Fluorescent lighting. That's all I'm going to be able picture in my mind's eye when I look back on my time in district courtroom number three. The chamber is soaked in the unnatural, flickering light. With no windows we could very well be miles underground - which I suppose is appropriate - this unnecessary formality will become my tomb.

Fidgeting uncomfortably I glance around the room already oversaturated with murmuring voices. Despite how crowded the room seems to be, many of the chairs are unoccupied, including the divided front row of the public gallery - which is reserved for the friends and family of criminal and victim alike. Though, I have no idea if Tatsuo's family will be here.

A reassuring hand closes over my shoulder. "You doing okay? Won't be long now, waiting is always the hardest part." My grandfather's voice and touch seem to anchor me somewhat, and for the moment the air no longer feels so heavy.

I shrug, he sits behind me, our bodies separated by the table on which his paperwork is liberally scattered. I'm reminded of my own desk back at Yamaku, and a small part of me is happy to know that untidiness runs in the family.

"Well actually the chairs here might be the hardest part," he chuckles, but it feels forced. "Every courtroom I go to, they always pick the most uncomfortable seating they can find. I suppose they think it keeps people honest."

"Those chairs don't look so bad," I say, nodding towards the raised stand, behind which sit three very comfortable looking black recliners.

"Well the judges are afforded more than their fair share of comfort." His gruff voice evaporates into another laugh, but this time he doesn't seem to need to pretend. "Then again, the last thing you want is your judges to be irritable. Anyway it would appear you have some visitors."

I look around wildly, before I finally catch his amber eyes across the wooden fence that separates the pantomime of justice from it's voyeuristic audience.

He made it.

Hisao smiles at me nervously, adjusting his tie. He looks good in a suit. It's probably inappropriate, but admiring my boyfriend's slightly short brown jacket is a welcome distraction. In fact his mere presence is gloriously thought-consuming. I wonder what his parents think of all this? I mean, they must have given him permission to take a break from school - but do they know the reason why? If they do, I suspect I won't be baking any cakes with his mother for quite awhile.

But he's not alone. True to her word Ikuno slips into the seat beside him, her dress practically screaming: 'I cost more than your car'. I almost find myself laughing as she's joined by Ryouta, who by contrast looks like he borrowed his suit from his dad. He probably did. Regardless of attire he throws me a massive grin and an exuberant thumbs up, much to the mixed horror and amusement of my other friends.

I smile back, suddenly feeling like things might actually be okay. Wouldn't hurt to hope right?

My comfortably empty thoughts are interrupted by a sharp sting of realisation as I look at my boyfriend, or more accurately I look at who isn't sitting near him, or anywhere in the hall for that matter. My parents. They must know the trial is today, there's just no universe in which grandad would not have told my mum at least. So is their absence some kind of statement? Is it because I didn't phone them after I confessed? I should have, I know I should have. But I grow out of the notion that my mum and dad were people I could turn to long ago.

Honestly, that's what they get when they task their daughter with raising herself.

I shake my head, hoping no one notices as I try and dislodge that disgusting thought. I should have said something, hell they might even think I'm the one who abandoned them. I should have asked my grandfather last night, we were after all stuck in a car in uncomfortable silence for hours. Why are my thoughts always lagging so far behind my actions? Twisting like old rope my phantom limb asserts itself painfully, mocking my self pity in it's own not so subtle way. Crossing my arms I push the remainder of the limb into my stomach, hoping no one will notice.

"Miki," my grandfather says softly from behind me, "they will be here later, once Miss Kita collects them."

Slightly stunned I twist in my seat, turning around to meet a familiar smile. I used to hate that look, It's the look he always gave me when I told him everything at home was fine, despite rather obvious evidence to the contrary. Our fingers briefly touch across the table, a moment of stillness in which I allow myself to wince, my missing appendage cooling slowly like an ingot of molten iron.

The creak of a door draws my attention away from my guardian and the pain. Striding confidently out of the shadowy corridor directly opposite me a woman emerges, she reminds me forcibly of a raven as she takes her seat at the desk mirroring my grandfather's. So this is the prosecution?

Pulling file after file from her bag I watch her closely, mesmerised by her graceful movements as she arranges everything perfectly in front of her. It's hard to reconcile, but for some people this is just another day at the office. Still, there's something sinister about her, I can't quite put my finger on what it is. Perhaps it's how angular everything about her seems to be, her lips, cheekbones even the winkles collected at the corners of her eyes seem to have been drawn by a ruler. Yet far from trying to hide this oddity, she seems to have chosen to accentuate it. Her silken black hair is trimmed perfectly to complement the strange collection of angles and straight lines which is her face. Despite looking like a neat sketch of one of death's agents she smiles at me politely, inclining her head to my grandfather.

She's like a damn raven.

An expectant silence falls over the courtroom, broken occasionally by the rustle of clothes or a muffled cough. It's a surreal feeling, a bit like waking up in the hospital after my accident. Sitting exposed and centre stage I feel completely discounted - as if I were experiencing the scene through someone else's eyes. The pain in my hand dies down to mere prickles, the phantom so caught up in the anticipation permeating the room it forgot for a moment its otherwise singular goal of hurting me.

I wonder if imagining a known medical phenomena as a separate entity living inside me strengthens or weakens my case? Perhaps best not mention it.

Before I have much time to dwell on the question of my sanity there is a sound like a thousand broken violins, as dozens of chairs are pushed back against the marble by their rising occupants. I, however, falter. Until my granddad pokes me sharply in the back. Taking the hint I jump to my feet, just in time to see the first robbed figure slide solemnly into the room. One black-clad judge after another filters into the space behind their chairs until all three of them are peering out over the crowd, seeming more like ministers at a funeral than judges at a trial.

I briefly catch the eye of the middle - and most important - judge, his faded green pupils announce his age clearly, as if the grey hair and wrinkles were not obvious enough. I wonder if seniority is a deciding factor in who gets to be a head judge, when this guy pops his clogs will the two men either side of him compare birth dates for right of ascension? I suppose it's a bit much to ask to have a women judge me alongside these old relics.

Prompted by some invisible signal the judges bow, displaying to the court a complete gradient of greying hair all the way through to wispy white. I incline my head slightly, unsure if I'm supposed to be returning the gesture. Though it hardly seems to matter, the justices seem more interested in their plush chairs than the social niceties.

The room seems to exhale collectively as we sink back into our seats, following in the wake of the judges who look relieved to be off of their feet. I can't say I'm completely thrilled to return to my own numbing chair, but I put on what I hope is an indifferent, yet confident expression.

My gaze drifts from Hisao, to my friends, onto the prosecution and finally coming to rest on the wispy haired centre judge, who clears his throat gently, pulling a microphone closer towards his mouth. "Good morning." His voice is warm and soft, but delivered with the authority of a drill sergeant. "I believe we are ready to begin?" He pauses, looking to his colleagues. Neither of whom seem to have any objections, so he continues, now looking directly at me. "At this time I ask the defendant please rise and state her full name clearly for the court records."

I don't need to be poked this time to get unsteady to my feet. "Miura Miki, your honour." I say quietly, surprised that my muffled voice is picked up so well by the overhead microphones.

"Very good, you may be seated Miss Miura." The judge gives me the smallest of smiles, before turning towards the raven featured women perched on the edge of her seat. "Will the prosecution please state her name and read aloud the charges."

"Kasumi Karasu your honour." She pauses, picking up a sheet of paper, "The defendant is accused of committing perjury in an official statement, under article one-six-nine, on the fourth of June this year."

What a mouthful.

Miss Karasu sits down looking indecently self-satisfied. I promptly look away, lamenting the fact that the prosecutor who gave me my interview shortly after detective Harada's interrogation isn't here. While he wasn't exactly kind, he at least seemed to approach his job with the solemness it deserved. Unlike my current prosecutor, who seems to see this courtroom as a giant game - one she already thinks she's won. Behind galactic emperor she probably has Shizune's dream job.

"Very good, very good." The judge who spoke before nods appreciatively, his hand moving slowly as he pens a note onto some unseen piece of paper. I'm not sure why he would need to, given there is young woman typing away quietly almost directly below him. You probably don't make head judge if you rely on someone else's notes.

Seemingly pleased with whatever he has written the judge continues, "My name is Yamasaki. I will be overseeing these proceedings." He pauses for a moment, as if waiting to see if there are any objections to his gentle tone. "I will be assisted by Mr Yoshida," he nods to the man on his right, "and by Mr Fukui." The small man lowers his head slightly, his face like crumpled silk offering no obvious emotion.

With his colleagues introduced Judge Yamasaki's attention returns to me. "Miss Miura as the defendant you are granted a number of rights. You have the right to a fair and speedy trial, to have council with your defence and the right to remain silent if you so wish, do you understand?"

Despite recent experience I still require a sharp poke in the back to cause me to stop nodding and lurch unsteadily to my feet. Reassuringly only slight amusement or downright indifference crosses the face of the judges. "I understand your honour." I say quickly, wincing at how flustered my voice sounds. Embarrassed I bend to sit down again, only to receive yet another sharp poke from my grandfather.

Smiling softly the head judge continues, "How do you pled to the charges laid against you by the prosecution?"

"Guilty," I say a nervously, half expecting him to tell me I'm wrong. I don't know if it's a wise plea, but I honestly can't see more lies helping.

"Very well. Miss Miura from here on out you may remain seated," he smirks, "and need only rise for our final verdict."

Slowly I sit down slowly; expecting another prod.

"The prosecution will now make its case against the accused. Miss Karasu you may begin when you are ready." The judge settles back into his chair, making a cage with his delicate fingers as he looks expectantly to the prosecutors table.

"Thank you your honour," Karasu's words ring crisply through the muted hall, sounding more like an actress than a lawyer. "Ladies and gentlemen," she announces rising from her chair gracefully. "Perjury may at first seem a fairly minor crime, one that leaves no victims, that has little impact in the real world. Yet you only have to scratch a little deeper under the skin of this apparent misdemeanour to see the truth of this malicious and deceitful act."

Is this rehearsed?

"Miss Miura's actions have wasted police time, distracting an already overstretched force from much more pressing matters. Her actions have squandered police resources, again depriving those who truly need the aid. But perhaps the most heinous result of Miss Miura's deliberate actions is the uncertainty that has been forced upon the grieving Takahashi family, whose only son tragically died in the accident that the defendant chose to lie about."

She pauses for a long moment, letting her opening gambit sink into the crowd. I twist in my seat, looking to my grandfather to see his reaction. Not good, would be an understatement. Yet he rearranges his face back into one of neutral interest, smiling softly and gesturing for me to turn around. Which I do, only to come face to face with Miss Karasu, who appears to have been waiting for me.

"Before I call my first witness I would like to ask you a few questions Miss Miura."

I nod slowly, distracted by the faint hint of perfume radiating from her.

"Were you surprised to find a detective waiting in the office of your school therapist when you arrived on the fourth of June Miss Miura?"

I faultier, thrown off by the apparent randomness of her question. "No." I say tentatively. Be honest, show remorse… that's all I can do.

"So this was an arranged meeting?"

Again I nod, not sure if I'm supposed to give verbal answers or not.

"And did your therapist organise for you to meet the detective, or did you? Perhaps even your grandfather, I understand he is acting as your lawyer and guardian?"

"No, I mean..." I pause, allowing myself to take a breath. "I requested the meeting, and Dr Ueda arranged it." While feeling relieved that I managed to get the answer out in a coherent manner, I can't help but feel troubled by the tail end of her question. It's probably pretty obvious just from watching our interactions that grandad and I are related, and based on our respective ages it's probably not hard to guess how. But how could she know he acts as my guardian?

"So it would be fair to say you had plenty of time to prepare to make your statement?" She smiles softly, almost kindly at me. "I just want to be absolutely clear on this point, you yourself arranged the meeting with ample time to prepare your statement beforehand?"

I nod once, "Yes."

"And so you knew your statement to be false before you made it?"

I don't answer, my head to full of the implications of my reply. Dammit. I don't know how to respond. I want to be honest, I want to tell the truth and avoid being the incomplete person my dad warned me about. But at the same time honesty here could put me behind bars, She's expecting an answer, everyone is… I'm just making it worse.

"I didn't mean to hurt anybody." I say quietly, though my voice is picked up by the microphones well enough.

"That wasn't what I asked Miss Miura."

I'm going to regret this. My eyes flicker to Hisao, desperate to find some kind of reassurance there. He nods slowly, I let my gaze linger awhile longer, knowing all of a sudden what I really hope to find on his beautiful face - forgiveness.

"Yes," I say defeatedly, hanging my head.

"Think you Miss Miura." She sounds sincere, but I only have to peer up at her face to see the truth. She's barely able to contain her glee, it's like seeing Emi after she's a won a race, but a twisted abomination of my friend's joy, grafted onto a face that was never made for it. In a swift moment Miss Karasu is facing the judges, acting for all the world like the rest of the room no longer exists.

"Your honour, I would like to call my first witness." She almost sings the words.

"Very well." To my surprise the black robed judge answers, showing no obvious sign that he has been swayed either way by the questions. "Doctor Ueda, if you would kindly take the stand."

There's a collective shift of gaze through the room as my therapist, looking very dapper in a green suit and silver tie rises and makes his way down through the curious public gallery. His face is impassive as he steps through the small wooden gate that separates the observers from the observed, but I can't help but notice he twirls his wisp-white beard loosely around his finger. Is he nervous?

Karasu stares thoughtfully at the doctor as he takes his place behind the lectern in front of both myself and the judges. "Doctor Ueda," she begins, pleasantly enough but an air of cold calculation is present on her smiling face. "I wonder if you could describe your relationship to the accused?"

"I am Miss Miura's therapist," he replies calmly, "a role I have held since her first week at Yamaku Academy."

"So it would be fair to say you are well acquainted with the defendant's mental health?"

"I am," Dr Ueda replies, "I doubt you will find anyone else with a more comprehensive understanding of Miss Miura's physiological development over the last year and a half."

"That's excellent, as I'm sure you're aware an important aspect of determining a person's guilt is to understand their mindset when the offence occurred." The prosecutor throws me a weak smile over the doctor's shoulder. "Was the person in question able to discern fact from fiction? To understand right from wrong, to act, in other words as a sane and reasonable person?"

Dr Ueda seems to consider Miss Karasu for a moment, eyeing her up and down as he would one of his patients. Finally he inclines his head a fraction of an inch, universal therapist sign language for 'Please continue.'.

"How would you describe Miss Miura mental state on the fourth of June?" Karasu asks.

"As I remember Miss Miura was understandably nervous before giving her statement, at the time I think she was simply relieved to close the door on the accident and move on with her life."

"So you do not believe her alleged memory loss was a contributing factor to her false statement?" The raven faced lawyer moves her fingers thoughtfully to her chin, staring intently at her witness. As if waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

"I did not say that." His tone is flat, but his irritation creeps in regardless. "Miss Miura is suffering from Dissociative Amnesia, this condition often occurs in cases of extreme trauma. For example, a particularly vicious mugging or sexual assault. Or, as in Miss Miura's case a vehicular collision which resulted in life-changing injuries."

Glancing briefly in my direction he continues, "As you can imagine a condition such as this is incredibly difficult to treat, however we were making good progress with her recollections, hence why she asked to make her statement."

"Your desire to protect your patient is admirable doctor, but in your professional capacity I would like you to answer my simple question: Did her condition effect Miss Miura's decision making process on the fourth of June?" Her words are not angry, not touched by any emotion really. They are just hard and cold, demanding attention and respect in equal measure.

"I do not believe so."

"So then, why do you believe she lied?"

"Self preservation," Dr Ueda replies simply. "I don't believe she acted maliciously, just out of fear and uncertainty. Both of which would have been heightened by her condition."

"But didn't you just-"

"You asked if Miss Miura was able to make her own decisions, I believe she was." The doctor interrupts, "But it would be foolish to assume that the accident, the Dissociative Amnesia and the loss of a limb did not have an effect on what she chose to do. I imagine you are aware of the term extenuating circumstances?"

"Perfectly." Miss Karasu replies, struggling to keep the venom from her normally composed voice. She's not as good at this as she thinks. "Yet I wonder if you believe, as I do, that Miss Miura's actions were as a direct result of the information withheld from her?" Licking her lips she smiles, "After all, you agreed to keep the police report from your patient, presumably at her grandfather's request. I can see how she would have difficulties regaining her lost memories under that arrangement."

A snap of wood striking mahogany rings through the courtroom before anyone has the chance to respond. I had almost forgotten judges were present, given the argument occurring right in front of me. There's a brief silence before the head judge beings to speak, resonating absolute authority with each syllable. "Miss Karasu, you will kindly watch what you are inferring. Even if your witness if not giving you answers you personally find satisfactory."

The raven-faced prosecutor looks like she's just been slapped, much to the barely concealed delight of Dr. Ueda. I'm not bold enough to do it, but I'm fairly sure if I turned around I would see the same smile on my grandfather's face. Instead I sneak a glance in the direction of my friends, who offer reassuring smiles and a mouthed 'Ohhh burn.' from Ryouta - Ever the master of subtlety.

"My apologies your honour. It wasn't my intention to accuse the witness of any crime. I'm simply interested in why he kept the details of a car crash from a young woman so desperate to remember them?" Karasu turns her attention back to Dr Ueda as she finishes her sentence, recovering quickly from her scolding.

"And how exactly is this relevant?" My grandfather's voice seems to warm the back of my neck, as he weighs in from behind me.

"It's relevant because it helps to explain why a young woman is left so tragically misinformed that she ends up in court for perjury. Had she been informed to begin with, as any decent guardian would have ensured, she would never have ended up in court. But then I should have known that our resident paragon of legal advice would fail once again when it came to defending his family, I sup-"

A boom echoes through the room as the gavel once again comes down on the desk. Only this time with significantly more force. "That is enough!" The leader of the judges roars, holding the tiny mallet above his head as if daring anyone to do anything that might call down its wrath once again. Despite his age he is an imposing sight, I try and sink down into my uncomfortable seat, lest his attention turn to me.

"Prosecutor Karasu, this is a trail, not a daytime soap! You will kindly keep your personal grievances out of my courtroom, unless you wish for me to have you removed. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes your honour," A long silence follows these words, Karasu seeming to realise she's pushed things just that little bit too far. "I fear I may have become a little impassioned, my sincerest apologies."

"Your sincerity remains to be seen." The judge replies, clearly unimpressed. "Miss Miura," Instinctively I start to rise, but stop when he holds up his hand, his face softening dramatically. "Please remain seated Miss Miura, I simply want to ask you about the police report, did you not inquire about it yourself?"

"Grandad offered to show me," I say nervously, not quite able to meet his eye. "But I didn't want to see it, I wanted to remember for myself."

"I see, and this is something you supported, Doctor Ueda?" His focus shifts to the therapist standing before him.

"I advised against it, but given that Miss Miura was seeing me voluntary, advising was all I could do." I catch his eye and receive a fond smile for my trouble. "Nonetheless Miss Miura has made remarkable process even without access to official reports."

"Do you have any further questions for your witness Miss Karasu?" The judge asks, still looking at her with a certain measure of disdain.

"No your honour."

"Well then, dismiss him and make any remaining comments."

While a thoroughly put-out Karasu is administering to the court I seize my opportunity to turn in my seat, getting a look at my grandfather's face for the first time since the trial began. He looks… furious? Anger the like of which I've never known seems to emanate from him, his muscles strained tight under his ever-present white shirt. "What did she mean about failing the family?" I whisper. Her words had me concerned, his reaction has me truly worried. What the hell is going on?

Isn't a trial significant enough drama for one day?

"Later Miki," he replies in a gruff whisper, "much later." He points me towards the judge dismissively.

I turn around tentatively, something definitely isn't right. But this is hardly the time to deal with it. Karasu is ready for whatever snide comments she has left to make, her expression harder than ever. We both take a deep breathe as she strides forth; seeking out the limelight.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have heard from the defendant's own mouth how she knowingly and purposely falsified her statement. We heard from her therapist how he believed Miss Miura to be fully competent when she was making her statement, and let us not forget he was witness to the entire interview, he never felt the need to intervene."

She pauses, her eyes narrowing in on my grandfather.

"By any standard Miss Miura is guilty, she has admitted as much herself. Her actions, for which she can only provide weak excuses have caused the misuse of both police time and resources. She has through her willing deception caused untold pain to an already grieving family. This fact should not be forgotten when it comes to assigning a sentence. I thank you for your time."

And with that she's finished. She returns to her seat with the same flourish she left it, her arms crossed over her chest and her gaze resolutely fixed just over my shoulder, her jaw fixed. Damn it! I can't be focusing on whatever is going on between this raven faced woman and my grandad, but her words are gnawing at me. It's unbelievable, she's more or less just demolished any case I can imagine my defence making. But it's her mention of my family that is occupying my thoughts.

"Very good, Prosecutor Karasu, thank you." The head judge is speaking again, "It's a little early for lunch, but I think the accused would welcome a chance to compose herself before this afternoons hearing, and both legal parties will benefit from some time to clear their heads. So that when they return their prior animosity will be left outside my courtroom, am I clear?"

Both lawyers reply politely, with assurances of improved behaviour from the prosecutor's table. None of which the judge looks like he believes. Nevertheless he and his silent cronies rise to their feet, before marching sombrely away. The room relaxes considerably once they are gone, and I waste no time in hurrying to Hisao.

"Hi." He says softly as he quickly stands up, our bodies separated by the wooden face that barely comes up to our knees. It would be so easy to hop over it and into his arms. Unfortunately - or fortunately I suppose, given the circumstances - a warm hand lands on my shoulder before I can act on my mad impulse.

"Miki, come away. You can't be here." Grandad says, applying a soft pressure to my shoulder, presumably to get me moving back to the small room we occupied before the trial began.

For a half a moment I consider resisting, but again I manage to quell the impulse. "I love you," I say softly. "I will see you after, okay? All of you." I try a reassuring smile, but manage only a sort of lopsided grimace.

"You'll be fine," Hisao manages to say, before I cave to the pressure on my shoulder and allow myself to be led away. I chance one last look at the door. What? Ikuno is speaking to my green suited therapist, my other friends looking on, apparently just as confused as I am. Does she know him? Unfortunately my window to wonder is extinguished as I'm pushed firmly through the door.

The small wood-paneled room feels noticeably less stuffy than the courtroom, despite the disparity in size. It must have something to do with the large cross-hatch window letting dappled sunlight dance across the table that occupies a majority of the space. I suppose on balance some privacy - even if it deprives me of my boyfriend - would be no bad thing. I have questions to ask, first: Did what that lawyer said have anything to do with my father?

And second: Will I be able to handle the answer?