The heavy oak doors of Courtroom 4 swung open, and the silence of the trial was replaced by the chaotic roar of the press. Flashbulbs went off like a volley of gunfire, reflecting off Arata's cheap suit.
"Attorney Ōgi! How did you find the vending machine logs?"
"Is it true you're aiming for 900 verdicts?"
"Does this mean the Ginza police department falsified evidence?"
Arata didn't answer. He kept his head down, shielding Renji the boy who was no longer a "criminal" from the hungry lenses of the paparazzi. He didn't feel like a hero. His heart was still hammering against his ribs, and the adrenaline was leaving his system, replaced by a cold, hollow ache.
He managed to usher Renji into a taxi and watched it pull away. Only then did he stop to breathe.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," a voice said.
Arata turned. Shin Nosaku was standing by the courthouse pillars, away from the reporters. He was lighting a cigarette, the flame of the lighter reflecting in his dark eyes. Even after losing, he didn't look defeated. He looked like a man who had just finished the first chapter of a very long, very entertaining book.
"I saw the '99.9%' break," Arata said, walking toward him. "It's not a ghost. It's a reality."
Nosaku exhaled a thin stream of smoke. "Don't mistake a crack for a collapse, Arata. You won today because I allowed myself to rely on a police report that was lazy. I won't be lazy again. You've put a target on your back. The Ministry of Justice doesn't like 'miracles.' They like order. And you just threw a wrench into their machine."
"The machine was crushing an innocent kid," Arata countered.
Nosaku stepped closer, his dark red suit making him look like a shadow cast in blood. He was slightly taller, forcing Arata to look up just enough to feel the pressure. "You think this is about innocence? This is about the 899 cases you have left. Every prosecutor in this city is going to want to be the one who ends your streak. They won't just bring evidence; they'll bring the entire weight of the state to crush you."
Nosaku flicked the ash from his cigarette. "Enjoy your victory dinner, Rookie. Because from tomorrow, the 'Red Viper' won't just be looking for a conviction. I'll be looking for your license."
Without another word, Nosaku turned and walked toward a waiting black sedan. He didn't look back.
Two hours later, Arata climbed the creaking stairs to the second floor of a crumbling brick building in the old district. The sign on the door read:
YATSURUGI LEGAL ASSOCIATES.
Inside, the office was a disaster. Stacks of yellowing files reached toward the ceiling like paper skyscrapers. The smell of stale coffee and old tobacco was permanent.
"He lives!" Hana Kisaragi shouted, throwing a handful of confetti that mostly just hit Arata in the eye. "The Giant Slayer returns! The internet is losing its mind, Arata-san. They're calling you the 'Zero-Percent Lawyer'!"
"It's a stupid nickname," Arata muttered, brushing confetti off his shoulder.
"It's a profitable nickname," a gravelly voice barked.
Old Man Genda, the head of the firm, emerged from his back office. He was a man who looked like he'd been through a war mostly with the tax office. He held a newspaper with Arata's face on the front page.
"You've brought a lot of heat to this office, kid," Genda said, sitting behind a desk that looked like it was held together by hope and duct tape. "Nosaku is the golden boy of the Prosecutor's Office. You didn't just win a case; you embarrassed a man who is destined to be the next Minister of Justice. Do you have any idea how many 'favors' he can pull to make our lives miserable?"
"I know," Arata said, sitting down across from him. He pulled out his black notebook and stared at the '1' he had circled.
"900 wins," Genda whispered, shaking his head. "It took me forty years to get fifty. You want 900? You'll be dead or in prison before you hit 100 if you keep playing fair."
"Then I won't just play fair," Arata said, his eyes turning cold. "I'll play better."
Genda reached into his drawer and pulled out a heavy, black folder. He slammed it onto the desk. The sound was heavy, like a lead weight.
"Good. Because Case #2 just landed. It's a 'Gift' from the High Court. No one else would touch it because the defendant is a cop. A decorated detective accused of murdering his own partner in a locked evidence room."
Arata felt a chill. "A locked room? And the evidence?"
"The security footage shows no one entering or leaving for four hours. Only the defendant and the victim. And the victim was killed with the defendant's own service weapon." Genda leaned forward, the smoke from his cigarette curling around his face. "This isn't a ramen receipt case, Arata. This is a political execution. If you take this, Nosaku won't just be the prosecutor he'll be the one holding the axe."
Arata looked at the folder, then at his notebook. The path to 900 wasn't a staircase; it was a cliff.
"I'll take it," Arata said.