Jungkook’s POV

The air inside the visiting room was sharp and cold, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside me.

When I stepped through the door, I saw her.

YN.

Sitting there on the bench like a shattered version of herself. Hair messy. Blouse torn. Her shoulders trembling, eyes empty, lips pale. I almost didn’t recognize her—until her eyes met mine.

And the world stopped.

She looked at me like she’d seen a ghost. Maybe I was one. Maybe I never really left.

God.

I hadn’t seen her in years.

Not since college.

Not since the day I stood under that stupid tree, holding a ring I never gave her.

And she looked me in the eyes and told me, “I’m not ready for love.”

It should have ended there.

But it didn’t. Because even as time passed, even when I climbed courtrooms like mountains and bathed in ruthless victories, her name never stopped echoing in my head.

And now… now I was staring at her across a cold metal table, watching the woman I once loved accused of murder.

My jaw clenched as I sat down. I couldn’t let the emotion show—not yet. Not in front of her. Not when she looked so close to collapsing.

She needs a lawyer, not an old lover.

“I’m your lawyer now,” I said, my voice steady—too steady for what I was feeling. “Jeon Jungkook.”

Her lips parted slightly, like she couldn’t believe I was real.

“We’ll talk about the case…” I started, but then my control cracked for a second. I leaned in, eyes narrowing just enough.

“…but first—why didn’t you ever call me?”

Her eyes filled with something—shame? Pain? Regret?

I didn’t know.

And I hated that I didn’t know.

I exhaled slowly and looked away for a second, trying to gather myself. Her wrists were bruised. Her blouse torn. The way she was sitting—it told me everything.

Someone hurt her.

And that bastard was never going to hurt anyone again because he was six feet under.

But the law didn’t see trauma. The court didn’t listen to tears. The prosecution wouldn’t care that she fought for her life—they’d see a broken flowerpot and a dead man.

I straightened my spine and met her eyes again.

“Tell me everything, YN. Word by word. Don’t leave anything out. I’m going to defend you. I’m going to win this case—because you didn’t commit murder.”

My voice dropped.

“You survived it.”

And I swore, right then and there, I would burn the damn courtroom down if that’s what it took to protect her.

I clicked my pen slowly and opened the file, though I already knew every word by heart. Still, I needed her to say it. I needed her truth—not for the court, but for me.

“YN,” I said softly, leaning forward so I didn’t tower over her, “I’m going to ask you some questions. You’re not on trial in this room. You’re safe here, with me.”

She didn’t speak.

Her eyes stared at the floor like she was somewhere far away. Her fingers clutched the sleeves of her shirt like they were the only thing tethering her to this world.

I waited.

Seconds ticked by.

Then finally… she nodded.

“Good.” My voice was calm but firm. “Tell me what happened that night. From the moment everyone left the office.”

She licked her lips, cracked and dry.

“I was working late,” she whispered. “It was quiet… everyone had gone home. Just the guard and one colleague left. Kang.”

My jaw twitched. I stayed quiet.

“I didn’t think much when I heard the door open… but when I looked up, he was there. Just standing. Staring. And I knew—I knew something wasn’t right.” Her voice cracked. “He didn’t talk. He just smiled. That smile…”

A tremble rolled through her and I clenched my fists under the table.

“He grabbed me,” she said. “He pushed me against the desk. He touched me, Jungkook. He—he tried to pull off my clothes. He kissed me like I was something to own.”

I could barely breathe. My chest burned.

“I panicked. I reached for the pot and—I didn’t plan to kill him. I just wanted him to stop.” Her voice trembled now. “But I couldn’t stop hitting him. I just kept going. I don’t know when he stopped breathing. I don’t know when I—”

“You were defending yourself,” I cut in gently. “You didn’t chase him. You didn’t wait for him. You didn’t invite him. You fought because you had to. That’s not murder.”

Her teary eyes met mine for the first time in hours.

“But no one will believe me,” she whispered.

“I will,” I said. “And soon the jury will too.”

I stepped out of the interrogation room, jaw clenched, every muscle in my body tight with restraint. That wasn’t just a client in there. That was her.

She was traumatized. Shaking. Still wearing that blood-stained blouse like some kind of branded shame. And the damn station hadn’t even thought to offer her a blanket, let alone dignity.

I spotted the officer standing near the desk—arms crossed, eyes judging. I walked straight up to him.

“You,” I said, voice low but cutting. “She needs clean clothes. Comfortable. Nothing that reminds her of what she went through. And food. Real food, not those dry vending machine crackers.”

He blinked at me, surprised by the tone.

“She’s a murder suspect, sir,” he muttered.

I took a step closer.

“She’s a victim, and she hasn’t been proven guilty of anything,” I said sharply. “She’s also under my legal protection now. If I see her sitting in that room one more hour in torn clothes and no food—your department’s going to have more to answer for than just mishandling a statement.”

His throat bobbed. “I—I’ll see to it.”

“Now,” I said coldly.

He turned and practically jogged away.

I ran a hand through my hair and looked back at the door separating me from her.

She didn’t need me to be soft right now. She needed me to be ruthless.

And that’s exactly what I’d be—for her.

Outside the Cell – Mira and Jungkook

Mira met me near the security checkpoint, her face drawn, anxious.

“Well?” she asked. “How bad is it?”

I exhaled. “The media’s going to eat her alive. Rich guy. Dead in the office. And she’s just the ‘crazy woman who snapped.’ That’s the narrative.”

“But it’s not the truth,” she bit out.

“I know,” I said. “I saw the bruises. I saw her eyes. And I know her. She wouldn’t lay a hand on someone unless she had to.”

Mira tilted her head. “You know her?”

I didn’t answer right away.

“She was the one, Mira. Years ago. The girl I—” I paused. “The girl I proposed to in college.”

Mira blinked in shock.

I straightened my cuffs and looked through the window into the room where YN sat, alone again.

“I’m not going to lose this case. Not for her.”

Flashback – College Years

Spring Festival Night – Jungkook’s POV

The cherry blossoms were just beginning to fall.

I stood near the old bridge on campus, a single ring box in my hand. My palms were sweating. My heart pounding like I’d run ten miles.

She walked toward me, laughing, holding a paper lantern.

“Jungkook? What’s with the mystery call?” she asked, eyes bright.

I swallowed hard. “I need to ask you something.”

She looked at me then—so alive. So full of color. Her lips parted slightly when she saw the ring.

“Marry me,” I blurted. “Not now. Not tomorrow. Someday. Just… say you will.”

She froze.

A beat passed.

And then she smiled. Soft. Apologetic.

“Jungkook… I’m not ready for love. Not like this. I have so much to fix. So much to prove. You deserve someone who doesn’t hesitate.”

I didn’t cry. I just nodded.

But something in me cracked that night, quietly.

Back to Present –

And now here we were.

In a courtroom instead of a festival.

Surrounded by reporters instead of blossoms.

Facing a murder trial instead of a love story.

But maybe—just maybe—this time she wouldn’t push me away.

Because this time, I wasn’t asking for her love.

I was going to give her justice.

Late Night – Law Office

Jungkook’s POV

The clock on the wall blinked past 2:47 a.m.

I hadn’t moved from the desk in hours.

Case files were scattered across the mahogany table—crime scene photos, autopsy reports, statements, employee records. But the most important piece sat in front of me: the CCTV footage.

I stared at the paused frame. YN at her desk, focused, working.

Timestamp: 12:12 a.m.

Mr. Kang entered. Calm. No words. He shut the door behind him.

I hit play.

At first, nothing. But then—he advanced. She stood, startled. He moved in. Her body language screamed discomfort, retreat.

And then it happened.

He touched her.

My jaw clenched as I watched it—her trapped between him and the table. Her head turning. His hand grabbing. Her body twisting, struggling. She reached toward the desk.

Then the camera glitched for two seconds.

The next frame was chaos—Mr. Kang collapsing, the pot falling. Blood.

I paused it.

“Damn it…” I whispered.

Even though it was clear what led to that moment, the missing two seconds would be the prosecution's entire argument: what if she snapped first? What if she attacked unprovoked?

No. I wouldn’t let them twist it.

She was assaulted.

She fought to survive.

I leaned back, running a hand down my face, then stood. My office window reflected a tired version of me—hair messy, sleeves rolled, veins pulsing from clenched fists.

“I’m not letting you be painted as a murderer,” I muttered, eyes narrowing.

I pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and started scribbling points:

CCTV shows Kang entered uninvited

Clear signs of YN’s retreat

Physical contact initiated by Kang

Her bruises = consistent with assault

No weapon pre-planned

Emotional trauma post-incident (2 hours frozen)

Mira as witness to her breakdown

Company HR complaint records? Prior behavior?

I grabbed my phone and dialed.

“Mira. I need you to pull Kang’s file from HR—any signs of misconduct. Also, find out if any female employees ever made informal complaints. We need a pattern.”

“On it,” she said instantly.

I looked back at the screen. At her.

At YN, curled, broken, defenseless. The same girl who once stood under cherry blossoms and rejected my heart—but never deserved any of this.

I closed the file.

And swore.

“I’m winning this case in one hearing.”

No continuances.

No dragged-out media show.

One hearing. One defense. One undeniable truth.

For her.

To be continued...