Before reading this chapter re-read the last chapter.. but make sure to read will_smith 's comments. The dude's analysis makes it even more fun to read.
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During the recess:
The courtroom slowly emptied in an orderly fashion — the gallery first, spectators filing out through the upper exits in quiet clusters, whispering about what they had just witnessed. Then the press, moving faster, phones already out, filing preliminary reports before the ink on their notes had dried. Then the legal teams, gathering their documents, retreating to their respective strategy rooms.
Akira was led out through the side door by two HPSC agents.
Akira walked with his hands in front of him, the quirk-suppressing cuffs clinking softly with each step. His expression was calm. Relaxed, even.
How can't it not be? After what Nezu cooked during the trial.
And so, they entered the corridor.
The hallway outside the courtroom was wide, marble-floored, lined with tall windows that let in the mid-morning light. People moved through it in both directions, but in silence.
And then, past the crowd.... she appeared.
Momo.
She had left the gallery the moment the recess was called. She had moved through the crowd, past the security checkpoints, past the officials who tried to direct her back to the waiting area, past everything and everyone that stood between her and the corridor where she knew he would be.
"Akira!!"
One of the agents stepped forward, his hand raised. "Ma'am, the defendant is not permitted t-"
"I just need a moment," Momo said. Her voice was steady, but her eyes were desperate.
"Ma'am, protocol require-"
"Ten seconds," she said. "Please."
The agent looked at his partner. His partner looked at Akira. Akira looked at both of them with an expression that said, very clearly, without any words: if you don't let her talk to me, the cuffs come off and I walk out of this building, and we both know you can't stop me.
He didn't say it. He didn't need to.
The agents sighed and stepped back.
Momo walked up to him and stood in front of him — close enough to touch, close enough to feel the warmth that still radiated from his skin despite the suppressors, close enough to see the faint traces of exhaustion around his eyes that two days of custody hadn't erased.
She wanted to hug him. She wanted to grab him and hold him and bury her face in his chest the way she had done in the sky when he came back.
She wanted to tell him everything.... that she hadn't slept, that she had been planning, that Jian had been making calls, that Nezu had been building something in that courtroom that was going to change everything.
She didn't say any of that. Cuz she can't, in front of all these media and cameras.
So she looked at him. And he looked at her.
"Relax, big brain," Akira said softly.
"I'll be back soon."
Momo's jaw tightened. She wanted to say something.... but she stopped and gave him a firm nod.
"I'll wait."
Akira's smile softened. The bravado faded, just for a moment, just enough for her to see the boy beneath the calm.... AKira... Her Akira.
"Thank you," he said.
Two words was all he said... two words were all that was needed.
Then the agents stepped forward, and Akira was led down the corridor and around the corner and out of sight.
Momo stood in the hallway. People moved around her. The crowd flowed past like a river around a stone.
She didn't move for a long time... all she did was stare at Akira's back.
***
In another part of the building, the air was different.
In a private chamber made out of oak walls, Hideaki Kuroda sat at the head of the table.
He was not reading documents. He was not reviewing evidence. He was not conferring with aides or making notes or doing any of the things that a senior legal counsel typically did during a recess in the most important trial of his career.
He was staring at the ceiling blankly.
But he was not alone here.
Madam President sat across from him. She had entered the room three minutes ago, closed the door, dismissed the aides, and taken her seat. She hadn't spoken. She was waiting for Kuroda to speak first, because she understood that the man who had been the HPSC's legal weapon for three decades was currently recalibrating, and interrupting that process would be counterproductive.
The chanting from outside filtered through the glass. A-KI-RA. A-KI-RA.
The clock on the wall ticked.
Kuroda finally spoke.
"He's good."
Madam President looked at him. "Excuse me?"
Kuroda exhaled heavily.
"Nezu," he said. "The damned rat is good."
He didn't say it with anger. He didn't say it with frustration. He said it with the respect of a swordsman who had just crossed blades with someone faster than him and was honest enough to admit it.
"There should be no surprise there," Madam President said, her tone careful. "You knew his capabilities before you took this case. We briefed you extensively."
"And that is exactly why I'm tense."
Madam President's eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"
Kuroda didn't answer immediately. He continued staring at the ceiling, his fingers steepled in front of his chin, his mind working through something that he couldn't quite articulate.
"The evidence he presented," Kuroda said slowly, choosing his words the way he always did — with precision. "The Kamikochi records. The operational logs. The quirk awakening data. All of it is strong and well-documented."
He paused.
"But it's not unbeatable."
Madam President leaned forward. "Meaning?"
"Meaning I can challenge it. The Kamikochi records were classified for a reason. I can argue chain of custody issues with the surveillance footage. The operational logs showing the Code Red orders... I can frame them as standard crisis management protocol, not as deliberate negligence. The quirk awakening data is the strongest piece, but quirk biology is a contested field — I can bring counter-experts who will testify that a Class S classification is subjective at best. We have many on our hands."
He lowered his hands from his chin.
"Point by point, I can dismantle what he built today. Not easily. Not cleanly. But I can do it. The evidence is strong, but evidence can be challenged. Records can be questioned. Expert testimony can be contradicted. Every piece of what Nezu presented has a counter-argument, and I have thirty years of experience finding those counter-arguments."
Madam President nodded slowly. "Then what's the problem?"
Kuroda looked at her.
For the first time since they had entered the room, his eyes left the ceiling and met hers directly. And Madam President saw something in them that she had never seen in Hideaki Kuroda's face before. Not fear. Not defeat.
Uncertainty.
"The thing is... the rat knows it too."
The words landed in the quiet room like a dropped glass.
"Nezu knows everything I just said. He knows the Kamikochi records can be challenged. He knows the operational logs can be reframed. He knows the quirk awakening data can be disputed by counter-experts. He is the most intelligent being on the planet, President. Do you think he walked into that courtroom without knowing exactly how I would respond to every piece of evidence he presented?"
Madam President was quiet.
"He anticipated my objections before I made them," Kuroda continued, his voice dropping lower. "He anticipated my counter-arguments before I formulated them. He built his opening statement knowing hat everything he showed today could be challenged. And he did it anyway."
He leaned forward. The leather chair creaked beneath him.
"Which means it's not his real play."
The room went still.
"Everything we saw in there? That was the opening act. That was the setup. He's holding something back. Something that he hasn't shown yet. Something that my counter-arguments won't touch, because he specifically designed his strategy so that I would spend the evidentiary phase attacking the pieces he wants me to attack, while the real weapon stays hidden until I've already committed to a position I can't retreat from."
Kuroda took off his glasses. Rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Put them back on.
"I've been doing this for thirty years," he said. "Prosecuting heroes. Defending institutions. Reading courtrooms. Reading people. In that time, the one skill I've developed that matters more than any legal knowledge, more than any rhetorical technique, more than any procedural expertise — is the ability to read people."
He looked at the ceiling again.
"And my instincts are screaming at me."
The chanting outside continued. A-KI-RA. A-KI-RA.
"Screaming what?" Madam President asked.
"That the rat is not worried," Kuroda said. "Not even slightly. He walked into the most important trial of the decade, representing a fifteen-year-old who killed a man on live television, and he was totally calm."
He shook his head slowly.
"People who are bluffing show stress. Micro-expressions. Tension in the hands, the jaw, the shoulders. It's invisible to most people, but I've spent three decades learning to see it. Nezu showed none of it. Zero. Not because he's good at hiding it — because there is nothing to hide. He is genuinely confident that he is going to win this case."
He paused for a while.
"And I don't know why. And that terrifies me more than anything he showed in that courtroom today."
The room was silent. The clock ticked. The chanting continued.
Madam President sat back in her chair. She stared at Kuroda — at the man she had handpicked for this case specifically because he was supposed to be unbeatable, specifically because his record was immaculate, specifically because he had never lost.
And he was telling her, in the clearest terms his pride would allow, that he might be outmatched.
"Then we give our hundred percent," she said. Her voice was steady. Controlled. The voice of a woman who had spent her career refusing to lose and was not about to start now. "We challenge every piece of evidence. We bring our own experts. We control the narrative in the press. We use every procedural tool available to us."
Kuroda nodded slowly. "That's the plan."
"And the hidden card?"
"We prepare for what we can anticipate and react to what we can't." He put his glasses back on. Straightened his tie, and got ready... for whatever was to come.
But Madam President could see it now. The crack beneath the surface. The thing that Kuroda had never shown before.
It was doubt.
"It seems like it," Kuroda said quietly.
He stood up. Gathered his documents and checked his watch.
Fifteen minutes until the recess ended.
Fifteen minutes to prepare for whatever Nezu had waiting behind that pleasant smile and those black, unreadable eyes.
Kuroda walked to the window and looked down at the crowd. Hundreds of people, chanting the name of a boy who had killed a man and was being treated like a hero for it.
He had won every case he had ever fought in this building.
Whoever... he was doubtful about this one.
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The rat is cooking something!!!
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