a surge of excitement enveloped him as he eagerly anticipated the prospect of drinking legally. We found ourselves in a quaint restaurant, and he enthusiastically ordered soju. As the distinct aroma of soju filled the air, I couldn't help but express my disdain, questioning how anyone could find it palatable. With a wistful smile, my brother responded, 'You're still young; when the weight of responsibilities hits you, even bitter things will taste like a sweet elixir.'"
I interjected, "Hyung, what responsibilities? Don't complicate it; just quietly savor your plain water. I'll revel in my juice." The atmosphere lightened as they cheered, and when my brother tentatively tasted the soju, a hint of disbelief crossed his face. "Honestly, this is truly intense," he muttered. "How can people actually develop a taste for this?" The shared moment carried a blend of amusement and camaraderie.
I assert, "People consume it out of excitement, sadness, or by mistake, and it becomes a habit. Even if they yearn to quit, the relentless grip of the habit refuses to release them, trapping them in a cycle of struggle and desire." The words hang in the air, laden with a mix of empathy and reflection on the complexities of human behavior.
Hyung dismisses, "Stop talking nonsense, give me your juice." As he brings my juice to his lips, his eyes gradually close. The glass slips from his hands, and an unsettling sense of impending unconsciousness looms. In a panic, I rush to his side, frantically shaking him. "Hyung, hyung," I utter in desperation. A concerned waiter arrives, attempting to offer reassurance, "Don't worry; it happens to everyone after drinking this. He'll be fine." The scene unfolds with a blend of anxiety, urgency, and the tentative comfort offered by the waiter's words.
But perhaps it struck him hard in just one sip. As this realization sinks in, an idea sparks within me. I urgently ask the waiter for assistance, pleading if he could help me transport my incapacitated brother to the car. Simultaneously, I request the bill, expressing my intention to settle it with my card. The waiter empathetically agrees, affirming, "Okay, I'll bring the bill." Moments later, the bill arrives, and I hastily complete the transaction with my card, a mixture of concern and determination guiding my actions.
As we lift hyung with our shoulders, navigating our way to the car, an unexpected pause unfolds. At the restaurant's exit, the waiter places a gentle hand on hyung's chest, and abruptly, he comes to a halt. Distress and confusion etch across his face, leaving me deeply concerned. Urgently, I inquire about the sudden change, expressing that our car is merely a short distance away. Emotions of worry and confusion intermingle, casting a shadow over our exit from the establishment.
The waiter implores, "Wait a couple of minutes," gently laying hyung on the ground. Confused and anxious, I question, "What are you doing?" He urges me to be patient, reassuring it'll only take two minutes. With a profound sense of concern, he places his ear near my brother's chest, meticulously checking his pulse in his hands. After a thorough examination, a sense of urgency takes over as he swiftly calls for an ambulance. The air is thick with a mix of worry, anticipation, and the realization that the situation has taken a serious turn.
As the ambulance is mentioned, anxiety tightens its grip on me. I urgently question, "Why an ambulance? Isn't it just a side effect of alcohol? I've never heard of people needing to go to the hospital for this." Emotions of confusion and concern swirl in the air, adding a layer of unease to the unfolding situation.
The waiter's words hang heavy in the air, "Your brother's heart rate is very slow, and this shouldn't be ignored. I'm not a doctor, but if there's a problem." Anxiety tightens its grip as I await the ambulance.
As the ambulance arrives, I clutch my brother's hand, a mixture of fear and hope swirling within me. The paramedic administers oxygen to hyung, and during the tense journey to the hospital, worry lingers in the air.
Upon arrival, they swiftly take my brother to another room for examination. The passage of time feels excruciating, about 4 hours passing before my brother finally regains consciousness. Relief floods over me, a tumultuous emotional journey encapsulating the gravity of the situation.
The doctor's words are a soothing balm, "Thank God you're okay now." My brother, still disoriented, queries, "When did I come here?" A mix of relief and gratitude fills the room as the doctor responds, "Well, you had a severe allergic reaction to alcohol. Luckily, you're fine now. Just be cautious in the future." Emotions oscillate between concern, gratitude, and a newfound awareness of the fragility of the moment.
Hyung inquires, confusion etching his face, "When did I arrive here?" I respond, a mix of empathy and concern coloring my words, "You've been here for the past four days." The weight of those days hangs in the air, emotions swirling as the reality of the situation sinks in.
His voice echoes with disbelief, "Okay, for four days? What!! For four days." He raises his bowed head from his hands, a mixture of shock and confusion evident. Inquiring, he asks, "What does it mean that I've been here for four days?" The exclamation of "Oh shit, shit, shit" hangs in the air, encapsulating the emotional whirlwind of realization and concern.
I inquire urgently, "What happened?" Hyung reveals with a tinge of panic, "Your presentation was four days ago, and now they've already presented it. Oh man, what should I do?" A wave of distress and regret permeates the moment as the weight of a missed opportunity sinks in.
Resignation laces his words, "Well, forget it." As he inquires about the day and time, closing his eyes, the weight of missed opportunities becomes palpable. When I disclose the time, his eyes snap open with a sense of urgency. He swiftly realizes he has a presentation that day, underscoring its vital importance. In the midst of this revelation, a deeper layer emerges - Hyung, a person dedicated to fulfilling the tasks assigned to him, harbors a profound obsession with education. This added dimension intensifies the gravity of the situation, casting a shadow on the missed chance.
As he readied himself to wake up, a sense of urgency gripped me, and I intervened to halt his actions. Despite my attempt, he removed his drip hastily, leaving me momentarily speechless. The nurse, with a touch of admonition, remarked, "Where are you rushing? Your drip hasn't finished yet. Do you feel it's necessary?" Emotions of concern and frustration hung in the air, a delicate balance between the urgency of the moment and the nurse's measured caution.
Hyung insists, his tone edged with urgency, "I can't wait any longer; I have to go." The nurse, with a mix of concern and admonition, suggests, "At least change your clothes before leaving; you can't go outside in the hospital attire." Undeterred, Hyung retorts, "I'll change when I get back." The nurse, in a bemused tone, quips, "He thinks this is his home, oh, the attitudes of today's youth." Emotions dance in the room, a blend of impatience, concern, and a touch of humor, highlighting the clash between Hyung's urgency and the nurse's perspective on modern attitudes.
Mid-sprint, he inadvertently collides with a man. Another passerby glances back, and Hyung, apologetic, lowers his head. A surge of anger emanates from the person accompanying Hyung, but he steps back, diffusing the tension. Hyung, visibly relieved, steps into the car.
As we prepare to leave, the angered man intervenes, reassuring, "Go, we're fine." Only his face is visible, but a mixture of understanding and gratitude is palpable. Hyung settles into the car, and I drive him to his class.
Upon arrival, a surprising sight unfolds-Hyung enters the classroom adorned in a patient's gown, a bandage wrapped around his hand. The atmosphere is a blend of curiosity, concern, and perhaps a hint of amusement, as the unexpected events of the day continue to unfold.
The prosecutor, with a hint of exasperation, interjects, "Enough, just how many stories have you narrated? You should become a writer." The room holds a fleeting moment of tension, a mix of sarcasm and curiosity lingering.
Then, a sudden shift in focus, "Okay, let's assume your brother is allergic to alcohol. Are you also allergic?" The question hangs in the air, carrying a subtle undertone of skepticism and a touch of probing. The emotional undercurrents in the room oscillate between the prosecutor's impatience and the growing anticipation of the unfolding narrative.
Juhyuk firmly states, "No." The prosecutor, persistent, questions, "How do you know you're not allergic? You've never had alcohol." Tension lingers in the air as Juhyuk responds, "Exactly, since I've never consumed alcohol, how can I assert that I'm allergic? That's why I said no." The emotional weight in the room grows, a blend of conviction and frustration shaping the dialogue.
The prosecutor sternly commands, "Don't change the subject. If you're not allergic, you have to drink the alcohol in this glass." Tension tightens in the room as Juhyuk, visibly confused, responds to the unexpected demand.
Juhyuk's defense lawyer, Kim, passionately addresses the judge, "Your Honor, this is completely wrong; you cannot overlook this action." Emotions run high, a mix of frustration, confusion, and the weight of an unjust demand intensifying the courtroom atmosphere.
The defense lawyer retorts, "What are you trying to do, test if a child gets sick by making him drink alcohol?" Emotions flare in the courtroom, a mix of indignation and disbelief at the prosecutor's approach.
Undeterred, the prosecutor responds, "Your Honor, I am just trying to present the truth. Is bringing the truth to light wrong? Is taking a sip of alcohol at the age of 17 wrong? It's possible that he also has the same allergy as his brother." The room pulses with a clash of moral perspectives, a heated exchange laden with the weight of ethical considerations and the pursuit of truth.
The prosecutor concedes, "Yes, yes, I have swayed." A ripple of surprise and perhaps a subtle acknowledgment of the unexpected shift courses through the courtroom.
A grinning face forms on the prosecutor as he delivers this admission. The atmosphere carries a mix of tension and the acknowledgment of the unfolding turn in the proceedings. Emotions play across the room, shaping the dynamics of the courtroom in this unexpected moment.
The prosecutor declares, his voice tinged with gravity, "Your Honor, I request that the accused, Seong Juhyuk, be sentenced to 7 years for the drug case and 10 years for attempted murder." The weight of the charges hangs heavily in the courtroom.
A palpable tension heightens as the prosecutor continues, "Additionally, on the charge of consuming alcohol at the age of 17, I propose a sentence of 3 years." Emotions swirl in the room, a mix of severity, apprehension, and the profound impact of the proposed sentences.
The defense rises from his seat, a fervent plea in his voice, arguing that a three-year sentence is unjust, especially considering the young age. The courtroom is filled with a sense of urgency and compassion as he advocates for leniency.
He continues, his words charged with emotion, "Even if they have committed an offense, what's wrong when there are others who don't consider their age and indulge in similar actions?" A layer of frustration and incredulity colors his argument, challenging the perceived fairness of the proposed sentence.
The defense passionately asserts, "They never face such severe consequences." The air is thick with a mix of empathy, frustration, and a call for a more equitable approach, amplifying the emotional intensity of the courtroom.
The prosecutor grins, a tone of disdain coloring his words, as he addresses the defense lawyer, "This is too little for him. The punishment should have been even more." The courtroom atmosphere thickens with a sense of confrontation and disagreement.
He presses on, his voice laced with condemnation, "And it's not just about drinking; he's taken drugs and attempted murder. What about that?" The emotional charge intensifies, the weight of the serious charges fueling the tension in the courtroom. The prosecutor's words reverberate with a blend of accusation and a demand for harsher consequences.
The judge somberly acknowledges, "The defense argues that all the evidence presented by the prosecutor is very strong, and all evidence is against the accused." A weighty atmosphere settles in the courtroom as the judge reflects on the gravity of the situation.
Turning to the defense, the judge inquires with a touch of empathy, "Does the defense want to say anything on behalf of their client?" A subtle undercurrent of anticipation and concern colors the moment, emotions intertwining with the legal proceedings as the defense prepares to make their case.
The defense, with a sense of urgency, states, "Yes, your honor, before I present my arguments, I would like to show you this video." A palpable anticipation fills the courtroom, emotions heightened as the defense prepares to introduce a crucial piece of evidence that could potentially alter the course of the proceedings.
The prosecutor objects, a note of urgency in his tone, "Judge, you cannot accept this evidence; we were not informed about it." Tension tightens in the courtroom, emotions flaring as the admissibility of the evidence becomes a point of contention. The prosecutor's objection carries a sense of concern, perhaps hinting at the potential impact of this unexpected turn in the trial.
The defense lawyer, with a hint of urgency, explains, "Your honor, because this video has just been provided to me by my assistant." The courtroom is charged with a mix of tension and anticipation as the defense rushes to justify the sudden presentation of crucial evidence.
The prosecutor interrupts, attempting to interject objections, but the judge cuts in, firmly stating, "Order, order. Permission granted." Emotions escalate as the judge's decision echoes through the room, introducing a sense of momentous importance to the unfolding proceedings.
The defense plays the video, a poignant montage capturing Juhyuk's days in jail. The courtroom falls silent, the emotional weight of the footage palpable. Faces of inmates, the confined spaces, and glimpses of Juhyuk's struggles unfold on the screen, evoking a mix of empathy and somber reflection.
The prosecutor scowls, his frustration evident, and with an annoying expression, he demands, "What nonsense is this? What are you trying to show?" The atmosphere is charged with a blend of defiance and resistance, emotions entangled in the unfolding drama as the defense seeks to reshape the narrative through the power of visual testimony.
"This is just a video of his daily activities, eating, drinking, arguing, sleeping." The prosecutor's voice echoes with frustration, an undertone of annoyance palpable in his words. The atmosphere in the courtroom brims with skepticism and impatience as the video unfolds.
"What are you trying to prove with this?" The prosecutor's question hangs in the air, an accusation laced with skepticism. Emotions intensify, a mix of curiosity, doubt, and a challenge to the relevance of the presented evidence, creating a charged ambiance in the courtroom.
The defense lawyer, with a calm demeanor tinged with assurance, points out, "Aren't you seeing anything else in the video?" A subtle anticipation fills the room, the defense laying the groundwork for a crucial revelation.
The prosecutor, with a hint of defiance, retorts, "If there's nothing there, how will I see anything?" The tension escalates, emotions swirling in the courtroom as the prosecutor attempts to dismiss the significance of the presented evidence.
The defense, expressing skepticism yet maintaining composure, calmly argues, "Exactly! If there's nothing, how can you claim that my client used to deal drugs?" The air thickens with a mix of challenge and doubt, emotions weaving through the legal discourse as the defense questions the foundation of the prosecutor's accusations.
The defense, maintaining a calm yet earnest tone, respectfully asks the judge, "Does Juhyuk appear to be a drug addict from any perspective?" A hushed anticipation fills the courtroom, emotions veiled in the question as the defense seeks to challenge the prosecutor's narrative and invoke empathy for their client.
"You are well aware of the condition of a drug addict when their body doesn't receive drugs." The defense's words carry a weight of assertion, a plea for understanding. The atmosphere in the courtroom is charged with a mix of empathy and a subtle challenge to preconceived notions.
"And regarding the murder, there is no evidence linking the weapon to my client, Seong Juhyuk." The defense's statement holds a note of reassurance, an appeal to reason amidst the legal scrutiny. Emotions play out in the room, a delicate dance between doubt, conviction, and the pursuit of justice.
The defense lawyer retorts with a touch of frustration, "Perhaps you've conveniently forgotten to do your own homework. Sometimes, it's not just about citing rates; one must truly understand things." Tension simmers in the courtroom, emotions heightened by the defense's challenge to the prosecutor's approach.
"You see, sometimes a small detail can become more significant than grand statements suggest." The defense's words resonate with an air of revelation, a subtle triumph in unraveling the complexities of the case. The atmosphere becomes charged with a mix of anticipation and a hint of vindication as the defense asserts the importance of nuanced understanding.
"I humbly present the truth before you, Your Honor. In this moment, the defense rests with a profound sense of sincerity and hope for justice, Your Honor."