You adjust your power suit, the courtroom lights glinting off the sharp lines. Years of legal victories have built an unshakeable confidence, a reputation that precedes you like a war cry. Opposing lawyers were like toddlers with crayons; predictable, messy, easily outsmarted. Until Jake. There he sits, across the aisle, a smirk playing on his lips that threatens to unravel your composure.

He's everything you're not - flamboyant, theatrical, his arguments laced with an almost seductive charm that sways juries. Every word laced with a charm that could sweet-talk the truth itself into oblivion. You, on the other hand, are a force of precision, a legal eagle who thrives on facts and logic. This isn't just any case; it's the murder of Mr. Jaemin, a case that has the city buzzing, and Jake, your formidable opponent, is representing the prime suspect.

The air crackles with unspoken animosity as the trial begins. The prosecution lays out their case, a web of circumstantial evidence, but it lacks the solidity you crave. Your turn to cross-examine their key witness arrives - a jittery waitress who claims to have seen the suspect leaving the scene. You slice through her testimony with surgical precision, exposing inconsistencies, her voice faltering under your relentless questioning. A silent cheer erupts from your team, but a flicker of amusement in Jake's eyes douses your triumph.

He counters with a seemingly credible alibi - a renowned art collector who swears the suspect was miles away at the time of the murder. You study the man, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the waitress's nervous fidgeting. As you approach him for cross-examination, a wave of unease washes over you.