Section One: Reading Comprehension. Thirty-five minutes.
The first passage was about constitutional interpretation—originalism versus living constitutionalism. Dense, theoretical, exactly what I'd studied.
I read carefully, marking key arguments. The author's position was clear by the third paragraph. I moved to the questions.
Question one: What is the main purpose of the passage?
I eliminated two answers immediately. Narrowed it to two possibilities. Reread the relevant section. Chose my answer.
Moved on.
The second passage was scientific—something about genetic modification and agricultural sustainability. I skimmed for structure, dove into details only when needed.
Third passage: philosophy of language and meaning.
Fourth passage: economic theory and market regulation.
I worked through all thirty-five questions, checking my time every ten questions like I'd practiced. At twenty-eight minutes, I had five questions left.
Don't rush. Be careful.
Finished with ninety seconds to spare.
I set down my pencil and took a breath.
One section down.
The proctor called time. "Please turn to Section Two. You will have thirty minutes. You may begin."
Section Two: Logical Reasoning. Thirty minutes.
Twenty-eight questions. Find the assumption. Identify the flaw. Strengthen the argument. Weaken the conclusion.
Patterns I'd drilled hundreds of times.
Question three: The argument assumes that correlation implies causation...
Question seven: The logical flaw is insufficient evidence for a universal claim...
Question fifteen: To strengthen this argument, we need evidence that eliminates alternative explanations...
I moved through them steadily, not lingering on any one question too long. On question twenty, I hesitated—two answers seemed equally valid. I marked it and moved on.
Finished all twenty-eight with three minutes left. Went back to question twenty, reread it carefully, made my choice.
Checked two other questions I'd been uncertain about.
Time was called.
Two sections done.
Five-minute break. I stretched, drank water from the fountain in the hallway, tried not to look at the other test-takers' faces. Some looked confident. Others looked like they were about to cry.
I went back to my seat.
Section Three: Analytical Reasoning. Thirty-five minutes.
This was it. The section that could make or break my score.
I opened to the first game.
Six people—A, B, C, D, E, F—sitting in a row. Various restrictions about who could sit next to whom.
I sketched the setup. Tested scenarios. Eliminated wrong answers.
Five questions, all correct. Three minutes elapsed.
Game two: Grouping. Eight people split into three teams with size restrictions.
I drew my diagram, worked through the deductions methodically.
Another five questions. Six minutes total elapsed.
Game three: Matching. Five people each choosing from four options with restrictions.
This type had given me trouble before, but I'd practiced it extensively with Bok-Jin.
Set up the grid. Test possibilities. Check each deduction against the rules.
All five questions completed. Ten minutes elapsed.
I was exactly on pace.
Game four was complex—sequencing with multiple variable types. Seven questions instead of the usual five.
I felt a flutter of panic, then pushed it down. Break it down. One step at a time.
Twelve minutes for this game. Twenty-two minutes total elapsed.
Thirteen minutes left for two games.
Game five: Another grouping game, but with more complex restrictions.
I worked through it carefully, not letting the time pressure make me sloppy. Six minutes.
Seven minutes left for the final game.
Game six: A hybrid. Sequencing and matching combined.
The hardest type. The type that had consistently been my weakness.
I sketched the setup, identified the key restrictions—
Wait. This was almost identical to a game I'd done with Bok-Jin on Tuesday.
The restriction pattern was the same. The logic was the same.
I knew this game.
I worked through it systematically, each deduction clicking into place like I'd done it a hundred times.
Five questions. All answered.
Time was called with thirty seconds left on the clock.
I'd finished. Every single question.
And I'd felt confident about most of them.
Section Four: Essay. Thirty minutes.
My hand was cramping but I pushed through the pain.
The prompt: "Some argue that privacy rights should be absolute and cannot be overridden by government interests. Others argue that privacy rights must be balanced against legitimate security concerns. Discuss both positions and explain which approach is preferable."
This was perfect. This was exactly what I'd studied in Constitutional Law II.
I outlined quickly:
Thesis: Neither absolute privacy nor unrestricted government surveillance is optimal. A tiered approach with heightened scrutiny for privacy invasions is most appropriate.
Argument one: Why absolute privacy is impractical Argument two: Why unchecked government surveillance is dangerous Argument three: Proposed framework with meaningful judicial oversight
Counterargument: Balancing tests are too subjective Rebuttal: Clear standards can make balancing tests workable
Conclusion: Synthesis and policy recommendations
I wrote as fast as I could while keeping it coherent. Clear topic sentences. Specific examples. Legal precedents where relevant.
At twenty-five minutes, my essay was complete.
Five minutes left. I reread quickly, fixed obvious errors, strengthened weak sentences.
Added one final sentence tying back to my thesis.
Time.
Done.
I set down my pencil and felt everything crash over me at once—exhaustion, relief, terror about how I'd actually done.
The proctor collected test booklets. "You are dismissed. Scores will be available online in two weeks. Thank you."
Two weeks.
I had to wait two weeks to know if I'd done well enough.
I gathered my things and walked out in a daze.
Outside the building, the morning had turned into afternoon. The sun was bright and I had to squint against it.
Students were everywhere—some looking relieved, others crying, most just looking drained.
I looked around for Bok-Jin and spotted him sitting on a bench near the parking lot, exactly where he said he'd wait.
When he saw me, he stood up immediately.
"Hey," he said, searching my face. "How do you feel?"
"I don't know. I think it went okay? Maybe? I finished everything."
"You finished everything?"
"All four sections. Every question."
"Ji-Mang, that's huge. That means you paced yourself perfectly."
"But I don't know if I got them right. What if I finished everything but got half of them wrong?"
"Come here." He pulled me into a hug right there in front of everyone, and I let myself lean into him. "You did it. You got through it. The rest is out of your hands now."
"I have to wait two weeks for scores."
"Then we wait two weeks. But right now, you celebrate surviving."
"I don't know if I want to celebrate yet."
"Too bad. Celebration is mandatory." He pulled back to look at me. "Lunch. Something good. Then whatever you want to do for the rest of the day."
"I want to sleep for twelve hours."
"Also acceptable."
We got in his car, and he drove us to a kimbap place I loved—cheap, good, comforting.
Over lunch, I tried to decompress, but my brain kept replaying questions.
"The logic game in section three, question eighteen—I said C, but what if it was actually D? And the reading comp passage about economic theory, I might have misread the author's main argument—"
"Stop," Bok-Jin said gently. "You can't change your answers now. The test is over. Let it go."
"I can't let it go. My entire future depends on those answers."
"Your entire future does not depend on one test. You have options regardless of how you scored. But also—you prepared incredibly hard, you finished every section, and you felt reasonably confident. Trust that."
"What if reasonable confidence isn't enough?"
"Then it isn't enough, and we deal with it in two weeks. But I don't think that's going to happen."
I wanted to believe him. But all I could think about were the questions I'd been uncertain about, the answers I'd second-guessed, the possibility that I'd made stupid mistakes.
After lunch, Bok-Jin drove me home.
"Get some rest," he said outside my building. "Your brain needs to recover."
"Will you call me later?"
"I'll call you later. I love you."
"Love you too."
I went upstairs to find both roommates waiting.
"How did it go?" Min-Ji asked immediately.
"I finished everything. But I don't know if I did well."
"You finished everything," Yoo-Na said. "That's already a success. Most people don't finish."
"But finishing doesn't mean I got them right."
"No, but it means you managed your time perfectly, which is half the battle." She pulled me toward the couch. "Now sit. We're ordering your favorite food and watching terrible dramas and not thinking about the test."
"I can't stop thinking about it."
"Then we'll distract you until you can."
The next two weeks were torture.
Sunday I tried to study for other finals but couldn't focus. Every thought circled back to the LEET.
Monday morning running club, I was distracted and unfocused.
"You okay?" Bok-Jin asked after the run.
"Just can't stop replaying the test in my head."
"That's normal. But you need to focus on your other finals. Constitutional Law is this week, right?"
"Wednesday. I haven't studied at all."
"Then study today. Give your brain something else to focus on."
He was right. I forced myself to review my Constitutional Law notes, and by Tuesday evening I felt somewhat prepared for the exam.
Wednesday's final went fine—not great, not terrible, just fine. I'd answered the questions, made coherent arguments, but I couldn't tell if Professor Kwon would think it was excellent work or merely adequate.
Thursday I had my Legal Research final—a take-home essay due by 5 PM. I wrote about environmental law precedents and judicial oversight, topics I could discuss in my sleep at this point.
Friday was my last day of work at the library. Ji-Won gave me a hug and made me promise to stay in touch.
"You're going to do amazing in law school," she said. "Wherever you end up."
"If I get in anywhere."
"When you get in. You're brilliant. They'd be lucky to have you."
The weekend was slightly better—I could focus on other things for hours at a time before anxiety crept back in.
Bok-Jin took me to a movie Saturday. We went to the market again Sunday. Normal things that helped me remember there was life beyond test scores.
The second week was worse.
Scores were supposed to be released Friday at 5 PM.
By Monday, I was checking the website obsessively even though I knew nothing would be there.
"Stop refreshing," Min-Ji said, catching me checking my phone for the hundredth time Tuesday morning.
"I can't help it."
"The scores come out Friday. Checking four days early doesn't change that."
"I know. But what if they release them early?"
"They won't."
"But what if they do?"
Tuesday evening, the study group met for dinner. We were all nervous wrecks.
"Four days," Su-Jin said. "We can make it four more days."
"Can we though?" Tae-Min asked.
"We have to. Otherwise we'll lose our minds."
"I think I already lost mine," Min-Seo said. "I had a dream last night that my score was literally blank. Just nothing. No numbers."
"That's terrifying," I said.
"Right? I woke up in a panic."
Wednesday I tried to be productive—cleaned my room, organized my notes, started a new book. Nothing held my attention for more than twenty minutes.
Thursday was worse. I couldn't eat. Couldn't sleep. Just kept replaying test questions and calculating possible scores in my head.
If I got 33 reading comp right, and 26 logical reasoning, and 25 analytical reasoning... that would be 161.
But what if I only got 30 reading comp right? And 24 logical reasoning? And 22 analytical reasoning? That would be 153.
"You're spiraling," Bok-Jin said Thursday night when I called him at midnight, unable to sleep.
"I know. I just keep thinking about all the ways I could have failed."
"Or all the ways you could have succeeded."
"That feels too optimistic."
"You're being too pessimistic. The truth is probably somewhere in the middle."
"What if the middle isn't good enough?"
"Then you have options. Korea University would be thrilled to have you. Yonsei would accept you. You'd get in somewhere good regardless."
"But I want SNU."
"I know. And you might get it. But if you don't, your life isn't over."
"It feels like it will be."
"I promise it won't be. Now try to sleep. Tomorrow's a long day."
Friday morning I woke up to my alarm at 7 AM with a pit in my stomach.
Ten hours until scores were released.
I went through my morning routine mechanically. Running club was the only thing on my calendar—no classes, no work, just waiting.
At running club, everyone was tense.
"Tonight's the night," Ji-Yeon said nervously. She'd taken the LEET too, aiming for lower-ranked law schools.
"Don't remind me," I said.
The run was terrible—I couldn't find my rhythm, couldn't focus, kept checking my watch to see how many hours were left.
After, Bok-Jin pulled me aside.
"What's your plan for today?"
"Exist in a state of constant panic until 5 PM?"
"That's not a plan. Come to my apartment. We'll watch movies, eat food, and I'll make sure you don't refresh the website ten thousand times."
"You really want to babysit me all day?"
"I really want to be there when you get your score. Whatever it is."
"Okay. Yeah. That would help."
We went to his apartment—a small place he shared with one roommate who was conveniently gone for the day.
He put on a movie. I couldn't have told you what it was about if my life depended on it. My entire focus was on my phone.
At 2 PM, I checked the website again. Nothing.
At 3 PM, I checked again. Still nothing.
"Ji-Mang, you're going to break your phone," Bok-Jin said gently.
"I know. I just can't help it."
At 4 PM, he made me put my phone in another room and forced me to play a card game with him. It helped marginally.
At 4:45, I retrieved my phone and sat on his couch, staring at it.
"What if it's not enough?" I asked quietly.
"Then we figure out what's next. But you're not going to know until you look."
At 4:58, I refreshed the website.
"Scores are not yet available," it said.
I refreshed again at 4:59.
Same message.
At exactly 5:00 PM, I refreshed.
The website loaded.
A new button appeared: "View Score Report."
My hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped my phone.
"Do you want me to look?" Bok-Jin offered.
"No. I need to do it."
I clicked the button.
The page loaded.
And there, in the center of the screen, was a number.
166
I stared at it.
One point higher than I'd needed.
One point higher than my best practice test.
I'd done it.
"Bok-Jin," I said, my voice breaking. "I got 166."
"What?" He grabbed my phone to look. "Holy shit, Ji-Mang. You got 166!"
And then I was crying—huge, gasping sobs that came from nowhere and everywhere at once. Relief and disbelief and joy and exhaustion all crashing over me simultaneously.
Bok-Jin pulled me into his arms and let me cry into his shoulder.
"You did it," he kept saying. "You did it. I'm so proud of you."
When I finally stopped crying enough to look at the detailed breakdown, I saw:
Reading Comprehension: 34/35 Logical Reasoning: 27/28 Analytical Reasoning: 28/30
I'd improved my logic games score. The section I'd been so scared of, I'd gotten 28 out of 30.
"I can't believe it," I said, wiping my eyes. "I actually did it."
"I can believe it. You worked so hard. You earned this."
I looked at the score again, making sure it was real. Making sure I wasn't hallucinating.
Ninety-third percentile.
Enough for SNU. Enough for anywhere I wanted to apply.
My phone buzzed with texts.
Su-Jin: Got my score. 163! How did you do?
Me: 166.
Su-Jin: WHAT! That's amazing! Congratulations!
Tae-Min: 164!! I can't believe it!
Min-Seo: 161. I'm so happy I could cry.
Everyone had done well. Everyone had hit or exceeded their targets.
I called my mom.
"Eomma, I got my LEET score."
"And?"
"166. I got 166."
She started crying. "My smart daughter. I'm so proud of you."
"I couldn't have done it without Dad's job. Without not having to send money home these past few months."
"You did this yourself. Your hard work. I'm so proud."
When I hung up, Bok-Jin was smiling at me with so much pride and love it made my chest hurt.
"What now?" he asked.
"Now I celebrate. And then I finish my fourth year. And then next spring I apply to law schools with this score."
"With a 166, you're going to have amazing options."
"If I keep my grades up. The score is only part of the application."
"You'll keep your grades up. You're Han Ji-Mang. Achieving things is what you do."
I laughed despite myself. "That's a lot of pressure."
"You thrive under pressure. I've watched you do it." He kissed me. "Congratulations, Ji-Mang. You did something incredible."
And for the first time in months, I let myself believe it.
I'd done it.
Now I just had to keep doing it for one more year.