A/N: The trial begins... People make their way to Tokyo or tune in remotely... Ennoshita loses his marbles


May 31st, 2018

Apprehension lined his frame as he stood in the full-body mirror, doing up his tie the way Mina had shown him during their second year. Mina had cut his hair—soft and downy, texture every bit unlike Hajime's—for the trial, and now he wore it slicked back, a single cowlick sticking up from his head. Satoshi wondered how tall Hajime was now—if he had gotten any taller at all. He remembered his brother being a behemoth of a man, but he'd been twelve and only a little over five feet back then. Now, he was six foot two. Had he managed to outgrow Hajime?

He gulped, that suffocating apprehension sucking all the air out of his lungs. Satoshi made to loosen his tie, but stopped. Get a grip, he coached himself. Stop being so nervous, dammit...

Mina would not be skipping school today to attend the trial with him, but she had wished him luck, and he knew she would be updating herself on the latest news in-between classes.

Exiting his room, he went to his parents' bedroom, halting at the doorway. His mother was kneeling over his father's futon, a wet cloth draped on the latter's forehead. Futaba turned her head, eyes ringed with dark circles.

"Is he feeling any better?" inquired Satoshi, gingerly.

Yoichi had come down with a bad flu two days ago. The doctor suspected that his immune system had been weakened due to overwork. It made Satoshi's heart sink, seeing his father like this.

"His fever's gone down some," Futaba reported, lacing her fingers between Yoichi's.

"Good." Satoshi checked the travel app on his phone. "The bus to Morioka's in twenty minutes. We should get going. When will Yoshimura-san get here?" he added, referring to their next-door neighbor.

"She's not coming."

"What? Then who's gonna look after dad?"

"I will. Satoshi, I'm not going."

The rock in his stomach turned to ice. "What? What do you mean you're not coming?"

Futaba's eyelids lowered to half-mast. "Your father is sick, Satoshi. I need to look after him."

"Just call Yoshimura-san! She won't mind!"

"Satoshi, don't argue with me."

"I don't understand," Satoshi ground out, fists clenching by his sides. "This is it, mom. Hajime... Hajime's gonna be found innocent! I know he will. We have to be there for him, we have to—"

"Satoshi!"

The dam he had built to hold back his resentment burst, and he yelled, "You're just a coward, aren't you?! You can't face the fact that you abandoned him when he needed you most! Dad... Dad's just an excuse for you!"

Her features were frozen in rictus. "Satoshi, no... No, please..."

"You've always been weak, mom. I know that. But for once in your life, can't you be strong for him?" Satoshi demanded, anguished. "Hajime needs us! He needs you."

She looked away. "I'm sorry, Satoshi."

Are you serious, mom? Desperately, he gazed at the back of her head, but she never turned around. "Fine," he relented through gritted teeth. "I'll go myself."

"Wait."

Satoshi froze. That was dad's voice.

Yoichi lifted his head, eyes fluttering open. "Son... Please don't hate your mother."

"I can't deal with that right now," he replied, coldly. "I'm going to see Hajime. Goodbye."

He slammed the door shut behind him, grabbed his bag, and marched out. He was dressed in his nicest suit, and a few of the locals spared him curious glances as he passed them—tie flapping in the wind—on the way to the bus station. His backpack was stuffed full with a change of clothes, underwear, snacks, and money from his allowance, which he had been saving ever since he was twelve. Soon to be eighteen years old, Satoshi screeched to a halt when something in a shop window caught his eye.

Satoshi's jaw fell. Holy shit. This was it. He had to buy it. He had to.

He emerged from the shop with an armful of plush toy—a gigantic Godzilla plush which was roughly the same size and height as him. It obscured his view as he walked, but he managed to make it to the bus station safely—just in time for the bus to Morioka to pull up.

The drive to Morioka was roughly one and a half hours, and he made it to the train station with his Godzilla toy—it had a ribbon around its neck—at ten o'clock. It was cutting things close—the trial would start at two o'clock in the afternoon, and the journey from Morioka to Tokyo would take him a little over three hours to complete.

"Let's see," Satoshi mumbled to himself as he consulted his phone, squinting at the screen with one pudgy Godzilla arm tucked under his chin. "It should be the Tohoku Line... Platform Three, then?" After confirming it with an officer, Satoshi hopped on the right train, finding an empty carriage. He sat down, placing Godzilla next to him. The toy fell to the side, its nose resting on the top of Satoshi's gelled head.

Five minutes later, the doors closed and the train jerked to a start.

Satoshi exhaled sharply. This is real. It feels like a dream. Or maybe even a nightmare, because it feels too good to be true. He retrieved his earphones and phone from his bag, shuffling through his playlist before plugging in his earphones.

Music crooned, for his ears only.

The heat of the morning sun burned against the back of his head as he leaned against the window, but Satoshi was too tired to care.

I'm coming to see you again... Hajime.


It was a school day today, but Kajihara Takeru didn't care. The night before the trial, Takeru had stolen money and a credit card from his mom's wallet—Oikawa Hotaru had been distracted by a nicely timed phone call from work—and filled his backpack with junk food instead of schoolbooks.

Iwaizumi's trial was today.

Takeru had never believed them. Those nasty, nasty people who had all pointed their fingers at Iwaizumi. He'd seen the way Iwaizumi and Oikawa had interacted in the past—there'd been nothing but love between the two of them and Takeru refused to believe anything else.

He would've never killed my uncle. Never.

It was all too easy to get out of the house. His mom and dad believed that he would be heading to school, as per usual, but as soon as his house disappeared from his line of sight, Takeru took a detour to Sendai Station.

Unfortunately, the train lines were confusing, and Takeru had never ridden the train by himself before.

"Um..." Takeru pointed at a random line that seemed to lead to Tokyo. "This should be good, right?"

So, hoping for the best, he took the corresponding train, fiddling with his flip phone all the while. His mom didn't allow him to have a smartphone—she didn't want him to be distracted from all the colorful phone games they had nowadays. After all, he was in his final year of middle school, and if he wanted to get into a good high school—like Aobajosai, his mom and uncle's alma mater—he needed the marks.

Perhaps it was naive of him, but Takeru dearly hoped that Iwaizumi was, well, okay. Iwaizumi was strong, this much Takeru knew, and Takeru didn't know how he would take it if he discovered that Iwaizumi had been battered to the point of no return during his time in prison. His stomach coiled. This was all so wrong. When his family had moved to a new neighborhood to get a fresh start, they'd done so under the assumption that their neighbors, the Iwaizumi family, had conceived the man who had murdered Takeru's uncle. They'd been grief-ridden and shaken, and nobody had paid Takeru's doubts of Iwaizumi's guilt any heed.

Takeru missed Uncle Tooru a lot. But it had been six years, and he'd only been eight years old when he'd lost him, and he couldn't bring himself to cry over his uncle's death anymore.

What Takeru was more concerned about, currently, was the state of the living—the state of Iwaizumi.

The whole situation had a bleak cloud of misery hanging over it, one that Takeru could not ignore.

But he stewed too long, and missed his stop.

"Ah, crap!" Takeru panicked when he was finally aware of the fact. "Okay, okay, I just gotta retrace my steps..." The next time the train stopped, he stepped out to the station, searching for an information board of some sort. Crud. I'm lost. I'm definitely lost. What is this place? Yamate Station? Geh! That's in Yokohama! Takeru worried the inside of his cheek. "Crap, crap, crap..." Yokohama wasn't too far from his destination. Probably just fifty minutes away by train. But how did he get there?

"Need some help?"

Takeru whipped around, eyes widening at the young man standing behind him. He had black hair cropped short, a plain face, and a friendly disposition. "Uh... Yeah. I need to get to Tokyo. Which line do I take?"

"Oh!" The man brightened. "I'm heading to Tokyo, too. We have to take the Keihin-Tohoku—Negishi Line. Here," he pointed at the information board, "this one. The train we need to take is coming in two minutes, on Platform Seven."

"Ohh..." Takeru nodded. "Thanks, mister." They walked there together. "Why're you heading to Tokyo for?"

"I don't really know if it's something I should be telling a kid."

Takeru frowned, the cogs in his brain turning. "Is it something dirty like prostitution?"

The young man balked, spluttering, "No! Yikes, kid, give a guy some warning before you say something like that. I'm attending a trial, that's all. Well—I shouldn't say 'that's all', because it's one of the biggest events this year—"

"You're heading to Iwaizumi-nii-san's trial?!" gasped Takeru.

"Wait! You know Iwaizumi?!"

"Yeah! He was Uncle Tooru's best friend!"

"Uncle Tooru?!" the guy parroted, looking faint. "Oikawa was your uncle?! Then... You're that little bald kid! Takeru! Well, you were bald back then—I was, too—but now you have hair and—oh my god. I'm Watari Shinji. I played for your uncle during high school."

Damn, what were the odds? Takeru didn't remember him or his average face but he could tell Watari was speaking the truth. "Wow," he whispered, awed, as they got on the train, sitting together. "That's awesome. What position did you play?"

"Libero, I think."

"You think?"

Watari rubbed the back of his head, sheepish. "To be honest, everything that happened in high school... is a bit of a blur to me. Like, I still remember things, but... It's like a montage in a movie." His gaze darkened as he looked forward, scenery flashing by. The train rocked. "I know a lot of sad and bad things happened. Maybe it's better that I can't cry for them."

Memory, thought Takeru. He sacrificed his memories for happiness. He didn't know what to say about it. "Watari-san, do you not live in Miyagi anymore? Since you know how to ride the line... It means you're coming from the opposite direction, right?"

"Wow, you're pretty sharp for a kid. I live in Kanagawa now. I had to move there for work."

"Really? What do you do?"

"I work at Enoshima Aquarium."

"So you didn't continue volleyball?"

Watari shook his head, wringing his hands. "No. I didn't... I don't have the passion for it. I wasn't like Oikawa. I played because it was a little fun and I was a little good. Besides," he smiled, "I'm much happier doing what I do."

Takeru considered this. As far as he knew, no one from Oikawa's generation had gone pro except for that angry blond guy who looked like a bumblebee. He didn't know why, but a part of him had equated volleyball to happiness, and finding out that only one of them was still playing... It had upset him. But now, looking at Watari, he knew that it wasn't at all the case.

"What about you?" asked Watari. "Do you play volleyball?"

"Yep. I'm setter for my middle school team. We're not that good, but it's fun."

"Ahh... That's good. As long as you're having fun. Geez, I feel like an old man now." He leaned against the side plastic barrier, humming. "I wonder who else is coming... I can't shake the feeling that I'm gonna be seeing a lot of familiar faces again."

Yes, Takeru wondered the same, who else would be coming?


At the break room in Iris Ohyama Incorporated's Aoba Building, Yamaguchi Tadashi opened up his lunchbox, which was filled with salmon sushi rolls. Seeing two of his colleagues huddled around a phone at one table, he joined them, curious. "Hey, guys." What are they watching?

"Oh, hello, Yamaguchi-san." His coworker in the Accounting Department, Tsuji Runa, beamed at him. She was a beautiful woman, even with only light makeup, but Yamaguchi was somehow the only person who she regularly talked to.

His other colleague, Tsuchiyu Arata from the Sales Department—and a graduate from Jozenji High—didn't look away from the screen as he said, "Yamaguchi-san, Tsuji-san, the prison bus just arrived! It's him! It's Iwaizumi!"

Iwaizumi Hajime? Realization dawned on Yamaguchi. That's right. The trial is today, isn't it? He hadn't exactly been close to him, seeing as they'd gone to different high schools, but Yamaguchi's stomach still did flip-flops. There was something electrifying about watching the footage—mediocre in quality, provided by some random representative of some random news station—of Iwaizumi being led out of the bus with his head held high and expression grave.

"Goodness," Tsuji breathed, so quietly that Yamaguchi almost didn't hear her. "It's been so long since I've last seen him..."

"That's right," said Tsuchiyu, "You went to school with him, didn't you?"

She smiled again, but there was a tinge of sadness to it. "Yes, I did."

Yamaguchi chewed on his sushi thoughtfully. Is Tsukki watching this, too? I should text him. He was doing just that when Tsuchiyu pulled out his phone to check his social media.

"Damn," Tsuchiyu let out a low whistle, eyes bugging out from his head, "Tweeter is going insane right now."

Tsuji kept watching the live feed, tautly. Yamaguchi couldn't read her.

"Wow." Yamaguchi stared at his Tweeter feed. Pretty much all the people he followed—and there weren't a lot, he was pretty low-key on social media—had posted about what was currently happening.

applepi (✔) /kodzuken

sorry, no stream tonight. gotta wake up early tomorrow for the trial #freeIwaizumi

689🗨️ 11.1k⟲ 24k (3

KuroTetsu /Kuroo_Tetsurou1

I'll see you there ;)

54🗨️ 113⟲ 792(3

"People are angry," Tsuchiyu said, wisely. "Celebrities of all sorts from all over Japan are speaking out about it. It's kinda amazing, not gonna lie. Did you know there was a protest organized at Chiba prison the other day? Wack."

"I'll say," Yamaguchi concurred, using his thumb to scroll through his phone. The salmon tasted bland in his mouth.

"Of course they're angry," Tsuji added, the bitterness in her normally sweet and genial tone making Yamaguchi blink in surprise. "Even... Even I could beat someone up right now just thinking about how he spent the last six years rotting in that hellhole."

Ryoka /Oishi_Ryoka03

In light of #freeIwaizumi and the many people in my life who have personal involvement with Iwaizumi Hajime, every yen I receive from tickets for my August concert will go towards a fund for the Iwaizumi family, who have been greatly affected by the wrongful conviction of their son. This never should have happened, and I will do my part to rectify this mistake.

432🗨️ 7.6k⟲ 17k(3

Alisa :3 /Alisaaaa

Let's keep #freeIwaizumi on trending. We will not forget this injustice.

200🗨️ 2.7k⟲ 9k(3

Many of Yamaguchi's friends and followers had also liked or retweeted the posts. He recognized their online handles. One of his old upperclassmen had even made a rather disparaging tweet about Director Shō—Yamaguchi snorted in amusement.

oh my god don't FUCKING talk to me right now /EnnoChika

WHAT half-baked PIECE OF STEAMING MONKEY SHIT MURDERS cuz RATINGS were lower than YOUR FUCKING SPERM COUNT U ABSOLUTE DOG-BREATH BITCH UR MOTHER SHOULD HAVE SWALLOWED FUCK U SHO YOU'VE BROUGHT A BAD NAME TO ASPIRING DIRECTORS ALL AROUND JAPAN U DROOPY-DICKED CUM-COVERED CUNT!1111

15🗨️ 1⟲ 32(3

Buying or selling a house? Check out my bio! /KazuNari

Chikara... Are you good?

1🗨️ ⟲ 2(3

I can name all the Yamanote stops, what can you do? /Hisashi942081

Yo, he's lost it.

🗨️ ⟲ 1(3

I didn't realize Ennoshita-san could have such a potty mouth, Yamaguchi thought to himself, a drop of sweat rolling down his temple. Then again, they didn't call him 'the don of the second years' for nothing... Ennoshita-san is a straight-up Yakuza boss disguised as a physical therapist.

His phone dinged. A text from Tsukishima.

[Tsukki]: I'm going to the trial.

[Tadashi]: Really? I'm watching from the office right now! I hope everything turns out alright.

"You know," Tsuji said, abruptly, a tremble in her voice. "I don't support capital punishment, but I don't think I would hate it if he got hanged."

Although he did not say it, Yamaguchi shared the same sentiment.


For Kindaichi, the extravagance of the big day was somehow overshadowed by Kunimi Akira simply showing up to the Supreme Court with him. When they'd left their dorm this morning, Kindaichi dressed in their finest suit and Kunimi wearing a casual jacket over his shirt and jeans, the former had been unable to take his eyes off the latter's new... look.

"Blue?" Kindaichi blurted.

"I got it done yesterday evening," droned Kunimi. "Didn't you see? Oh, wait, I forgot—you were already snoring like a pig when I got back."

For whatever reason, Kunimi had dyed his hair the gaudiest shade of blue Kindaichi had ever had the displeasure of seeing. The sight actually killed most of his trial nerves—Kindaichi supposed that he should be grateful for that.

There were a slew of reporters at the main gate, and Kindaichi ducked his head as he passed them, hoping that they would not recognize him. He was not arrogant enough to consider himself a celebrity, but he knew that he would be hounded if they realized who he was. Kunimi, ever so insufferable, strolled past without so much a glance at the media vultures.

The trial began at two o'clock in the afternoon. It was currently one-fifteen. Iwaizumi would be due to arrive soon, and his arrival was no doubt what the reporters were banking on to make their scoops.

"But why?" Kindaichi asked, unable to tear his gaze away from the ostentatious coloring. It was like a car crash—he didn't want to look, but he couldn't help but do so anyway.

"Decided I needed a change," Kunimi said with a slight shrug.

"I won't lie, it looks like shit."

"Good."

"What were you even going for?"

"A cheap alternative for therapy."

"Please go see a counselor after this is over."

"Only if you come with."

"Goddammit, fine."

"Yo, you guys!"

Kindaichi and Kunimi turned around to see Sakusa and Atsumu making their way toward them. The blond had been the one to call out. "Atsumu-san! Sakusa!" exclaimed Kindaichi.

"You guys ready?" asked Atsumu, crossing his arms over his white hoodie. "Nervous? Gonna cry? Gonna piss your pants, maybe? Maybe shit and cu—"

"That's quite enough from you." Sakusa kicked him lightly on the heel, and Kindaichi could just imagine his lip curled in displeasure behind the mask. "If you talk like that in front of the panel, you won't have to worry about Shō or Daizen—I'll kill you myself."

Kunimi snorted derisively. "I think we've all had enough of murder at this point."

"I don't know," Sakusa said, sardonically. "I think I have room for one more body."

"Oh? How interesting."

Atsumu shrunk behind Kindaichi in mock-terror. "I see it in their eyes—the capacity to drive a knife through us."

Kindaichi scratched his cheek. "Actually, I think that's just you." He breathed a sigh of relief, feeling his nerves further calming. Just like what Kunimi's blue hair had done, the familiar banter of Sakusa and his live-in witness served to soothe him. He was about to chime in to the lighthearted conversation when, from the corner of his eye, he noticed movement. Iwaizumi?

But it wasn't.

Kindaichi sucked in a breath.

Ushijima Wakatoshi had the face of a solemn war god watching the carnage of mortals tearing themselves to pieces. His shoulders were broad in his suit, and he towered over his companion—white-haired Hoshiumi Kourai, who played the part of Ushijima's tiny, swift-footed general. Their presence was crushing, and Kindaichi found himself grimacing when they noticed his ogling.

"Ushijima," Sakusa acknowledged, startling Kindaichi further. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Sakusa," rumbled Ushijima, bowing his head slightly. "I wish we could've met again under happier circumstances."

Atsumu looked between them, seemingly itching to interject but refraining from doing so.

"Why have you come?" inquired Sakusa with a tilt of the head. There was no hostility coming from either of them—just interest. "For your underclassman's memory?"

"Yes," Ushijima said. "But that's not all."

"Then?"

Hoshiumi peered up at his taller Adler's teammate, unusually tense as he awaited his response.

Unblinkingly, Ushijima confessed, "I want to see it. I want to see the face of the man who murdered Oikawa."

The press began to stream into the lobby, and some enthusiastic reporters hurried over to their group. "Ushijima-san! Hoshiumi-san!" said one reporter, who went by Enaga Fumi. The woman who served as her assistant today, Yonaga Mira, was grinning rather lewdly at Ushijima's buff form. "Could you spare us a word, please?"

"Aw, come on," whined Hoshiumi, hands on his hips. "You followed me here, too, Enaga-san? This is a court lobby, not a gymnasium!"

Enaga chuckled. "Sorry, Hoshiumi-san. I'm just doing my job."

"She's been stalking you for the last six years," piped Yonaga with a roll of her eyes.

"We have a bit of time," Ushijima told them.

By now, Kindaichi was the one shirking behind Sakusa and Atsumu like a shy child on the first day of kindergarten. Don't let them see me, he repeated in his head. Don't let them see me, oh god, please don't let them see me...

Their group stepped aside for Hoshiumi and Ushijima to complete their interview, watching from a safe distance.

"So this is the life of a pro volleyball player," muttered Kunimi, stroking his chin. "Can't say I envy them."

Kindaichi shook his head. "You and me both."

"Ditto," added Atsumu, leaning against the wall.

"Ushijima-san," Enaga started, holding the microphone toward him. "Can you tell us why you've decided to attend today's trial?"

Ushijima stared unflinchingly at the camera, making Yonaga sweat. "I want to see the face of the man who murdered Oikawa." The same answer he had given Sakusa. But there was more. "Oikawa was one of my worthiest rivals during my high school days. The least he should be allowed is to rest in peace. But because of the farce of an investigation that was launched six years back, he has not yet been properly laid to rest."

Enaga nodded slowly, clearly overwhelmed by the heaviness of his statement. "I see. Thank you for your words, Ushijima-san. They were very heartfelt." She jabbed the microphone at Hoshiumi. "Would you like to add anything to the matter, Hoshiumi-san?"

"Not really," Hoshiumi admitted. "I'm just here to support Wakatoshi as a teammate."

As the interview continued, Sakusa heeded two approaching newcomers to their little group. Prosecutors Karasuda and Chinen, both wearing their prosecutor robes.

"Good day, Sakusa-san," Karasuda greeted, slowing to a stop before them. "And the rest of you, of course." He lowered his voice. "I trust that you're all prepared to testify?"

"Of course," Sakusa replied, cordially.

It was a little off, Kindaichi thought, seeing Sakusa stand with them in his formal attire rather than his prosecutor robes. A reminder that he was still disbarred—for now—and that he would have to rely on his colleagues to pull through.

"Remember," Chinen said with a smile. "Answer truthfully. It's okay to be nervous as long as you tell the truth—and nothing more than that. No embellishments or unnecessary details."

They knew—they'd been coached through this. By now, Kindaichi knew all of the answers to the prosecutors' questions—it was Lawyer Kuroo Musashi and his team that would attempt to throw them off guard.

Karasuda sniffed. "I'm sure they know by now."

Chinen frowned. "Alright, I was just making sure."

"Did you see Kuroo-san on your way in?" Sakusa asked. But his own question was answered when a group of men in black suits—lawyer badges pinned on their lapels and gleaming brilliantly under the ceiling lights—entered, reporters trailing after them. "Never mind—speak of the devil, and he shall appear, hm?"

The man heading the team—a man in his late fifties to early sixties—glanced their way, offering a sly grin. Kuroo Musashi.

Karasuda narrowed his eyes.

Their rivalry went way back, Kindaichi knew, to even before he was born. At least this would ensure Karasuda would fight his hardest to get a guilty verdict.

Next to Kindaichi, he could almost feel every muscle in Sakusa's body go taut when he emerged. Hirakawa Daizen walked like he had done nothing wrong, his adult daughter—Hirakawa Noriko—and Director Shō following close behind. One of Daizen's lawyers was speaking in a hushed voice to them, likely running them through procedures last minute.

This is it. Kindaichi swallowed, brow knitting. This is what it's all coming down to.

The fate of justice rested in their hands.

All of a sudden, the amount of reporters flitting around the building halved, many of them rushing toward the entrance.

"He's here!" one particularly zealous journalist cried out. "Iwaizumi Hajime is here!"

"What?" Kunimi's eyes went round. "Are they serious? It's really him...?"

"We can see him after," Sakusa ordered, already going after Kuroo Musashi's team and clients alongside Atsumu, Karasuda, and Chinen. "We need to be in the courtroom."

"But—"

"Now, Kunimi-san."

Kunimi glared but obeyed, stomping after Sakusa.

As for Kindaichi, he glanced helplessly over his shoulder before following suit.


"We are live from Tokyo!" cheered KTV2 reporter Tessa Kim. Makoshima Naoko sipped on her can of iced coffee in the break room, watching the live stream from her phone.

Nose job, she thought, zooming in on Tessa's visage. That is definitely a nose job. Whoever her doctor is, they didn't do a very good job.

"The prison bus has just arrived," continued Tessa, and Naoko vaguely recalled that the woman had been socially deported from the USA after saying a slur on national television. "Iwaizumi-san is stepping out. He looks like a man on a mission. A mission to clear his name!"

Naoko switched to a different channel. If she kept looking at Tessa, all she would be able to focus on was that damn nose job. Also, KTV2's cameraman hadn't been doing a very good job filming Iwaizumi's descent from the vehicle and the entire thing had been in Korean anyway.

She found a Japanese live feed—broadcasted by NHN News7—nationally beloved anchorwoman Takada Kiyomi was doing fieldwork for once in her career to report what was sure to be one of the most prolific trials in the history of Japan.

"Hello if you're just tuning in," Takada said solemnly into the microphone, her serious, sophisticated disposition a jarring contrast from Tessa Kim's large ham persona. "If you were here earlier this afternoon, welcome back. Iwaizumi Hajime-san, who has served six years of his life sentence despite being an allegedly innocent man, has just stepped off the prison bus. Should he be proven to be innocent of murdering the late Oikawa Tooru, it is sure to majorly upset the people's faith in the justice system. Citizens have already been causing a stir online and multiple protests for Iwaizumi-san's freedom have been organized across the Kanto region and beyond."

The broadcast went on, but Naoko mostly tuned it out. By the time she had started paying attention again, it was nearly two o'clock and Takada was finishing up her report.

"If a guilty verdict is ruled against HNN Foundation CEO Hirakawa Daizen, Prosecutor-General Hirakawa Noriko, and Director Shō Shinya, Iwaizumi-san will be expected to be set free immediately with compensation. An apology from the National Police Agency is also expected to be delivered in the event of such a situation, as well as an official statement from the National Public Safety Commission of the Cabinet Office of the Cabinet of Japan. Positive public opinion on law enforcement has gone down by a staggering thirty-four percent. The trial is set to begin in five minutes—we will keep you informed as soon as new information is available."

Naoko turned off her phone.

Her break was almost over.

She collected her things.

It's time for the world to know you're innocent... Hajime.


A/N: Next up: More people tuning in and the trial commences.