The thunder of applause shook the grand hall of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. Flashbulbs burst from every angle, filling the air with the sharp crackle of cameras. Rows of officers in immaculate uniforms roared in unison, their cheers pounding against the marble walls until even the framed posters and photographs trembled on their hooks.
Among them hung a portrait—a dull, almost unremarkable man at first glance. His features were plain, his expression unreadable. Yet the cold, ruthless light in his eyes made the air around the picture feel heavier, as though the gaze alone could condemn a man.
That face belonged to Renji Kurogane.
"Kurogane! Kurogane! Kurogane!"
Renji Kurogane stood at the podium, a towering figure who looked more like a bodyguard mistakenly stepped into the spotlight than a man being celebrated. His suit was flawless, tailored perfectly to his broad, gym-honed frame.
Short, cropped black hair caught the glare of the spotlights, and the sharp glint of his rectangular glasses flashed like a camera with every picture taken.
The Commissioner handed him a golden trophy shaped like a judge's gavel stand, topped with balanced scales of justice. A small badge bore a detailed likeness of Renji's sharp, cold face. Its weight was solid.
The base gleamed:
Best Prosecutor in the World.
Beside it, an envelope stuffed with accolades and a check for fifteen million yen was placed in his hands.
Another victory. Another triumph. Another notch in his flawless record.
"Unstoppable," his chief muttered, clapping him hard on the back.
The man, Chief Inspector Daichi Morimoto, was a broad-shouldered veteran whose graying hair carried years of service. But even he looked small standing beside Kurogane.
"Tokyo owes you more than we can ever repay. You've put every monster you faced behind bars right where they belong."
Renji's lips curled into the faintest smile.
I didn't win for justice. I didn't win for the police. I won because losing was not in my nature.
And yet, scattered among the applause were whispers—low enough to be missed by most, but not by him.
"He's ruthless."
"Some of those defendants… they looked innocent."
"Doesn't matter. If you're on trial, you must've done something wrong. That's what he always says."
"True. He's like a machine. He doesn't defend people—he buries them."
Renji's motto was simple, unshakable:
If suspicion falls upon you, then you are no innocent. A truly innocent man would never be accused.
He lived by it. Believed it with every fiber of his being. For him, the courtroom was a battlefield, and the accused were the enemy.
In the front row, his secretary—Mai Takeda—stood nervously clutching her purse. She was young, with bright eyes and a nervous laugh. She leaned forward as he stepped down from the stage, her voice barely a whisper.
"Kurogane-san," she said softly, "let's celebrate! There's a new bar downtown. I'll take you. Just one drink—you deserve it."
Her cheeks colored slightly as she spoke, but her hope dimmed instantly when he shook his head, his voice as cold and final as a slammed gavel.
"No. I have a case tomorrow. I need to prepare."
Her smile faltered. Disappointment flickered in her eyes, but he didn't notice. Or rather, he didn't care.
The world could praise me, envy me, or hate me—it made no difference. Victory is my oxygen, and love, companionship, or rest were distractions I could not afford.
"Don't take it personally, Mai," Chief Morimoto said kindly to her. "That's just who he is. The man was born for the courtroom. He's never lost. Not once."
Renji accepted the chief's words with silence. Praise meant nothing. Only numbers mattered—and his number was zero losses.
☩☩☩
The ceremony ended in a blur of shaking hands, flashing cameras, and endless congratulations.
When the last of the cheers had died down, Renji stepped outside, the night air cool against his skin. He adjusted his tie, golden trophy clutched under his arm, and strode down the narrow streets toward the private lot where his car awaited.
The city was alive as always—neon signs glowing, the hum of traffic filling the air—but the alley he cut through was quiet, almost unnaturally so. His polished shoes clicked sharply against the pavement, each step echoing off the damp brick walls.
That's when he heard it. Footsteps.
Slow. Measured. Too deliberate to be coincidence.
He stopped, his hand tightening on the trophy. The footsteps drew closer until a figure emerged from the shadows.
A woman.
Her eyes burned with grief and fury, her gaunt face framed by unkempt hair. A gun trembled in her hand, yet her grip was steady with purpose.
"You don't remember me, do you?" she hissed, her voice raw.
Renji's gaze sharpened behind his glasses. "No. Nor do I care."
Her lips curled into a bitter smile. "You put my sister in prison. She was innocent. The real killer murdered our mother, and now he's after me. But you—" Her voice cracked, trembling with rage. "You didn't care. All you wanted was to win."
Renji's expression didn't falter. He had heard such claims countless times before. They were always the same—excuses, lies, desperate pleas from criminals and their families.
"If suspicion fell on her," he said coldly, "then she was no innocent."
The woman's scream split the night as she pulled the trigger.
Renji tried to move, but too late.
Pain exploded in his chest as the bullet tore through him. His breath hitched, the taste of iron flooding his mouth.
He staggered, his golden trophy slipping from his hand, clattering against the wet pavement.
But Renji Kurogane was no ordinary man. He swung his fist like a hammer, connecting with the woman's shoulder, sending her stumbling back. His body, honed from years learning martial arts, surged with strength—but his vision wavered.
He stepped forward, clutching at his chest, blood spilling through his fingers. The world blurred. Neon lights smeared into crimson streaks. His breaths came ragged.
The woman steadied herself, tears streaming down her face. "You destroy lives and call it justice. You… you devil!"
Renji roared, staggering toward her, but his knees buckled. He hit the ground hard, gasping. Blood pooled around him, warm and merciless. A few droplets splashed onto the engraved face on the trophy, staining the miniature likeness of Renji with crimson.
For the first time in his life, he felt it—defeat.
Footsteps thundered behind him. Shouts filled the alley. Police officers rushed forward, their guns raised, their voices echoing.
"Stay back!"
"Call an ambulance!"
"Chief, he's down!"
Through the haze, Renji saw faces blur into one another. Chief Morimoto knelt beside him, gripping his shoulder, voice breaking.
"Stay with me, Kurogane! You hear me? Stay with me!"
And beyond him, through the chaos, he saw Mai. His secretary. Her bright eyes wide with horror, her hands trembling as she tried to push through the crowd.
In that moment, realization struck him like a bullet sharper than the one in his chest.
I never even gave myself a chance… to experience love. I chased victories and nothing else. And now… now I've lost everything.
His vision dimmed further. Darkness pressed in.
The woman leaned down, her face the last thing he saw clearly. Her breath was hot against his ear, dripping with venom.
"You are no man… You are the Devil's Attorney."
The words sank into his soul as everything faded.
His last strength slipped away, and with it, his voice—ragged, broken, but heavy with finality.
"…My first… and only… loss."
The golden trophy lay shattered in the blood pooling around him.
And then—darkness.