May 31st, 2018
"Get up," they'd said. "There's someone here to see you."
That day, Iwaizumi Hajime had been introduced to the stern but righteous Prosecutor Karasuda. The details of the conversation escaped him today, but there was one thing Iwaizumi would never forget, even when he was old and gray and fighting for his last breath.
"Should it all go well, you'll be free. For good."
One of the wardens woke him up before any of his cellmates to instruct him to pack his things. None of them stirred, all of them exhausted from a long hard day at work. Iwaizumi wouldn't miss them.
He peered back over his shoulder at the door.
Goodbye, everyone, he didn't say. Hopefully for good.
The process was long.
Iwaizumi had to bathe—properly for the first time in a while—eat, and shave. All of that took less than an hour, but there was a lot of waiting around to be done. The guards didn't really talk to him. He suspected that a few of them felt guilty for their treatment of a supposedly innocent man.
'Supposedly'. I am innocent. Iwaizumi was stony-faced as he waited in an empty room, devoid of anything except mundane furniture.
Someone rapped their knuckles on the door before stepping in. A guard. "Your cellmate wants to speak to you for one last time."
Iwaizumi cocked a brow. Aratama? It had to be. Aratama was the only one well-liked enough by the prison staff for them to do him any favors. He just nodded, icy numbness settling over him. If this was a dream, he didn't want to wake up. Waking up to another laborious day would just be cruel. The guard let Aratama in before taking his place at the door, waiting for Aratama to finish whatever he needed to do.
"Iwaizumi-san," Aratama rumbled, stopping in front of him. Unlike Iwaizumi, his hands were still in cuffs. He must have been staring, because Aratama said, "Don't make that face. I'll be out in a few months, and we'll both be free."
It really was unfair that Aratama still had to be here. He had lost most of his hair by now from the immense physical strain of prison labor. Iwaizumi sagged, smiling sadly at the older man. "Still. We've lost everything."
"But we have to keep going." Aratama looked him dead in the eye. "Promise me you'll keep going, Iwaizumi-san."
"I will," Iwaizumi told him. "Thank you, Aratama-san. You... You've always been kind to me."
Aratama shook his head. "I never made a point to be kind to any of you."
"But you were never cruel, either." A shrug. "That's the kindest thing anyone has ever given me in this shithole."
Aratama chuckled, all cobwebs and ancient fatigue. "I still can't figure you out. I guess that's the mind of an innocent man."
Innocent man. He'd done a good job of holding himself together up until now, but looking at Aratama's weathered but earnest expression had Iwaizumi's chest crumpling painfully. The back of his eyes stung with oncoming tears, and he blinked them back. "Thank you," he repeated, voice barely above a whisper. "I hope you find your peace. I hope that you get justice, too. One day—you and your daughter should get justice, too."
Aratama's daughter had been the same age as he was now when she had been raped, beaten, and left to die. The rapist had been found face-down in a ditch with his balls cut off. Aratama had turned himself in a few hours after the discovery, covered in shit and blood.
"It's too late for me," Aratama said, honestly, chains clinking. "But it's not too late for you.
"Go out there, Iwaizumi-san.
"Go out there and live."
He began to turn, halting when Iwaizumi bowed to him in one swift motion.
"Thank you, Aratama-san."
Back in grade school, Sugawara Koushi's least favorite question had been 'what word would you use to define yourself'? What a horrible question it had been! What a horrible question it still was! Even back then, he'd been clever enough to realize that there was no fitting his entire identity into the boxy constraints of a noun or an adjective. Linguistics had been his forte during his schooling, and now—twenty-three years old, going on twenty-four, and adult as can be—he could safely say that he was fluent in both Japanese and English. A sound accomplishment, considering he had never been out of the country.
As of this April, he was a teacher at Nagamushi Elementary. His old teachers—the ones that were still alive and kicking and generally around—had welcomed him back with hearty slaps on the back and open arms. Sugawara taught Japanese at the school alongside his old Japanese teacher (and wow, wasn't that awkward). Although not one for tooting his own horn, Sugawara knew that he was popular among the students.
Lunchtime was in full-swing when Sugawara was finally relieved of his supervising duty and free to eat his homemade meal in the faculty room until his next class. When he entered, there were a few teachers gathered around the single boxy television in the room. A lot of their equipment was still old-school, as government funding tended to go more toward high schools and middle schools.
"Afternoon, everyone," Sugawara greeted warmly. A couple of heads turned and return greetings and smiles were swapped. "What are we watching?"
"Ah, Sugawara-sensei," one of younger teachers said. "There's a trial in Tokyo today. I hope Iwaizumi-san will be proven innocent!"
Sugawara nearly swore in English, but he caught himself before he could. "What?" Trial? What trial? He'd been out of sorts for the past two and half weeks, busy with grading excellent (and abysmal) pop quizzes and sorting out student portfolios for the upcoming parent-teacher interview week. Iwaizumi? Like... the Iwaizumi from Aobajosai? The one who killed Oikawa? It can't be, right? There are lots of people named Iwaizumi in Japan. Sugawara sat down, craning his neck so he could see the screen.
"Oh, didn't you know, Sugawara-sensei?" said another teacher—a balding man who used to be the vice-principal back in Sugawara's school days. Now, he was just a simple mathematics teacher on the verge of retirement. "They say that Iwaizumi-san was falsely imprisoned for a crime he did not commit. According to public opinion, a lot of people seem to think that HNN Foundation are responsible for the murder of that teenage boy—or are at least covering it up."
It was all too much to take in at once.
His lunchbox felt heavy in his hands.
Not once had Sugawara considered the possibility that Iwaizumi Hajime might have been innocent. Karasuno had played very few matches against Aobajosai and Sugawara hadn't known Iwaizumi well enough to contradict what the authorities had had to say. Something like shame welled up in him. If Iwaizumi really was innocent, then... What have we done? We've made a horrible mistake.
A face from long ago appeared on television, reporters of all shapes and sizes attempting to surround him.
Sugawara almost choked on his rice. "Is that Kageyama?!"
Someone turned around, bemused. "Who?"
But Sugawara didn't answer, just let the rice sit grossly in his mouth as he watched Kageyama frown on television and refuse interviews. Never in his life had he ever felt so out of the loop. Just what was going on? I... really need to watch the news more. He swallowed his food.
An orange-haired man Sugawara didn't recognize grabbed Kageyama by the hand and yanked him up the stairs to the Supreme Court with surprising strength. Two women accompanied them—both with blonde hair; they had to be sisters.
Something heavy settled on his shoulders as Kageyama soundlessly griped, clearly bantering with the others. Then the camera switched, and they were no more.
Sometimes, Sugawara wished that he had done more to help the boy—man, he corrected. Kageyama was a man now. Gosh. Time flew, didn't it? I should've paid more attention to him, he lamented. But Karasuno's greatest fault had been their inability to unify themselves as a team—Kageyama had always been a bit of an outsider, rejecting every single one of their offers to hang out if it didn't involve practice. We should have pestered him more. Tried to understand him. Sugawara sighed. It was a bit too late for that now.
But at least...
He didn't seem sad.
No—on the contrary, in fact.
Kageyama had looked more alive than Sugawara had ever remembered him being.
Knowing that he had nothing to do with that—as Kageyama's former upperclassman—was a bitter pill to swallow, but one Sugawara accepted anyway.
"It's starting!" Koganegawa cried as he remembered, not even reacting to the ball that landed on his head—it'd been thrown by Kyoutani, from the other end of room. Kyoutani, lounging in Koganegawa's apartment, sat up when Koganegawa belly-flopped onto the couch with his tablet. "Kyou-kun, how do you spell 'supreme'—"
"Give it here." Deftly, Kyoutani typed 'Iwaizumi trial supreme court' into the search bar. The first result was a live-stream which currently had over forty-thousand people watching. The numbers were still growing fast. It was a miracle that the server hadn't crashed.
Koganegawa's apartment was small but nicely spruced. He had a little area dedicated for exercise—several dumbbells sitting against the wall and a rolled up yoga mat in the corner. The early afternoon sunlight made the screen glare, but neither of the men bothered to get up from where they were relaxing on the sofa.
"What's happening?" Koganegawa prodded Kyoutani's ribs.
"Be quiet, Angry Bird, I'm tryin' to watch."
Unfortunately for Kyoutani, Koganegawa was terrible at taking orders. "Ooh! Is that Iwaizumi?" He jabbed his finger at a figure—flanked by two men—emerging from a side entrance. "They let you wear suits in prison?"
"Idiot. He obviously changed before he got here. People would riot if they made him wear his prison jumpsuit." Though Kyoutani made sure to sound dismissive and cruel, there was a storm brewing in his sinewy body. Just the sight of Iwaizumi on Koganegawa's tablet made him jumpy, filling him with a negative energy and leaving no way to channel it outward. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Frustration coursed through him. He tightened his grip on Koganegawa's tablet. Why? Why did it have to be you?
Why did it have to be the only person I actually respected?
Kyoutani was not the sort of person to feel despondent. Sadness was not an emotion he did not feel very often, and when he did, he never wallowed in it. Sadness was the same to Kyoutani as a scraped knee was to the average adult. Something that rarely happened—and when it did, it wasn't a big deal. Today, however, was different. Melancholy wrapped its tender embrace around Kyoutani's stiff shoulders, leaving them heavy with a dull ache.
You better win. Kyoutani was glued to the screen, even managing to tune out Koganegawa's inane questioning and lack of ability to input visual information into his brain. What kind of senpai would you be... if you lost again?
"Kozume-san, could you give us a word—"
"Kozume-san, what brings you hear to the trial today?!"
"Kodzuken, are you for or against Iwaizumi—?"
"He's not taking questions!" Kuroo yelled over the crowd of reporters. Like flies to honey. His coat fluttered in the wind as he flapped it, shooing the pesky journalists away. Once they had retreated enough, Kuroo draped the coat over Kenma—the fabric engulfed the shorter man. "Geez, Kyanma, your name makes people go wild."
Kenma's voice was muffled by the coat. "Don't call me that, Kuro."
"Kyaaanma," Kuroo drawled, grinning though he knew Kenma wasn't able to see it. He had his hands on Kenma's shoulders, guiding him through the crowded courtyard and up the stairs to the Supreme Court. "Why did you come? I didn't think you would care about current affairs. My cute Kyanma, always lost in his little fantasy world."
"Careful. Oishi-san might castrate you if she hears you talking like this."
"Wouldn't be the first time. Besides, she knows you're the exception to, well, everything."
Kozume Kenma really should not have announced his presence at the trial on Tweeter. In hindsight, it had been a terrible move, because not only were news correspondents from mainstream media here, but also correspondents from gaming blogs and such. "I shouldn't have done that twenty-four hour stream... It makes me tweet shit. Ugh, whatever. What's done is done." Once they were inside, Kenma pushed the coat off him, Kuroo catching it before it could hit the ground. "You wanted to know why I came, right?"
"Hm? Oh—yeah."
"It's because nothing much interesting happens nowadays," Kenma said drolly. "Besides," he slouched, hands dipping into his pockets, "Isn't it kinda cool?"
"Cool?" Kuroo parroted. "No offence, Kenma, but this whole thing has cast a cloud of unbearable misery over my year."
"Don't be so dramatic. There's nothing cooler than seeing a bad guy eat shit."
Kuroo scrutinized him. "It's because Shouyou's coming, isn't it?"
Kenma didn't even deny it. "That was certainly the opposite of a mitigating factor—oh, shit." They passed through the doors. "There are no seats near Shouyou."
"But I do see Bokkun and Akaashi sitting at the front. Let's go join 'em." As they made their way down the mini corridor, Kuroo paused, leaving Kenma to go on ahead. "Sa'a'mura?"
Sawamura Daichi looked pleasantly surprised to see Kuroo. "Oh! Kuroo! Damn, it's been a while, huh?"
The brunet man seated next to Daichi peered around the inspector's broad form. "Hm? Your friend, Sawamura-san?" He had a face like a porcelain doll—Kuroo had never seen a more perfectly symmetrical mien in his life, and he knew Akaashi. There was something off about him, though, and Kuroo plastered on a fake smile.
"Right—Light-senpai, this is a friend I knew from high school: Kuroo Tetsurou."
"Pleasure," Kuroo demurred.
Light smiled back. "Really, the pleasure's all mine."
Kuroo adored Daichi, but he didn't seem to be able to read his discomfort at the moment—a situation which Kuroo lamented. "Light-senpai is also an inspector, though he's been doing it for way longer than me."
"Ah. Is that so?"
Light seemed to dismissive Daichi's bragging of him. "It's not a big deal. To be honest, Sawamura-san and I take on very different roles—he's saving lives out on the field and I'm—"
"You're saving more lives by working with L—"
Light frowned, his pleasant facade dissipating abruptly. "That's enough Sawamura-san." He looked back up at Kuroo. "I do desk work."
'Eru'? L? L who? Whatever. "Well," Kuroo backpedaled, doing his best not to blatantly stare at the wedding band on Light's finger, "I should really go find Kenma. We should go out for a drink sometime, Sa'a'mura."
Sawamura laughed, slapping Kuroo on the arm. "Of course!"
Light leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his khaki suit. "Don't have too much fun, Sawamura-san," he said in a way that was meant to be lightly teasing. To Kuroo's ears, it sounded mildly ominous.
If Kenma were here, he would say that Light would be lawful-neutral on the alignment chart.
"Excuse me. Pardon me. Coming through."
Tsukishima scowled as a short man with carrot-colored hair climbed over him and Haiba Lev to get to the free seats. Lev took the intrusion in stride. It was just the kind of person he was—Tsukishima had to stop him from bringing panini bread into the courtroom and getting them both kicked out. His flinty gaze flicked to Lev's upper lip. Clear of any facial hair, but dotted with bread crumbs. Some of them fell to his pants—designer!—when the two blondes following Hinata shimmied around the pair as well.
"Oh god," Tsukishima couldn't help but say when Kageyama hesitated beside him. "Just go and pretend we don't know each other."
Kageyama nodded, not saying a word.
There were only three seats left. Kageyama didn't have one.
"Sorry," said Kageyama. "Could you move down one?"
"Ugh. Lev, get up and move your ass to the right."
Lev made to get up before pausing. "Your right or mine?"
"We're both front-facing, so it doesn't matter!"
Kageyama thanked them politely when he took Tsukishima's old seat. Enjoy my butt warmth, Tsukishima thought, pettily. Truly, he didn't mind Kageyama much at all these days, but old habits died hard. As for Lev... Tsukishima would've rather Alisa come instead, but she had a shoot today—one she was unable to postpone or cancel due to her contract with a high-profile perfume brand.
In the adjacent row of seats, divided from Tsukishima's row by a carpeted corridor, Ushijima and Hoshiumi were getting comfortable. They were stony-faced, their bodies all hard lines and corners in the wake of the event. A few members of the press—sent by their respective companies—occupied the back rows. They had only notepads—no phones or cameras allowed to be used during proceedings. There was only one camera situated in the back corner of the room, and it belonged to the Japanese justice system. The trial would be broadcasted, live, from only one official source. Behind Hoshiumi and Ushijima, Enaga Fumi and Yonaga Mira were discussing work-related topics in low voices.
Seated in the row closest to the front were the forensics team—Shirabu, Obata, Smith, and Miyazawa—all of whom would be called to testify. Next to them were a pair of men wearing nondescript hoodies—one bespectacled and dark-haired and the other wide-eyed and tense with excitement.
"Hey, hey, Akaashi," Bokuto Koutarou whispered loudly to his boyfriend. "Which one killed your old middle school classmate?"
"None of them killed Osamu," Akaashi replied, patiently. "The trial is due to start in fifteen minutes—he should be here soon."
"Ohh. Can you point at him when he come?"
"If you want, Bokuto-san."
Bokuto dropped his head onto Akaashi's shoulder. "Aw, come on. We're dating now—drop the -san, Akaashiii."
Akaashi's disposition never changed, but his face went from pale to apple-cheeked. "Only if you promise not to make a scene when I do point the killer out. I don't need you to be charged for assault on top of everything else."
"Hrrrgh! He just makes me so mad! Why did he have to kill Osamu and Oikawa and blame it on someone innocent? It pisses me off!"
Akaashi interlaced his fingers with Bokuto's. "I know. Udai-sensei's already drafting a story based on Iwaizumi-san—you know how much he thrives on controversy and underdog tales—but he can't decide whether to go all-out and make it a manga, or make it a light novel with some sparse but detailed illustrations..."
"Really? What's it gonna be called?"
"I don't remember... 'Something Society', I think? I'll ask him later."
Not too long after, a group of men wearing crisp black suits stalked in, oozing professionalism. The majority carried briefcases with them, though the one leading them went empty-handed. Bokuto's already round eyes further widened when the leader smiled at him.
"Hello, Bokuto-san. It's been a while."
"Kubro's dad!" Bokuto exclaimed, drawing the attention of observers within the vicinity. "How are you?"
"Quite well. Though I will say I am neither pleased nor displeased about my client. You must come over for dinner sometime soon."
Kuroo Musashi dipped his head before continuing on his way, his team of five trailing after him like knights would their king. Not far behind them were Daizen, Noriko, and—
"Him," Akaashi discreetly pointed at Shō, "They say he killed Osamu. But, so far, it's just a rumor. Hm?" Akaashi noticed a brown-haired woman—late thirties or early forties—scurrying in close to Shō. He didn't recognize her, though his and Shō's industries occasionally overlapped. His wife, maybe? Wait... She's...!
The woman—Miya Akari, Akaashi recalled, Osamu's mother's appearance coming like a punch to the gut—took a seat in the back row, next to a reporter wearing a lanyard with a pass announcing her affiliation with NHN Television—the lovely Takada Kiyomi. Beside her was her old friend and the current face of the NPA—Yagami Light, straight-faced and indifferent to the electricity in the air. Next to Light was Inspector Sawamura Daichi.
The prosecuting party and several witnesses entered next. Prosecutors Karasuda and Chinen took their places at the prosecution stand while Sakusa, Kindaichi, Kunimi, and Miya Atsumu sat in one of the front rows designated for witnesses.
A good-looking couple plus their purple-haired giant of a friend sat behind the forensic team. There was the sound of a chip bag crinkling before Momoi Satsuki shoved Murasakibara Atsushi's party-sized bag of chips into Aomine Daiki's bulky sweatshirt.
"Is Midorima here yet?" Momoi stretched her neck, trying to catch sight of the Chief Prosecutor.
"Doesn't look like it," commented Aomine. "See him, Atsushi?"
Murasakibara halfheartedly scanned the room before shaking his head.
Four minutes to two, Watari Shinji and Kajihara Takeru claimed the last seats in the back row, the latter dismayed at all the heads blocking his view. Kuroo and Kenma showed up immediately behind them, finding their places next to Bokuto and Akaashi. Kuroo stopped briefly for conversation with Daichi and Light.
Three minutes to two, Chief Prosecutor Midorima Shintaro finally appeared. His eyes met Noriko's—then he glanced away, smiling tiredly at Aomine, Momoi, and Murasakibara. He sat next to Sakusa Kiyoomi, mumbling a greeting. Midorima clutched a tiny paper crane in one hand. He needed all the luck he could get today—Cancer was at the very bottom of today's Oha-Asa list.
And then—
"It's him," Enaga breathed, lifting her arms up to take a photo before realizing she had left her camera in Yonaga's car.
Iwaizumi Hajime walked guarded by two police officers, coming through a side entrance. Instead of his usual prison garb, he was wearing a suit and tie. His skin was tanned from several years of working potato fields under the sun. He didn't look at anyone as he was led to the prosecution stand, where he took a seat beside Chinen. Karasuda acknowledged him with a curt nod, something akin to apology in his old eyes. Chinen squeezed his shoulder once before shuffling her papers, a quiet steel to her aura.
At the same time, the judging panel—composed of three justices and six lay judges—entered the courtroom from yet another entrance. In silence, they, too, got seated at the judge's bench at the very front of the room.
Sitting in the middle of the judge's bench, the ultimate authority in the room—
Chief Justice Midorima Mahiro presided.
Oh my god, it's starting. Kindaichi chewed a flake of skin on his bottom lip, unable to take his eyes off Chief Justice Midorima Mahiro. The Chief Prosecutor's father... He didn't know how this could have happened. Wasn't this a conflict of interests? Technically, Mahiro had emotional stakes in the trial. He sneaked a glance at Sakusa. He doesn't seem worried at all. Would having Mahiro as a judge—and arguably the most powerful one in the room—sway things? Everything Kindaichi had learned in law school screamed yes. But ever since he had started working under Sakusa, he had come to find things were different in practice—theory would never adequately substitute for experience.
Nobody talked as the judges spent prepared. Only thirty seconds until the trial would begin.
The courtroom typist pursed her lips, bony fingers at the ready—they hovered above her steno machine.
Then it happened.
Mahiro stood. "This court is hereby in session." He gazed at the accused—Shō Shinya—like an owl would its prey. "Please step forward."
The old director nodded, shuffling behind the witness stand. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, and Kindaichi could imagine him counting to three in his head to calm himself down. Kindaichi had attended a few trials before as part of his curriculum—though none as big as this one—and it was not uncommon for suspects and witnesses to be overwhelmed by nerves.
"The trial is now being held regarding the charges against you of homicide, solicitation, negligent driving causing injury, and hit and run," continued Mahiro. "Please listen as the public prosecutor reads the charging instrument." To Karasuda, he requested, "Will you please read the charging instrument?"
Prosecutor Karasuda got to his feet, clearing his throat. "The prosecution charges the accused with two counts of homicide, one count of solicitation, one count of causing injury through negligent driving, and one count of hit and run. In accordance to the Penal Code, and in lieu of the circumstances of the bereaved parties, the prosecution asks for the death penalty for the double-homicide, three years of imprisonment for solicitation, eight years of imprisonment for negligent driving leading to injury, and a fine of five million yen for the hit and run."
"The court is now going to hear this case based on the charges against you that have been read by the public prosecutor. Listen carefully to what I am about to tell you. You have the right to remain may refuse to answer some of the questions, or you may remain silent throughout the trial. However, any statement made by you in this court may be used as evidence either for or against you. Therefore, answer any questions bearing these points in mind." Midorima narrowed his eyes at Shō, who had his head bowed. "Do you understand?"
"Yes," Shō answered. "I do."
"Do you have anything you wish to say in response to the statement just read by the public prosecutor?"
"Only that I am not a murderer, and that I never meant to do any of the things I did."
"I see. What is your opinion, Defense Counsel?"
It was Kuroo Musashi's turn to stand, either completely ignoring Karasuda's burning stare or blissfully unaware of it. "I concur with the accused," Musashi stated firmly. "He was not involved in either homicide, nor was he involved in solicitation, negligent driving causing injury, and hit and run. Therefore, he is not guilty as charged."
He's pleading not guilty for any of the charges?! Kindaichi was alarmed. He... He must feeling extremely confident. Not many people knew this, but Japan's ninety-nine percent conviction rate was largely owed to the fact that indictment rate hovered at a measly thirty-seven percent. That meant the shiny ninety-nine percent statistic represented the proportion of convicted persons divided by the number of indicted persons and nothing more. We only prosecute when we're sure we can prove their guilty beyond reasonable doubt. Sakusa is the best example of this. Prosecutors had the burden on proof stifling them—if a public prosecutor failed to prove a fact necessary to find the accused guilty, that fact was considered to be non-existent and hugely advantageous to the accused.
Musashi had no more to say.
"Now," Mahiro spoke. "We shall commence with examination of the evidence. Please make your opening statement, Prosecutor Karasuda."
May 23rd, 2018
"My father is a psychopathic bastard." Noriko did not mince her words. She never was the type to. Her eyes, though—they spooked Sakusa, though he would never admit it. They were the eyes of a woman who had lost everything—who'd had everything she ever valued stripped away from her. Midorima pressed his palms against the plastic barrier, and Sakusa resisted the urge to whip out some antibacterial wet wipes and clean the screen, scrubbing particularly hard over Noriko's face. But he didn't—Sakusa listened instead. "He killed my mother. I didn't see her die, but the last time I saw her, he was beating her with one of his golf clubs." Her lips twisted in a grimace. "Don't bother looking for it—he got rid of it years ago. Melted it down."
"How did chronic illness become the reason, then?" Sakusa asked, out of genuine curiosity than anything else.
"My mother had a respiratory disease," Noriko revealed. "She was constantly in poor health, so it wasn't a stretch for her to finally succumb to sickness." Those eyes—so, so hollow. "He... My father... He made my uncle submit a false report. My uncle had to cut his own sister apart and lie about her death."
"He did this to protect you." Midorima winced. "I—God, Noriko..."
"Uncle knew what my father was capable of doing to me. He didn't want me to suffer the same fate as my mother. He has connections, you know—they would wave off the suspicion of my death if they needed to."
Sakusa arched a brow. "Who exactly is 'they'? Can you give us any names?"
"I don't know the extent of his network." Noriko looked at him wearily. "But I know a few key figures."
"Who?"
"The Minister of Justice is a big one."
Sakusa's eyes widened. The Minister of Justice... One of the highest authorities in the legal system. He was corrupt? Someone that high up was pulling strings for Daizen? He swore. "The Minister of Justice—"
"Put me in my position," finished Noriko. "Honestly, do you think someone my age—no matter how qualified—would be able to become Prosecutor-General without nepotism being in play?"
"Oh, I knew. But until now, they were just faceless bastards."
Midorima fiddled with his watch, as if contemplating something nervously. Finally, he said, "I received a lot of support during my transition to Chief Prosecutor. The politicians that vouched for me... I have no doubt your father was involved as well. Maybe mine was, too."
"Actually," Sakusa said. "Your father doesn't seem like the type to do anything stupid like that. Mahiro-san as I knew him isn't the sort of power-hungry politician that would do this kind of thing."
Midorima smiled, weakly. "If that's true, then I'm glad. Noriko, how long has this corruption been happening?"
"In relation to me," Noriko answered. "Since I was seventeen. A little before my mother's death, my father organized a meeting between the Minister and I during one of his social events."
Sakusa remembered that party. It was the same one where he had been introduced to a world of lies and schemes. He still remembered Luke Swan's handsome smirk as he offered him a baggie of snow purer than the Swan bloodline.
Luke Swan died of an overdose three years ago.
So that was when it all started... Sakusa hummed, thoughtful. The Minister of Justice was a big spider in the web. He wasn't necessarily looking to take him down at the same time as Daizen and Shō, but they needed enough evidence for an inquiry to be launched. And we can succeed. For now, we have to focus on what's in front of us. "Is there anyone else you can name?"
There were, and Noriko listed them. Midorima took note of them on his phone.
"There is... one more person," Noriko uttered, uncertainly. "I don't think you'll like to hear it very much, though, Sakusa-san."
"No need to spare my feelings," Sakusa droned. "You've never cared for them, so don't start now."
"Hah!" Noriko cackled mirthlessly. "You never had room for me in your heart, and I never had room for you in mine. Very well, then—it's your precious aunt. Judge... No, I should say... Justice Terano Maki."
Perhaps it should have hurt more. Perhaps Noriko had wanted to hurt him with her words, because they were the only thing left she could hurt him with. But Sakusa didn't shy from her, meeting her worn gaze with nothing but peace. "I figured," he said with no inflection in his tone. That woman climbed too fast within a short amount of time considering the gender bias in the system. "She would do anything to advance her career. I thought you were the same as her, once. But you're not. I feel like... You'd be content with a simple life, Hirakawa."
Noriko tilted her head. "You're not wrong. But I was doomed to Prosecutor-General." She said it as if the heralded position were a curse. "Being in such power... meant that my father had yet another layer to protect himself with. That was all I was meant to be—some... shield."
The topic that they would naturally swerve into approached. Midorima was the one who tested the waters. "Noriko... Do you think you can tell us about your sister?"
"Ah..." Noriko rubbed her cheeks roughly. "My real sister, or the fake?"
"The real one."
"The fake will be testifying anyway," Sakusa added. Kuroo Rina would tell the world everything they needed to know when that time came. The pieces are all falling into place now.
"My sister..." Noriko heaved a sigh. "If I am my father's shield, then Shion was his sword. He groomed her to be his successor. He taught her his ways. How to manipulate, lie, con. How to strong-arm others into submission. How to succeed him. He never... He never touched her the way he did to me. My sister was the only person my father was ever capable of loving, and even then it was purely conditional. When she broke those conditions, the love all went away.
"Shion took after my father. She was headstrong and... refused to let him control her. She rebelled. She rebelled for years before my father couldn't take it anymore. He beat her within an inch of death and locked her away with the intention of only letting her out if she submitted. But Shion refused. I..." A fresh wave of tears were brimming in her golden gaze. "I love her so much. She's my big sister. But then father started saying he loved me, and even though I knew it was all a lie, I wanted to believe it so bad.
"Father tried to make me into another Shion. But... I could never live up to her. Whenever I failed, he would threaten me—threaten me with Shion or mother but mostly Shion. He said he would kill her, and after he killed mother—killed her for absolutely no reason—I knew he wouldn't spare Shion if I ever disobeyed him. Not even marrying you, Shintaro, could've freed me."
Sakusa didn't need to feel Midorima's tremble to sense his rage. He could see it in the way the muscles in his face tightened.
"That fucking scumbag," he hissed, eyes narrowed hatefully behind his glasses. "I—if I'd known about everything—"
"Shh, shh," Noriko hushed him, "It's alright, Shintaro. I made sure that you would never know. You made good deductions about my situation, but there were things you could have never figured out on your own." She glanced between her husband and Sakusa. "Together, though... No, it's too late for that."
Sakusa bit his lip, grateful for his mask. "Years too late."
"Better late than never and so forth, though, right?" Midorima was oddly optimistic. "We're here now."
Sakusa blinked; it suddenly occurred to him that there was some sense in Midorima's words and optimism. "Yes, yes we are."
"I know where Shion is," said Noriko. "She's locked in the basement underneath our family home in Sendai. The keys are in my father's office, the top drawer. It's unlocked."
"And you never bothered to steal them?"
"How could I? He would hunt us down and murder us. And we all knew it—hence the lax security. Please, find her—but don't get my father arrested just yet. Or else he'll admit to keeping her locked up, but deny everything else."
Midorima palmed his knees, leaning forward until his green bangs brushed the protective screen. "Everything else? Like your mother's murder?"
Noriko nodded, balking. "Yes, but not only that."
"Right." They looked to Sakusa, who had spoken. "There's the issue of...
"Kageyama Miwa's murder."
May 31st, 2018
"The evidence will be examined. The prosecution has the floor. Prosecutor Karasuda, please explain the evidence in detail," Mahiro ordered, steepling his fingers. To Atsumu, the judge's voice was slurred, but he knew it was only his imagination. He lifted a hand to pat his chest, trying to calm his racing heart.
Chinen pressed a button on the remote control she was holding, and the screen at the front of the room lit up. A close-up picture of a knife appeared—the murder weapon that Shō had slain Oikawa with.
Karasuda said as much. "This kitchen knife was discarded nearby where the victim's body was found. The accused was wearing gloves when he used it to kill Oikawa-san, as supported by a written confession."
"That is nothing more than conjecture from the prosecution," rebutted Musashi, arch in tone. "The 'written confession' you are referring is the handwritten note discovered in Oikawa-san's middle school locker, correct? As it is, it is merely circumstantial that my client supposedly murdered him. During the investigation, a PET scan of my client's brain was conducted. It should be noted that Shō-san is clinically depressed. It is not unreasonable for him to have suffered a psychotic break if he suffered extreme emotional stress during the time he wrote the note."
"The extreme stress caused by murdering the victim."
"A very low possibility. It is much likelier that Shō-san was feeling the negative effects of losing his wife and children in a car accident and thus, when the news of Oikawa-san's death was broadcasted, compelled to hand-write a false confession in his delusion." Musashi clasped his hands behind his back. "The late Oikawa-san was someone who Shō-san knew on a slight personal level. The survivor's guilt he felt toward his family was subconsciously projected onto the victim."
"It is difficult to believe that the accused would confess to killing a boy he knew briefly during his career but not his family."
"His family died long before the victim did—naturally, the fresher death imprinted itself onto Shō-san. The outcome was this note—a false confession."
Karasuda leered at his longtime rival. "The possibility of the confession being true must not be dismissed by the defense so soon. Alongside the note, there is witness testimony to support the legitimacy of the murder weapon. Dr. Miyazawa Kazuhito can attest to this, seeing as he was responsible for falsifying forensic evidence during the investigation of the victim's death."
"I see." Mahiro flipped through his court document. "I call Miyazawa Kazuhito to the stand as a witness."
Atsumu could almost hear Miyazawa's aged joints creak as he stood, ambling over to the witness stand. He clutched the sides of the wooden stands to steady himself, a strand of gray hair curling at his forehead.
"Will the witness declare his name and occupation?" requested Karasuda, proceeding with the identity check.
"My name is Miyazawa Kazuhito. I work for the NPA as a coroner," stated Miyazawa, coolly. Atsumu glanced briefly to the right—just in time to see Shirabu scowl at the witness.
"Do you swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth?"
"I do."
"I will remind you that offering false testimony will result in punishment for perjury. Additionally, you have the right to to refuse to answer any questions that may incriminate you or your relatives."
A bit too late for that, Atsumu thought, sardonic. He shifted in his seat, shoulder bumping against Sakusa's momentarily.
The questioning began. The process was painfully arduous, but Atsumu managed to sit through it without zoning out for prolonged periods of time. At some point, it had become less about Shō's guilt and more about the rivalry between the prosecution and the defense, but the focus still remained on the case. The next time Atsumu started paying attention again, a new subject evidence had been brought up.
"This is a clay pig belonging to Hirakawa Noriko," Chinen introduced, gesturing to the screen, which now displayed a picture of the art piece. "Noriko-san made sure that Iwaizumi-san's finger prints would be on the surface of the pig before handing it to Miyazawa-sensei. Once the murder weapon came his way for examination, it was using this pig that Miyazawa-sensei was able to get a hold of Iwaizumi-san's finger prints and plant them on the knife. The report was also written personally by Miyazawa-sensei and signed off to pose as legitimate paperwork." Chinen turned to Miyazawa. "Is this correct, Miyazawa-sensei?"
Miyazawa nodded. "It is."
"That is all."
During the cross-examination, Musashi sunk his claws into Miyazawa. "Sensei, you claim that the autopsy report you signed off had all been done by yourself. I ask you: Who delivered the report to Karasuda-san back in 2012, when Karasuda-san was the prosecutor in charge of the case?"
"That..." Miyazawa wracked his brains. "If my memory serves me correctly... That would've been my old friend on the investigation team, Wada Gorou. Unfortunately, he has long since passed."
"Yes, I see," mused Musashi. "The delivery process would've taken... a few hours, perhaps? More or less. Enough time for the report to be tampered."
Miyazawa flinched. "Excuse me? Why would the report be tampered? It was a fake report, there didn't need to be any more tampering."
"I bring this up," Musashi explained. "Because several inconsistencies were noted when we read the report. Grammatical errors, misuse of kanji, overabundance of hiragana writing, lack of continuity in the DNA section of the report... It casts doubt onto the original state of the report that a seasoned pathologist like you would make such juvenile mistakes."
"The witness was not in a good frame of mind," Karasuda bit out, glaring daggers at Miyazawa to warn him to stay silent before he could unwittingly give the defense the advantage. "After having to operate on his sister's body and illegally cooperating with Hirakawa Noriko to get away with murder, of course Miyazawa-sensei's mind would not be functioning at one-hundred percent."
"It does not take one-hundred percent of Miyazawa-sensei's cognitive abilities to provide a sound report, especially one with as many stakes riding on it as it did. Therefore, it is not impossible—in fact, it is highly possible—that the report was tampered by the deceased police officer Miyazawa-sensei named and cannot be taken at face value as supporting evidence of Miyazawa-sensei's testimony. I ask the judging panel to keep this in consideration."
Four of the lay judges and one of the justices lowered their heads as they wrote something down on their notepads.
"Then Hirakawa Noriko will testify," proposed Karasuda.
Mahiro, too, scribbled on his paper before announcing, "I call Hirakawa Noriko to the stand as a witness."
Like a fawn walking into a lion's den, Noriko's legs trembled as she approached the stand, Miyazawa moving out of the way for her. Her eye caught Shō's, and Atsumu could've sworn she mouthed a forlorn apology to him before getting seated and patting her skirt down.
Shō didn't reply her.
Chinen took over—spur of the moment, judging by the filthy look Karasuda threw her way. "Will the witness please declare her name and occupation?"
Noriko's throat convulsed in anxiety as she spoke. "My name is Hirakawa Noriko. Up until the ninth of May, I was the Prosecutor-General of Japan. Currently, I would describe myself as unemployed."
After swearing oath and being reminded of her rights, the questioning recommenced.
"Noriko-san." Karasuda regained control. "Please explain to us how you were able to extract Iwaizumi-san's finger prints onto the pig."
"I put on a high school uniform and faked a confession," Noriko said, brow tilting upward as she made a pitiful expression. "I gave the clay pig to him. Before he got home from volleyball practice on the night of the victim's death, I retrieved the pig by sneaking into his house. I went through his bedroom window on the second floor—there was a tree I climbed. Then I took the pig to my uncle and left the rest up to him."
"So you admit to being an accomplice in the murder of Oikawa Tooru?"
Noriko exhaled. "Yes. I do. Shō asked me, and I couldn't refuse."
"Why couldn't you refuse?"
"Because of the nature of our relationship."
Atsumu's lips fixed into a grimace. If that was what it sounded like, then Shō was even worse than he had thought.
"And what," Karasuda tread lightly, "exactly was the nature of your relationship around the time of the murder?"
"He was like a father to me," Noriko explained. Atsumu breathed a sigh of relief. "I loved him as one. After I got married, we saw each other less frequently, but I still loved him. When he asked me to do this for him... I... I just couldn't say no."
"Do you know how Shō committed the crime?"
"Other than what I've read in the reports, no. But I did procure for him a drug from my family's pharmaceutical subsidiary—one that would incapacitate the victim to make him easier to... easier to kill. It would not have been able to be detected by forensic equipment during that time. As of now, with technological improvements, the drug has been rendered obsolete."
Karasuda held up a sealed bag with a single pill in it, a typed up report in his other hand. "Is this the drug?"
"Yes. That's the drug."
"I had it tested by forensics," Karasuda informed the court. "And compared the outcomes of using old equipment from 2012 to equipment from this year. This written report will back up Noriko-san's statement—the drug was indeed unable to be picked up by the outdated equipment."
"Please read it to the court," ordered Mahiro, in accordance to the Code of Criminal Procedure, Article 305. Atsumu had searched it up when Sakusa had mentioned it in passing.
Karasuda did, only stopping when Mahiro declared that he'd heard enough. The solicitation charge was practically in the bag in Atsumu's opinion. Kuroo Musashi seemed to understand this, too, but the lawyer had bigger fish to fry.
The cross-examination inevitably came around.
"Ah, Noriko-san," Musashi began, pleasantly polite as always. "You stated that you are unsure of the processes my client took to allegedly murder the victim. Is this correct?"
Noriko glowered at him. "That is correct."
"So you have no real way of knowing whether or not Shō-san committed the crime after you gave him the drug."
"No, I... I mean, yes. But it seems fairly obvious to me."
Musashi tutted. "I did not ask you, witness, for your opinion. Did you—or do you—have any way to track what happened to the drug after you gave it to my client?"
"I do not."
"Then is it not safe to say that no traces of the drug were picked up in the victim's body because there were no traces?"
"Objection!" Karasuda growled. "The report the prosecution presented clearly stated that the drug was unable to be detected by the forensic equipment used during the 2012 investigation."
"Yes, which shouldn't make a difference at all. It just proves that if the drug had been administered to the victim, it would not have been detected. Had the drug not been administered, the result would have been the same. The odds for either event are equal."
"But the witness, Noriko-san, testified that the accused had verbally communicated that he intended to kill the victim. The phone call records we played earlier proves that."
"Intent to kill is not the same as actually killing," Musashi pointed out. "In the spur of great emotions such as anger and grief, we are prone to say things we do not mean. To sum it up, it is impossible to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Shō-san used the drug or the weapon against the victim. Nothing further."
Musashi was good. Atsumu didn't have to be knowledgeable in law to see that Karasuda was losing against his rival. He chanced a look at Sakusa—was he worried? No—at least not outwardly. He seemed... calm.
Mahiro moved on. "Next—"
Atsumu gripped his knees, fighting the urge to grin in premature victory. Here it comes.
"—I call Chen Jianhong to the stand as a witness."
"What?!" Shō shouted.
A/N: A little trivia about the Japanese criminal process sprinkled in this chapter. I am taking some creative liberties with the length of the trial (on average, criminal trials last around 13 days) but the information should be accurate. I think. I hope. If it isn't, just chalk it up to my dumbassery.
In case anyone is wondering why Sho's recorded testimony was not brought up, it's because of Article 38, which was mentioned a few chapters back. The independent court ruled that Sho's confession was acquired under inappropriate circumstances and was rejected.
In unimportant news, I cut my long hair short, into a bowl cut like Ui Koori's from Tokyo Ghoul (my absolute favorite TG character) lol since it's the middle of summer in Australia rn. Am honoring Goshiki in death AGAAHAHAAHAHA. I look kinda like Dora, though. The one that explores. Hm.
Yes, the next chapter is called 'Executioner', I am not sorry.
