Paaaaang—!
A blaring horn. Deafening.
It had been a successful life.
There's a saying — even a dragon can rise from a humble stream. That proverb might as well have been written about me. My parents spent their lives washing other people's clothes, their hands worn and cracked from detergent and labor. They raised me in a ten-square-meter laundry shop.
But I hated their work.
It was something I was ashamed of, something I never wanted others to know. I despised the oily, chemical smell that lingered in laundromats — a stench I couldn't stand.
"Hyun-ah, don't forget your lunchbox!""Okay."
Every morning, my mother would pack my lunch. I didn't always take it with me, though. The side dishes were always the same: stir-fried anchovies, braised lotus root, and fermented kimchi. I loathed them — as much as I loathed the smell of oil. I preferred bread and milk from the convenience store over a homemade meal.
I studied like my life depended on it. I was greedy for more since I was a child. I refused to accept that my future would be confined to a single-room apartment behind a laundromat. I studied so much that people called me "the monopoly". There's a saying that high school friends last forever — not for me. I abandoned social ties long ago. My only friend was my stack of textbooks.
"3rd Year, Class 7 — Kang Hyun admitted to Korea University Law School."
That day marked the end of my college entrance exam journey. My mother cried when she saw the placard fluttering outside the school gate. Even my usually stoic father had tears in his eyes. Everyone congratulated me. Teachers I barely knew posed for pictures with me, and I heard "You worked so hard!" more times than I could count. But for me, it wasn't the end — it was only the beginning. The first step into a new life.
"The topic is: 'My belief in the unfairness of sentencing.'"
That was the third-round interview question for the bar exam. Unfair sentencing — rulings that are too light or too harsh compared to the nature of the crime, the damage caused, and the context of the case.
The old professors on the panel had eyes sharp as blades.
A hundred people have a hundred opinions, ten thousand people — ten thousand views. Laws are written by humans. And if a judge sees the world through a narrow lens instead of a just one, the verdict will inevitably be flawed. Court rulings are not divine decrees — they can change.
Still…
"I had many doubts while studying law. I couldn't understand many of the decisions my seniors made. I even thought they were flat-out wrong. But as I continued studying, I realized that was just my arrogance as a young law student. Over time, I came to understand the reasoning behind the court's decisions, and I gained a deeper respect for the insight and responsibility of those who came before me."
It wasn't a perfect answer.But the corners of the old professors' mouths curled up.
At the Judicial Research and Training Institute, they called me a "monster." Even among the elite, I was always at the top. The institute was a gateway to an entirely new world. And because of my stellar performance, I started receiving discreet offers.
"You've heard of the Jeil Group, haven't you?"
A professor asked me that.Jeil Group — who hadn't heard of it?
It was often called "the Republic's number one." The absolute pinnacle of South Korea's corporate world.
To job seekers, it was a dream employer. There was even an old saying: "If you get into Jeil, you'll get married, and your neighborhood will throw a party."
"Would you like to become a scholarship student for Jeil Group?"
Scholarship student — a euphemism.
In blunt terms, he was asking if I'd like to become Jeil's dog.
My heart pounded. It was the offer I'd waited my whole life for. I didn't care what they called me. If I could become part of the first group — I'd take it.
That evening, I listened to:
Beethoven – Symphony No. 9, 4th Movement.
The 'Choral'. A grand, explosive celebration of joy. The chorus crashes in like percussion, after a string-led introduction. It was written by a deaf man — Beethoven — but his passion for humanity and victory is vivid in every note.
I had loved classical music once.But I gave it up early on. I had no talent. And besides, classical music doesn't make money in Korea.
"Freude, schöner Götterfunken! Götterfunken!"O joy, O joy, beautiful spark of the gods! O beautiful spark of the gods!
I closed my eyes as the choir roared.
This was the beginning of my new life.
And so, after graduating the Judicial Research and Training Institute, I became a prosecutor at the Western District Prosecutor's Office. I held that position for over a decade, quietly managing the Jeil Group's secrets. I didn't uphold the law — I upheld Jeil. A high-rise apartment with a river view isn't something you can buy on a prosecutor's salary.
It was all thanks to Jeil Group.
"Son, how are you?"
My mother's voice sounded frail.
I hadn't visited in over ten years. Occasionally, they'd come to Seoul with homemade food, but even then, they rarely saw me. When I got married, I never even properly introduced them to my in-laws. My wife was the daughter of a city council member — born with a silver spoon.
"I'll send you some money.""Son, that's not what—""I don't have time. I have to go."
I hung up, like I was running away.
I thought I was being a good son by sending them money each month. I'd told them to stop running the laundry shop, but they wouldn't. They loved it. I still couldn't stand the smell of oil.
After finishing my term as senior prosecutor, I left the Western District office.
I moved to Jeil Group.
People envied me. Soon enough, I was Deputy Head of the Legal Team, burying Jeil's corruption every day.
"Seo-bang, maybe it's time you entered politics?"
That was my father-in-law — a three-term member of the National Assembly. Jeil supported it too. Having one of their own in government would be a huge asset.
"I'll take care of the funding. Your background's not bad, right?""Excuse me?""People love a rags-to-riches story. You're a perfect example. Born in a laundromat, now rising like a dragon. We'll use your childhood as PR."
He didn't even pretend to respect me.To him, I was just a tool.
But it didn't last.
As I was preparing to enter politics,I was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer.
I thought it was indigestion. But the doctor explained — early on, it's almost invisible. Once it progresses, everything changes. My weight plummeted. My skin turned yellow.
Jeil Group no longer wanted me. Neither did my father-in-law. My political dreams evaporated. And my wife — as if she'd been waiting for it — filed for divorce.
No alimony.
I could have fought it in court, but I had no time.
Thud.
Each step felt like my feet were shackled. The doctor recommended chemotherapy, but I refused. I didn't want to spend my last moments in a hospital.
"Son, how are you?"
My mother's voice cracked through the phone.
"I'm… doing great…""Why do you sound so tired? Are you busy?""No. I'll come visit soon."
I ended the call abruptly. I wanted to see them. One last time. Even if from afar.
I headed to the subway, on my way to Seoul Station. It had been years since I rode the subway. Everything looked different.
Laughter echoed.
Girls with cello and violin cases slung over their backs. Calluses on their fingers, out of place on such youthful hands. I used to love music that much too… a long, long time ago.
"This train is arriving at Noryangjin Station."
The subway clattered in.
People stood behind the yellow line — except one man.
A drunk stumbled forward.
"Uh, uh…!"
He collapsed onto the tracks.
People gasped. No one moved.
The train was approaching.
Why wasn't anyone doing anything?
Thump.
My body moved on its own. All my life, I had been selfish. But now… I felt weightless.
I jumped onto the tracks. The drunk reeked of alcohol.
"Mister…!"
I pushed him off the tracks with all my strength.
A violin case girl screamed, eyes wide.
That was when it happened.
Paaaaang—!
The horn. Deafening.
Subway lights, once faint, blazed before me.
People's horrified faces blurred. Some shut their eyes.
But at that moment — I remembered.
"Freude, schöner Götterfunken! Götterfunken!"O joy, O joy, beautiful spark of the gods…
Beethoven's Ninth. The Choral.