/
After his vague reply and a sip of coffee, Sehun unhurriedly turned toward Yoonshin. He seemed to have suddenly remembered something.
“You visited the hospital. How’s the kid?” he asked.
Yoonshin recalled seeing documents from cases he was working on in Sehun’s office. He replied, angling for an answer, “I didn’t give you a report about my case yet, but it feels like you already know everything.”
“Exactly. It’s because you haven’t done it already that I need to ask. I’m already busy enough—don’t make more work for me and report to me in a timely manner.”
Yoonshin was startled. He tilted his head in confusion at Sehun’s statement. When he first entered the firm, Secretary Tak told him some rules of the workplace. He recalled the instructions and defended himself, “I was told that I didn’t need to report my pro bono work to my superiors.”
“I decide on the rules. You have to tell me no matter what.”
“Only I do?”
“That’s right—only you.”
Yoonshin was about to ask why, but before he could say anything, Sehun stole his chance to speak and added, “You were going to ask why. Because I want to know. Report where you’re going to go from now on too. For each incident you forget, I’ll deduct ten thousand dollars from your annual salary.”
“Then you do it too. I won’t ask you what you do 24/7. But I want to know where you go out to, at least… When you’re on vacation or you’re out of the office.”
“I’ll see, depending on the situation.”
“But I have to report to you no matter what? That’s unfair.”
“If you’re upset, you try being a partner lawyer.”
“This has nothing to do with positions.”
“No, to me, this is an extension of work. You have the duties and obligations to follow my orders.”
Frankly, Yoonshin expected Sehun to say something like that. To begin with, Sehun did many things that he did not allow others to do. Yoonshin had decided to conform to this fixed hierarchical relationship and was now acclimated to it. Since Sehun said that he would tell Yoonshin depending on the situation, it wasn’t the worst-case scenario. He gave a sidelong glance at Sehun before deciding to compromise.
“The child is fine. The mother of the child went to the same elementary school as my cousin. After talking about that, I mentioned negotiation in the middle. I think it’ll be resolved quite smoothly. I’ll offer them the highest settlement amount, and I’m planning on delivering a sincere apology to them.”
Yoonshin didn’t even finish talking, but he could already see the disappointment in Sehun’s face. He rubbed his temples like he was in pain. Yoonshin had only simply told him the progress of the matter as it was, so he had no idea what was wrong.
“Why do you look like that?” Yoonshin asked.
“Why are you back at square one?”
“What do you mean?”
“You aren’t even cognizant of the problem this time. Was I too lenient with you? I’ve explained this to you repeatedly over the past few months. You’re a member of Doguk now, so you need to properly identify the parties and your client.” Sehun wasn’t angry at Yoonshin. Rather, his feelings were closer to indifference. However, his tone was slightly reprimanding.
Upon thinking over it carefully, Yoonshin understood Sehun’s thoughts. He had just taught and trained Yoonshin as a big firm lawyer and was about to use him for a corporate advisory project when Yoonshin went back to being victim-centric—he must have felt that his efforts were in vain. Just like how one could be quick to the uptake, Sehun was pointing out the fundamental issue in Yoonshin’s attitude.
In his defense, Yoonshin had some excuses. Because it was Attorney Song’s request, he wanted to resolve it cleanly, so he thought about the best way to mitigate the situation. At the same time, he wanted to console the victim. However, the result wasn’t up to par in Sehun’s eyes, and Yoonshin understood that.