Saturday morning I woke up with my stomach in knots.
Final practice test day. The last chance to see where I really stood before the actual LEET next Saturday.
Eight days away.
I did my morning routine mechanically—shower, coffee, light breakfast I could barely taste. Min-Ji was already gone for early vet clinic rounds. Yoo-Na was still asleep.
My phone buzzed.
Bok-Jin: Morning. I'm bringing you a proper breakfast. Don't fill up on coffee and anxiety.
Me: Too late. Already full of anxiety. I can't eat anything.
Bok-Jin: Then I'll bring extra food. See you at 11:30.
The practice test started at noon. I'd blocked off three full hours in a library study room—real conditions, no interruptions, complete simulation.
At 11:30, Bok-Jin showed up at my door with a bag from my favorite kimbap place.
"Eat," he said, setting out the containers. "You need actual fuel."
"I'm too nervous to eat."
"Eat anyway. You can't think on an empty stomach."
I forced down some kimbap and soup while he talked about nothing important—his roommate's terrible cooking, a funny thing that happened at the grocery store, anything to distract me from spiraling.
"Thank you," I said when I'd finished eating.
"For food?"
"For being here. For knowing I needed distraction."
"That's what I'm here for." He stood and grabbed his backpack. "Ready?"
"No. But let's go anyway."
We got to the library at 11:50. I'd reserved Study Room 4B—the same room where Bok-Jin and I had studied together, where I'd worked on my constitutional law paper, where I'd spent countless hours this semester.
It felt right to do this final practice test here.
"I'm going to sit outside," Bok-Jin said. "Right there in that chair where I can see you through the window. If you need anything, I'm here."
"You're really going to sit there for three hours?"
"I brought a book and my laptop. I'll be fine." He kissed my forehead. "You've got this. Trust yourself."
I went into the study room, closed the door, and set up my materials. Test booklet. Scratch paper. Pencils. Timer.
At exactly noon, I started the timer.
Section One: Reading Comprehension. Thirty-five minutes. Begin.
The first passage was about judicial interpretation of constitutional rights—dense legal theory, exactly what I'd been studying all semester. I read carefully, marked key points, moved to the questions.
The second passage was scientific—something about climate change and ocean acidification. I'd seen similar passages before. Skimmed for main ideas, dove into the details.
Third passage was philosophy. Fourth was economics.
I worked through all thirty-five questions, checking my time every ten questions. At thirty minutes, I had three questions left. Finished with ninety seconds to spare.
Deep breath. Thirty seconds of rest before the next section.
Section Two: Logical Reasoning. Thirty minutes. Begin.
Twenty-eight questions. Identify the argument structure. Find the assumption. Spot the flaw. Strengthen or weaken the conclusion.
Patterns I'd drilled hundreds of times.
I moved through them steadily, not rushing but not lingering. On questions I wasn't sure about, I marked them and moved on like Professor Jung had taught me.
Finished all twenty-eight with two minutes left. Went back to the three I'd marked, reconsidered, made final choices.
Time.
Five-minute break. I stood up, stretched, looked out the window. Bok-Jin was sitting in the chair reading, but when he saw me move, he looked up and gave me a thumbs up.
I smiled despite my nerves and sat back down.
Section Three: Analytical Reasoning. Thirty-five minutes. Begin.
Six logic games. This was it—my weakness, the section that could make or break my score.
Game one: Sequencing. Six people in a line with restrictions. I'd done this type a hundred times.
Set up the scenario. Tested possibilities. Eliminated wrong answers.
Moved to game two: Grouping. Split into teams with various rules.
Game three: Matching. Assign attributes to entities.
I was moving faster than usual but staying careful. Each deduction checked. Each answer verified against the rules.
Game four was complex—multiple variable sets, interconnected restrictions. I almost panicked, then remembered Bok-Jin's coaching: break it down, test one piece at a time.
Five minutes per game. That was my target.
Game five done with twenty-eight minutes elapsed. Seven minutes left for game six.
The final game was a hybrid—sequencing and matching combined. The hardest type.
I sketched the setup, identified the key restrictions, started testing scenarios.
Four minutes left. Three questions remaining.
I worked through them methodically, not letting the time pressure make me sloppy.
One minute left. One question left.
I made my best educated guess based on the deductions I'd completed.
Time.
Section Four: Essay. Thirty minutes.
My hand was already cramping, but I pushed through.
The prompt: "Should artificial intelligence be granted legal personhood?"
I outlined quickly. Thesis: No, but AI should have a regulatory framework that addresses rights and responsibilities without granting full personhood.
Three supporting arguments. One counterargument. Rebuttal. Conclusion.
Wrote as fast as I could while keeping it coherent. Clear topic sentences. Evidence. Analysis.
Twenty-eight minutes. My essay was complete but rough.
Two minutes left. I reread quickly, fixed obvious errors, added a final sentence to strengthen the conclusion.
Time.
Done.
I set down my pencil and stared at the test booklet.
Three hours. Four sections. Everything I'd prepared for.
Now I just had to see if it was enough.
I opened the study room door, and Bok-Jin immediately stood up.
"How do you feel?"
"Exhausted. Anxious. I don't know if it was good or terrible."
"Want to grade it now or take a break first?"
"Now. I need to know."
We sat at a table outside the study room, and I pulled out the answer key Professor Jung had provided. Bok-Jin sat next to me, quiet support while I checked my answers.
Reading Comprehension: I went through each question, marking right and wrong.
32 out of 35.
Logical Reasoning: Same process.
27 out of 28.
Analytical Reasoning: My hands shook slightly as I checked this section.
27 out of 30.
I stopped and stared at the number.
I'd gotten 27 logic games correct.
That was one more than last week. And I'd finished all of them.
"Ji-Mang?" Bok-Jin asked quietly. "What's the total?"
I did the math.
32 + 27 + 27 = 86 out of 93 questions.
That was... I converted it to the 180 scale in my head.
I'd scored exactly 165.
"I got 165," I said, my voice barely working. "I got exactly the score I need."
"That's incredible!" Bok-Jin pulled me into a hug. "That's exactly what you needed!"
"But what if it was a fluke? What if I can't do it again on the real test?"
"You've proven you can do it. Under pressure, under test conditions, you got 165. That means you're capable of it."
I wanted to be happy. I wanted to celebrate.
But all I could think was: what if next Saturday I don't?
That evening, the study group met for dinner—our second-to-last meeting before the actual test.
"How did everyone's practice tests go?" Su-Jin asked.
"162," Tae-Min said. "Up from 158 last week."
"159," Min-Seo said. "But I'm okay with that. I only need 155 for my target schools."
"165," I said quietly.
Everyone turned to look at me.
"You got 165?" Su-Jin asked. "Ji-Mang, that's amazing!"
"It's exactly what I need. But what if—"
"No," Su-Jin interrupted. "No 'what ifs.' You got the score. Under real conditions. That means you can do it again."
"She's right," Tae-Min said. "You've proven it's achievable. Now you just have to trust yourself next Saturday."
We went over our final week strategy—light review only, no burnout, stay sharp but don't overstudy.
"Monday through Thursday, just do maintenance practice," Su-Jin said. "Review your notes, do maybe one practice section per day to stay fresh. But no full tests, no cramming."
"Friday is complete rest day," Tae-Min added. "No studying at all. Let your brain recover."
"Saturday morning, light breakfast, show up early, trust your preparation," Su-Jin finished. "That's the plan."
It sounded reasonable. It sounded terrifying.
Sunday I gave myself a complete rest day—no LEET, no studying, nothing academic.
Yoo-Na dragged me and Min-Ji to brunch, then we spent the afternoon at a park just existing like normal people.
"How are you feeling?" Yoo-Na asked as we sat on the grass watching people walk by.
"Terrified. The practice test went well, but now I'm scared I can't replicate it."
"That's normal test anxiety," Min-Ji said. "You've done the work. Your brain knows what to do. You just have to get out of your own way."
"Easier said than done."
"Everything important is easier said than done."
My phone buzzed. Bok-Jin.
Bok-Jin: How's your rest day?
Me: Weird. Feels wrong to not be studying.
Bok-Jin: That means you needed it. Want to grab dinner tonight? Nothing intense, just food and company.
Me: Yeah. That sounds good.
Bok-Jin: Pick you up at 6?
Me: Perfect.
That evening, Bok-Jin took me to a quiet restaurant near campus—the kind with comfortable booths and good comfort food and no pressure to be anything except present.
"One week," he said after we'd ordered. "How are you really feeling?"
"Like I'm standing on the edge of something huge and I don't know if I'm going to fly or fall."
"Poetic."
"I'm serious. Everything I've worked for comes down to one three-hour test next Saturday. If I do well, I get into good law schools. If I don't, I'm scrambling for backup plans."
"You got 165 yesterday. You can do it again."
"But what if I can't? What if yesterday was my one good day and next Saturday I choke?"
"Then you got 165 once, which means you're capable of it, and you take the test again in a few months with even more preparation." He reached across the table and took my hand. "But I don't think that's going to happen. I think you're going to walk into that test room next Saturday and prove to yourself what you've already proven to me—that you're brilliant and capable and can do hard things."
"You have a lot of faith in me."
"Someone has to, since you don't have enough in yourself."
"Rude but accurate."
"My specialty."
We ate slowly, talking about everything except the LEET. His upcoming finals. Min-Ji's vet school drama. Yoo-Na's ongoing Min-Woo situation. The running club potluck next month.
Normal things. Future things. Things that existed beyond next Saturday.
"Can I tell you something?" I asked as we finished dessert.
"Always."
"I'm scared that if I don't get into SNU law school, I'll have let everyone down. My family, my professors, you."
"First, you could never let me down. I'm proud of you regardless of what happens next Saturday. Second, your family loves you no matter what law school you attend. Third, your professors see your potential—that doesn't disappear based on one test score."
"But I've worked so hard—"
"And that work has value regardless of the outcome. You've learned and grown and become better at critical thinking. That's not wasted if you end up at Korea University instead of SNU."
"Korea University would still be amazing."
"Exactly. So yes, aim for SNU. Do your absolute best. But don't make your entire self-worth dependent on one test score."
I knew he was right. Intellectually, I knew.
But emotionally, it felt like everything hinged on next Saturday.
Monday morning running club was subdued—everyone in their heads, processing the proximity of finals and summer and whatever came next.
"You're quiet," Bok-Jin observed.
"Just thinking."
"About?"
"Seven days. That's all that's left."
"Seven days to stay sharp and trust your preparation."
We ran in silence for a while, and I tried to focus on the physical sensation—feet hitting pavement, breath in my lungs, the simple act of forward motion.
After the run, Ji-Yeon caught up with me.
"Unnie, I heard you're taking the big law school test this week."
"Next Saturday. Yeah."
"My roommate said to tell you that the anticipation is worse than the actual test. Once you're in there, your preparation kicks in."
"I hope she's right."
"She is! She got into Korea University! So it's definitely possible!"
Her enthusiasm was almost infectious.
"Thanks, Ji-Yeon."
"You're going to do great! I know it!"
The week passed in a strange blur.
Monday: One reading comp section, got 33/35. Light logic games review.
Tuesday: One logical reasoning section, got 26/28. Evening study session with Bok-Jin reviewing my weakest game types.
Wednesday: Final study group meeting. We didn't do any practice—just reviewed strategy, shared encouragement, and made plans to celebrate after the test regardless of outcomes.
Thursday: One full analytical reasoning section, got 28/30. My best logic games score yet.
I wanted to be excited. But all I could think was: what if I peaked too early?
"You didn't peak too early," Bok-Jin said when I voiced this concern Thursday night. "You're hitting your stride at exactly the right time."
"Or I'm about to crash."
"Or you're going to carry this momentum into Saturday and do amazing."
"You're very optimistic."
"Someone has to be."
Friday I did nothing. Absolutely nothing academic.
Slept in. Had a long breakfast with my roommates. Watched bad dramas. Took a walk. Had dinner with Bok-Jin where we talked about everything except the test.
"How do you feel?" he asked as he dropped me off that night.
"Terrified. Ready. Like I'm standing at the starting line of the most important race of my life."
"You've trained for this race. Tomorrow you just have to run it."
"That's very motivational."
"I have my moments." He kissed me—soft and sweet and grounding. "Get good sleep. Eat a good breakfast. Trust yourself."
"I'll try."
"That's all anyone can ask."
Saturday morning I woke up at 7 AM to three texts.
Bok-Jin: You're going to do amazing today. I believe in you more than I've believed in anything. I love you.
Min-Ji: Go kill that test. We're all rooting for you. ❤️
Yoo-Na: You've worked so hard for this. Go show them what a scholarship student can do.
I got up, showered, did my morning routine on autopilot. Put on comfortable clothes. Ate the breakfast Min-Ji had made—protein, carbs, nothing that would make me feel sick.
At 8 AM, Bok-Jin texted that he was outside.
"You're driving me?" I asked when I got to his car.
"I want to make sure you get there calm and on time. Plus, moral support."
The test was at a building near campus—a large hall where hundreds of students would be taking the LEET simultaneously.
We drove in comfortable silence, and I tried to keep my breathing steady.
At 8:30, we pulled into the parking lot. The test started at 9 AM. I had twenty-five minutes.
"Okay," Bok-Jin said, parking. "Last minute pep talk time."
"I don't know if I can do this."
"Yes, you can. You've proven you can. Yesterday you got 28 out of 30 logic games—your best score ever. Two weeks ago you got 165 on a full practice test. You know this material. Your brain knows what to do."
"But what if I freeze? What if I panic?"
"Then you take a breath, skip that question, and come back to it. You have strategies for panic. You've practiced them."
"What if it's not enough?"
"Then it's not enough, and we figure out what's next. But I don't think that's going to happen. I think you're going to walk in there, sit down, and show that test exactly who Han Ji-Mang is."
I took a shaky breath. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay. I can do this."
"You can definitely do this." He leaned over and kissed me. "Now go. You don't want to be late."
I got out of the car, grabbed my ID and admission ticket, and walked toward the building.
At the entrance, I turned back. Bok-Jin was still there, watching. When he saw me look, he gave me a thumbs up.
I took one more deep breath and walked inside.
Hundreds of students milled around, all with the same nervous energy. I found my assigned room—Room 304, Seat 47.
Sat down at my desk. Set out my pencils and eraser.
At 8:55, the proctor started giving instructions. No phones, no talking, no cheating. Time limits strictly enforced. Breaks only as scheduled.
At exactly 9:00 AM, she said: "You may begin."
I opened my test booklet.
And everything else fell away.