Code Geass: Lazos de sangre

Chapter One:

Re;turn

When the city wanted to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of the death of Michele Manfredi by opening an exhibition, it was known that the guest of honor was going to be Euphemia li Britannia, the youngest daughter of magnate Charles zi Britannia, the most powerful and perhaps the most influential person of Pendragon. The woman had always been fascinated by supporting all kinds of social activities. However, the art galleries were special and when such news reached her ears: she didn't hesitate to accept. Attendance at the event was enthusiastic, as might be expected, as many were eager to meet and exchange words with Euphemia. Although the surname Britannia remained in the collective consciousness of the people for five decades and each time a related news appeared on digital portals, social networks, the press and television; it seemed that a mythical aura enveloped them, as if the Britannia were divinities who walks over the earth. Unfortunately, the status of a Britannia was very inconvenient for Euphemia. It was for this reason that she had not been able to enjoy the exhibition. Every so often she had to stop and talk to people who crossed her path and Euphemia was sorry to disappoint those who were happy to see her. After waving goodbye to a couple, she slipped down a corridor.

For a long time she had been walking through the framework of the exhibition, admiring the pictorial paradise in which she was when an irresistible desire to paint again, to take the brushes, soak them in watercolors and to caress the canvas with them invaded her. She loved to paint and she loved to surprise Cornelia with her paintings and she, of course, liked when her sister painted. Euphemia noticed that there were some people looking for her, so she subtly turned around to go somewhere else when...

"Hey! You can see, but not touch. I'm watching you, friend, and if I see you do it again: I'll kick you out of the exhibition," a guard warned.

He was saying this to a young man who was standing in front of a painting.

Euphemia had seen it before on two of her many laps. Since arriving at the exhibition, all he had done was settle there and indulge in the delightful exercise of contemplation. Intrigued to know what had captivated him, the young heiress sidled up. He was admiring The Fallen Angel, by Alexandre Cabanel, one of the many emblematic paintings that were expressly brought for the exhibition. The piece directed the viewer's attention to its central figure: Lucifer, the prince of darkness. The way Cabanel had chosen to paint the angel allowed one to appreciate the beauty of the male body: the marked muscles, the sculpted torso, the extended leg, the raised arms and the interlaced fingers hid most of his face, but not his gaze full of anger and contempt. His wings were much darker than those of the other angels flying away from him. They were the stigma of sin. Euphemia had observed this painting several times and although she liked the diffused light throughout the composition, the spectacular color and the work of the anatomy, she didn't consider it one of her favorite works. Not even the best of the artist.

"What is it that fascinates you so much about this painting?" Euphemia asked, determined to solve the mystery.

"What do you think?" The stranger in turn questioned. "What do you see in it?"

"Contained anger and pride, it's about the moment after Lucifer is expelled from heaven, right?"

"Of course, but you know it because you read the description of the great battle of the skies in the Apocalypse book or the epic poem by John Milton, in which Cabanel took inspiration to paint this since in the Bible it is a vague reference what we have . By how he tries to cover himself, I see shame. But it seems significant to me that his eyes are uncovered: it is a show of pride and frustration considering the readings. And, furthermore, I see pain reflected in them: Lucifer was the most beautiful of angels and the cleverest, his pride and his ambition led him to eternal damnation. On the one hand, he had lost his grace and had been banished forever from his home. From that moment on, he would have to live in hell and suffer. On the other hand, there is his father; would it have hurt him to exile Lucifer? Being so powerful, couldn't he stop this from ending like this? Was there no other punishment? They have never said it and I have always been curious. Lucifer surely felt abandoned by his father at that moment."

"So you are fascinated by the emotional layers of Lucifer's gaze?" She asked again.

The stranger smiled at her, amused.

"Does Lucifer seem demonic to you?"

"No, if it weren't for the wings: I'd say it's just a man," she replied after glancing at the painting.

She took her time analyzing every detail. It was possible that there was something about it that she hadn't noticed.

"That's it. Cabanel understood that the story of the fallen angel who rebelled against his father and was punished with exile was a human story. And he concentrated all the information in his gaze: his eyes tell us that the war in heaven was only the beginning, the true act of rebellion has not yet arrived and that his motivation will be revenge. Didn't he go to tempt Eva later? Isn't it extraordinary that a divine being can feel human emotions? Isn't it wonderfully creepy that we can feel so close to such a vile being as Satan? I've been standing here wondering how Cabanel knew to draw Lucifer in this position to convey these emotional charges and how he went about encoding the entire story into one image. And I think he knew it when he came to the conclusion that evil is not demonic, as the tradition that preceded it depicted Lucifer, the evil is human," he affirmed with growing emotion. "It's a painting about evil and, in my opinion, it's a perfect representation," he commented with a smile. Euphemia stared at him stunned, engulfed by the passion emanating from this man she had just met. The young man pinched the bridge of his nose, and then offered his hand. "Hell, my manners! I apologize for not introducing myself: I'm Lelouch."

The young heiress looked at his hand. It was pale and his fingers were long and slender. She looked up and studied his face: the shape of it reminded her of a diamond, mostly because of his sharp chin, and for a man his features were almost feminine. Far from appearing ridiculous to her, rather, they accentuated his appeal. His lips were thin. The lower one is slightly fleshy. Although, what captured her interest was his gaze. His eyes were piercing. Equal to two pieces of ice, in which a spark of fire peeked out. She smiled back at him and shook his hand. His grip was firm.

"Euphemia, you can call me Euphie," she added. Lelouch's smile broadened, he loosened his grip, and she withdrew her hand. For some reason, she felt particularly awkward. "Sorry, don't we know each other from somewhere? You look familiar to me".

"I don't think so: I haven't been in the city for seventeen years, although who knows. It's just that a pretty face like yours would be easy to remember."

"Oh! Thank you," Euphemia said, blushing.

"Don't thank me for anything: I heard someone say that compliment to someone else and I stole it to try and make a good impression," he confessed. Euphemia laughed at his honest confession.

"Did you mention that you were away for seventeen years? And since when are you here?"

"Mind telling me what time is it, please?"

"Sure! Uhm! It's twelve forty-five," she answered, checking the clock on her cell phone.

"Exactly five hours and five minutes. It was about seven o'clock when I arrived. Pendragon had just awakened. I unpacked the basics and left: I wanted to see how much everything had changed in my absence. I found out about the exhibition from the posters and I wanted to go and look at the paintings, at least until it was past noon and I had to have lunch."

"It's because you're an art lover, right? Well, I suppose because of the way you talk about painting," Euphemia explained shyly. Fearing she had been impulsive, she changed the subject. "Will you stay this time? Or is it temporary?"

"I'm going to stay: I'm not one of those who like to travel constantly. Fortunately, my job gives me certain autonomy. And I already wanted to go back to my hometown."

"In that case, from what I understand, I'm in charge of welcoming you since I'm the first one you talk to: I haven't been able to prepare anything, so I'll have to improvise, would you like us to go have lunch together? I know a restaurant that is nearby."

"Oh! You don't have to bother."

"It's not a bother: you said you'd go to eat after twelve and it's past noon, I wouldn't feel good if I distract you. You must be hungry. Imagine that this way you can continue to recognize the city from the hand of someone who lives in it. Besides, I haven't had lunch either. We wouldn't have a problem, unless you mind me bringing my bodyguards," She said. Lelouch noticed that there were two men in black a few feet away from them. "Sorry, they're ordered to accompany me wherever I go and I can't say no."

Lelouch looked back at the young heiress who was waiting anxiously. I would have been rude if he declined his invitation. The two of them (or all four) went to an Italian restaurant located on the corner of two streets beyond where the gallery was. Since it was his first time trying Italian food, Lelouch took Euphemia's advice and ordered fettuccine and tiramisu. The conversation had been developing meanwhile. Perhaps she had been reckless in suddenly inviting him; but lunch was a good way to prolong their encounter at the exhibition. Euphemia had a fascination for the handsome stranger that words couldn't describe and longed to get to know him thoroughly.

"Did you come alone?"

"No, I moved in with my little sister: Nunnally."

"Oh! And why isn't she with you?"

"She had other plans."

"I understand. I also have a sister: Cornelia, she is older than me. She should be at the art show. Unfortunately, she couldn't attend," she commented. Euphemia hadn't stopped smiling to the point where she remembered that her beloved sister hadn't been able to come because of work-related issues. She shook his head and returned her smile. "And what do you work on?"

"I'm a lawyer. I was thinking that later I could take a tour of the city and visit the offices for rent. Serving clients at home is not as dire as it sounds, but it isn't the best and the image of your workplace is a good cover letter: what they see is what they assume to find in you."

On this, the waitress served the dishes on the table, starting the banquet. Euphemia thought she had figured out why she felt so comfortable with him: Lelouch was a newcomer. He had no knowledge of who she was or who her relatives were. She could enjoy a talk in which the topics didn't revolve around his brothers or his father or his latest statements. She could shed her last names and her fame and just be Euphie. She could be herself. In any case, if he knew who she was, she was grateful that he was not showing curiosity since he hadn't intruded on her personal life. He had only asked a question or two about her tastes and that's it. So the course of the conversation had turned to art. Lelouch loved art, just as she had glimpsed. Although he had several favorite paintings from the romantic and baroque periods, when she questioned him about his favorite painter, he answered Francis Bacon. According to him, because he dared to explore the darkness of the human soul and managed to embellish grotesque and horrendous things like disfigured faces and dismembered bodies. They were so immersed in the work of Francis Bacon (speaking of violence, deformity, anxiety and blood) that it took them long to realize that they had finished eating. None of them cared.

"Don't you feel that the red in that painting is like that of blood? I have seldom seen a red as intense as this. It seems as if the painter had used his own blood to give the painting that touch that he was looking for, but they are mere speculations of mine that have no basis. It would be twisted if I was right." Lelouch laughed at himself. Euphemia noticed that the same gleam in his eyes that she saw at the exhibition when he shared his analysis of Cabanel's painting returned to his eyelids. Lelouch lowered his coffee cup and eyed Euphemia with interest. "You have a vast knowledge about art. I'm pleasantly stumped at what I've learned from you today, Euphie. Do you study art?"

Euphemia had her cheek on her fist and her head bowed. She listened to the lawyer's every word, enraptured by his eloquence and ease. The question had thrown her off her feet. She leaned her back against the back of the seat.

"No. I'm a political scientist, as was my great-uncle. I couldn't meet him: he passed away before I was born, but I feel that having chosen the same career brings me closer to him," she replied with a sad smile. The joy in Euphemia's eyes faded and she lowered her head for a moment, engrossed. "Do I look like a student?"

"Ha, ha, ha! Yes. You have the jovial spirit of a student. Hum! Curious, I could have sworn you were a quasi-bachelor of arts, and wouldn't you like to study it? Nowadays it is more and more common for people to have two careers," he suggested with apparently healthy intention. Since Euphemia didn't reply, he was quick to add, "Or are you very much in love with political science?"

"Yes, I would have liked to study arts and I would have done it if it weren't for reasons beyond my control, I couldn't," she confessed, stroking the glass with a distracted gesture. "And right now, it is impossible: I'm studying human resources. Don't get me wrong, okay? I'm glad I'm a political scientist and I know it sounds ridiculous, but I don't feel like I'm ready to practice."

"Don't worry. I understand. It's a normal feeling to be afraid," he whispered sympathetically.

Lelouch looked at her hand resting on the table inches from her glass, he wanted to grab it and comfort it with a squeeze. He changed his mind: he was acting on impulse. It was going well so far. He couldn't spoil his own progress.

"Oh, really? When you graduated as a lawyer, did you have your doubts?"

"Well, my case is special: I felt that I should start working immediately. My parents died when my sister and I were very young. For that reason, we had to leave the city. A cousin of our mother took care of us. When I came of age I got a part-time job with which I could pay for my studies and support us both. I wished that we could become independent as soon as possible so as not to cause more inconvenience. So when they gave me my title, I looked at how to cope. I was fearful: the law isn't learned with theory, but with practice, which I hadn't had. I was a rookie. But I knew I had to do it for me and Nunnally, it's just..."

Lelouch cut himself off at the exact point where he wanted to hold her attention.

"Just what?" Euphemia repeated curiously.

"Just that there was something that was bothering me or, shall we say, making me uncomfortable: I felt like my sister was putting me under pressure. I am all she has and she is all I have. At that point she was completely dependent on me." Lelouch paused so Euphemia could digest his story. She looked away. It was the reaction he suspected he would see. "It was a hard time that's now behind us. We're fine now. The good thing is that you don't have the same complications that I had, you can take your time and decide when you'll take that leap of faith."

"Lelouch, I…" she started to say when suddenly a beep interrupted them. The socialite reached into her purse. "Wait a second." She took out her cell phone: she had a message from her sister. The woman stood up. "I'm sorry I have to go. It was a pleasure talking to you. Let's meet again another day, okay?"

"Of course, thanks for the welcome. It was very cozy"

Euphemia smiled at him from ear to ear. She leaned across the table and wrote her number with a pen. She asked him to send her a message as soon as he could so she could record his number and left, followed by her bodyguards. Lelouch kept the dazzling smile until he saw her vanish out the door.

Reality exceeded his expectations: he hadn't seen Euphemia li Britannia for seventeen long, bloody years. He didn't know what exactly he would find. He believed that the youngest daughter of Charles zi Britannia would be a snobbish and spoiled socialite, and it was the opposite. Except for that detail that everyone highlighted when referring to her: her angelic beauty, everything else was true. He had to admit, to himself, that it had been enjoyable. Her caring and candid personality would facilitate his plans. The thought pulled a wolfish smile to his lips. Satisfied with the result of his mission, he drank his coffee like someone drinking a glass of wine.

"… exposed collusion and abuse of power between the mayor of Pendragon and local leaders, uncovered large-scale corruption in government social service, and protected hard-earned taxpayer money by promoting a just society. This prize is awarded by the Minister of Justice ..."

Lelouch looked around looking for the television where that voice was coming from. He noticed that inside the restaurant there was a television on. They were broadcasting live the award ceremony of the prosecutor of the year. He hadn't been paying due attention to it since he was busy with Euphemia, but while he finished his coffee, he could. The audience applauded the honoree standing. The prosecutor standing next to the Minister of Justice bore an enormous resemblance to a face from the past. The young lawyer sharpened his eyesight. He wanted to make sure that he was not fooling himself. Noticing it, he raised his eyebrows.

"We will now listen to the speech of the prosecutor Suzaku Kururugi."

As he was on the terrace, the information coming from the television sounded rather weak and incomplete. However, the images that passed were clear: the camera focused on a close-up of the aforementioned face, which stood behind the podium to proceed with the speech of thanks. There was no question. It was him, his dear old childhood friend. Lelouch's face lit up. Fate had in store for him several juicy surprises on his journey. He'd see how he could take advantage of this along the way.

"I'm Prosecutor Kururugi, the recipient of this generous award," he began solemnly. "First than all, I'm grateful to the Minister of Justice for the honor he gave me today. However, I must clarify that I didn't graduate from law school or take the oath of prosecutors to receive rewards. Since I was a child, I saw prosecutors as knights, even though I had a long way to go to learn about the prosecutors' duty. They aren't like policemen neither firefighters nor bodyguards who risk their lives day after day in the performance of their duties. The day I became one of you, the happiest day of my existence, I must say, I understood that prosecutors protect fairness, integrity, truth and human rights. Through law and investigation, they fight for those who cannot in the name of justice. With your forgiveness, I didn't do anything extraordinary to deserve this award: I just did my job and acted as I thought I should, which is to be a servant of this country. I'll continue to work hard for a better and fairer society. I know it is an ambitious and arduous undertaking, so I'll do my best. It is what I'm committed to on this podium. This award will be a reminder of that. Thank you."

Suzaku made a short bow. The prosecution's conference room erupted in applause. The young man descended the steps and vigorously shook the hands of his superiors, at the same time receiving a couple of pats on the back and the occasional congratulation. The discomfort didn't fit within him. Still, he handled the situation modestly. His cheeks were swollen by the time he stepped in front of the Chief of Police, Kyoshiro Tohdoh. He gave him a long look with a serious demeanor. Suzaku had become a man: he was lanky, although his complexion was toned as a result of his constant training; but, not even with the passing of time, had he managed to dispel that sad expression in his unique green eyes and his brown hair was still as messy as in his childhood. Suzaku rubbed his palms on his pants, instinctively. They felt especially sticky from sweat. Then the commissioner nodded his approval.

"Well done, prosecutor Kururugi, if your father were here he would be very proud of you." The chief finished his sentence with a friendly smile.

His heart raced when he heard the word "father." Suzaku took a deep breath, calming down. And so he smiled back.

"Thank you very much, Commissioner. I'm glad you were able to come."

"You wouldn't have invited me if I wasn't important to you. I had to gather some time," he explained with a gesture. "Well, I'm going to the department: there is a lot of work to do. Take advantage and take the day so you can continue with what you said there, prosecutor Kururugi!" Commissioner Tohdoh bowed respectfully in dismissal and left.

Distracting himself, Suzaku shoved his hands into his pockets. The last time he had visited his father was for his birthday. It was a few months ago. If he had seen him now, Suzaku wondered what he would say to him. If he could have come: would he be happy? Suzaku never had the kind of talk with him about what he wanted to be: he was a kid when his father died. Would he have liked him to be a prosecutor? Could be, Commissioner Tohdoh knew him well and agreed with his decision. After his father's death, he was there supporting him. The two had always hit it off. They were similar in character. Or so it seemed to him. But of course, would his father have said the same if the small business hadn't gone bankrupt? Lost in his musings, Suzaku didn't see prosecutors Alstreim and Weinberg approaching. The latter held him in his arms.

"Suzaku, my friend! Congratulations! You deserve it! I'm so happy for you!" Exclaimed Prosecutor Weinberg filled with delight.

"Gino, please!" Suzaku pleaded, choking on his words. His face had turned purple and embarrassment wasn't the reason.

"Whoops! Ha, ha, ha! I'm sorry." He smiled, letting Suzaku go suddenly. The prosecutor cleaned up his partner's clothes that had become wrinkled.

The congratulations from Prosecutor Alstreim were less enthusiastic, though not dishonest, in comparison.

"Congratulations, Prosecutor Kururugi. You did a good job."

"Thank you, Anya."

"Hey, Suzaku! I was proposing to Anya that the three of us should go to eat somewhere to celebrate," Gino commented, drawing Suzaku. "You tell us where you want and I, of course, invite. Sounds good right?"

"Yeah, it's perfect and it's time for lunch," Suzaku agreed, looking at the watch on his wrist. "Do you know what, Gino? I'm going to take you at your word: this calls for us to celebrate and I know a good place. It isn't a five-star restaurant, but the pizza they serve is great."

Gino looked at Suzaku with a mixture of wonder and curiosity. He held back from seeking more details until they were at Pizza Hut. Far from feeling that he had been mocked, Gino glimpsed the pizzeria in wonder as if he were a child at Christmas. Since he arrived at the pizzeria, Gino didn't stop turning on himself while admiring the place. It looked like a top spin. Soften by, Anya and Suzaku exchanged a knowing look. Someone was too used to expensive restaurants. It wasn't his fault directly. It was the social sphere that he had to live in. At least, they were there to guide him.

"A pizza place as a venue for the prosecutor of the year award? You have very original ideas, Prosecutor Kururugi." Anya smiled. The man in question shrugged, apologizing.

The place wasn't very busy. It was a weekday, maybe that was the reason. So it was their turn quickly. At the counter was a young cashier, who evoked different impressions in each of the prosecutors. Gino couldn't remember seeing such an attractive woman in months. There was something about her that he couldn't ignore, and it was beautiful to him: it could be her industrial ear piercing sticking out of her voluminous, wild red hair or her expressive big sapphire blue eyes or her small upturned nose or her full lips. Anya thought she recognized the features, though she couldn't be sure. Some memory of her was registered in Anya's mind. Suzaku greeted her with a smile.

"Welcome to Pizza Hut, what will your order be?" She asked, turning to Gino as he was closer. The young prosecutor was so absorbed in looking at her that he lost the thread of what he was going to say. She then turned to Suzaku, fleeing the awkwardness. "Tell me."

"Hello, Kallen. How are you? We'll order a family cheese and pepperoni pizza to eat here," he requested. Gino came forward handing the pretty cashier the credit card with which they would pay for the pizza.

"Hello, Suzaku. I'm as you see me: working to earn income. Good, I suppose. By the way, congratulations on the prosecutor of the year award," she said, jerking her thumb at the television set up in the corner. "Well, it would be 10$" The redhead took the card and entered the information provided by Suzaku and Gino.

"Thanks you for that. I wish you were present," Suzaku added.

"Yeah, I know, but I couldn't quit work," Kallen said, not sounding too convincing about that 'yes'. "Even without me, you were fine. The speech came out cheesy, but it was inspiring. Okay. Your order will be ready in a few minutes. Sit while you wait."

Prosecutors chose a table in the back near a window. In that position, they could have a peripheral vision of the establishment and a pleasant view between the pizza shop and the outside. At the award ceremony, the decorated one was allowed to invite ten people. No more because the conference room space was tight. Apart from his companions, Anya and Gino, who would already come in their capacity as prosecutors, Suzaku had no other acquaintances than Commissioner Tohdoh and Kallen. Their relationship was difficult to define in one word: they weren't close enough or complete strangers. They used to coincide in several common spaces since the university: in the gym, in the classrooms, in the cafeteria, in the library and in the residence hall. And that didn't change in the world of work, as they continued to see each other in the gym and in court. Instead of ignoring each other, they decided to talk before everything got unnecessarily awkward.

"I'm sure I saw that woman," Anya spoke to herself.

"Do you think my speech was cheesy?" Suzaku asked, still thoughtful.

"A little, but it was good. She already told you," Anya replied, dismissing it.

"Have you noticed that this is the first time we've had lunch together? I have tried by all means to arrange these exits: you usually have unfinished business that can't be postponed and you practically live at work with your nose stuck in the paperwork," Gino babbled. "No one can get you out of that office."

"It's true," Anya agreed. "We should immortalize this moment with a photo."

Anya took out her cell phone and asked Gino and Suzaku to get closer to be in the photo. She waited for them to be ready and took the photo.

"It's done. I'll send them to you both right away."

"Let's see!" Gino asked. "Oh no! Anya, why didn't you smile? It was the right moment."

"I remember!" Anya exclaimed, snapping her fingers. "That woman is Kallen Stadtfeld. She is the lawyer whose license was suspended for attacking Judge Calares. I was sure her face was familiar to me. The scandal in the courts was so great that the gossip reached the prosecution office."

"Did she hit a judge during a trial?" Gino asked, stunned. He glanced quickly at Kallen, who was counting the money in the box, keeping an eye on her things, and then looked back at Anya. "Why did she do it? She doesn't look like someone capable of..."

"Idiot," she hit him later. "The details aren't clear and I don't investigate anything other than for my cases. Gossip doesn't matter to me."

"But there must be a reason," Suzaku interrupted. "People don't attack each other just because. I've known Kallen for quite some time. She is one of the most outspoken people I have ever dealt with and is an excellent lawyer. I'm not aware of the procedure that was opened for her, but I think demoting her was a disproportionate punishment. I heard that Type trial didn't rule in favor of the defense. She had to have spoken to the judge after the trial was over and he may have acted inappropriately, which is why Kallen reacted as well. It's unfair that the judge hasn't received any sanction."

"And why should they punish him? He was the victim. Regardless of whether he was right or wrong or his behavior was inappropriate, it was the lawyer's fault for not gathering the necessary evidence to exonerate her client and for hitting the judge," the prosecutor scolded harshly. "Nothing justifies your impulsiveness. She should have been prepared to ask for an appeal and not waste her time with a sexist judge. What was she going to gain by assaulting him?"

"I understand, perhaps an injustice had been done in that trial, which angered Lawyer Stadtfeld and she didn't hold back," Suzaku insisted.

"That was her mistake," she agreed calmly. "She had to. We're prosecutors, Suzaku, not lawyers. Keep that in mind: the law is cold and tries to make the most objective decision based on the facts. She beat him for whatever reason, made the judge a victim when she was, and paid the price by ruining her career and becoming the laughingstock of her colleagues. Feelings aren't relevant in the trial."

"Are they not? And shouldn't it be the opposite? In trials, the accused and the victim are humans who make mistakes, the prosecutor and the lawyer are, and the judge who is going to give the verdict is also human. It's impossible to reproduce the incidents and both the prosecutor and the lawyer bring to court two subjective views of what happened and it is everyone's job in the trial to reconstruct reality to make the fairest decision. If variables are fickle because men are, they should take that into account: they can be determinative for judgment. Ultimately, the law was made by humans," Suzaku stated firmly, choosing each of his words carefully.

The slow intonation of his last statement made it clear that he wanted his reflection to focus on the memoirs of the two prosecutors.

"Wow, wow, folks! Both of you are putting up interesting things and your discussion is great, but let's not bring business matters at lunchtime." Gino smiled nervously, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

"The pizza is served!" Kallen announced unexpectedly, serving the table with a pepperoni and cheese pizza. Had she arrived minutes earlier, she would have heard them arguing about the event involving her six months ago. "Did I miss something important?" She inquired, feeling the latent tension in the atmosphere. Her appearance had been timely enough.

"No. Do you want to eat with us, Kallen? There's enough pizza for everyone," Suzaku invited, smiling back in the usual way.

"I'm sorry. I have to go take a pizza to a client..."

"Kallen, the pizza is ready!" yelled a male voice from the back room.

"I told you I'm coming, Ohgi! Are you deaf?!" She yelled back. "Excuse me. Have a good time," she said with an apologetic smile, moderating her tone.

Once said, she left. Gino rubbed his hands together in preparation for lunch. Suzaku blew the scent of hot pizza in his direction. If it tasted as delicious as it smelled, they could have one of the best lunches of the month. Anya chopped three triangular pieces and distributed them between herself and her colleagues. He had barely taken a bite when Suzaku received a message.

"What is it about?" Gino asked, wiping the corners of his mouth smeared with melted cheese.

"It's a message from Cécile: a new case," Suzaku replied.

"What?! Shit, how can they do that to you in your day?! Are they crazy?!" Gino protested with his mouth full. "Don't reply. You didn't see that message. It never came to you."

"I'm sorry I have to go."

"Why? You are not forced to."

Gino didn't understand it and Suzaku couldn't entertain himself with explanations now. He got up. He saw himself in the sad obligation to cancel lunch. He had been waiting for an opportunity like that since he became a prosecutor. It would be inexcusable to omit it. Who knew when such a case would occur? He would have to wrap his pizza slices and eat at the prosecution office. He had to apply for the case before it was assigned to someone else.

A job of capital proportions was on the way.

"This is the pizza and here's the address," said the fellow who went by the name of Ohgi to Kallen. He handed her a piece of paper. The woman hung the Pizza Hut cap on the hook, picked up the paper and the box on the counter. "Hey! Don't forget the keys!"

Ohgi tossed her some keys. She caught them in midair without needing to turn. She went out the back door where a pretty red motorcycle was parked, which was Kallen's most adored object. She rescued it from a landfill and repaired it with the help of a mechanic. She tied the pizza to the back of her seat and put on her helmet. She got on the bike, gripped the clutch tightly and hit the accelerator, meanwhile getting everything ready to go. Once in position, Kallen closed her eyes and let out a deep breath and the clutch. The motorcycle took off heading for the street.

Life hadn't been a dream those six months for Kallen Stadtfeld. One day she was part of a prominent law firm. One afternoon she loses everything to a misogynistic judge who makes an inappropriate comment about her client. One night a text message informs her that she was fired from the firm and she already knew that she would soon be suspended. And so, suddenly, she was unemployed and gargling with beer. She found a new job at a nightclub as a pole dancer and quit in the same week. She was the girl who lasted the least time in that place. She never wanted to give details of why she left a promising job and when questions were made, she was evasive.

She wasn't unemployed for too long since, due to lack of staff, Ohgi (a friend of his brother who had become his friend too) had a vacancy for the cashier position and offered her the job. She accepted. She needed to earn money in the meantime. It would have been foolish of her to turn down the job out of pride. Since then, Kallen has been involved in the pizza business. Also, when the delivery man was unavailable, she made up for him by taking care of deliveries. Although at night, when they had closed or was on her break time, she would sit at one of the tables and go over the legal codes. She didn't want to be out of practice by the time she ever gets back. After all, a suspension was synonymous with something temporary.

Inside her, a strong internal conflict had been unleashed. She knew how wrong it was to hit the judge. Regardless of the fact that it hurt her career, violence was not the way to solve things. She should have swallowed her anger and appealed the decision. But, when her pride was about to give way, she remembered the constipated face of Judge Calares and his beautiful broken nose and that gave Kallen a satisfaction that made her regrets fade away. She had no idea what certain men's pleasure was in showing off their phallus, as if owning it gave them the right to be superior. And while the societies of the world had been organized like this for centuries by naturalizing that structure, there was no reason to believe it was right. There were things that the system could not punish. Her punch was the only justice blow he would receive.

So, should her feel good even though she acted wrong? Should her feel bad because she acted right? Or what? Kallen wanted to think that her own justification for her violence was the result of alcohol. Popular belief was that when you drink the devil gets into your body. Kallen drank quite frequently. Either way, all she genuinely blamed to herself was disappointing her client. For her, there was no justice. And, of course, because of that idiot it was possible that no firm wanted to hire her. She wasn't discouraged. She had promised Naoto that she would become the best lawyer.

Kallen had arrived at the address. She decelerated the motorcycle and parked on the sidewalk in front of a tall building (she estimated about twelve stories), white in color. She removed her helmet and scanned the surroundings. It was a distinguished suburb. It looked like one of those sets that were built especially for filming movies. The residents had to live well there. Kallen took the pizza under her arm and crossed the street. She heard someone whistle at her. She ignored it. If she were to hit every jerk who can't control his erection, she'd end up with a swollen, red hand. She pressed the floor button on the intercom and waited.

"Yes?" answered a feminine voice.

"I came from Pizza Hut. You ordered a pizza over the phone. Here I brought it to you."

"Oh yeah! Come up."

The doors opened automatically. Kallen winced. She wasn't prepared for that. So at these addresses the keys were dispensed with. A password was typed in and that's it. Kallen closed the door and entered the apartment complex. The client lived in the penthouse. It means she had to go to the twelfth floor. The elevator worked. Too bad it didn't for her: only residents could use it. For it to take her where she wanted, she had to put the key in a slot. She snorted. One consolation remained: she was in top shape. Twelve floors wouldn't stop her. She took a deep breath and began to climb two at a time. As soon as she got to the penthouse, she knew where to go: there was only one door. It must be that. She pressed the bell door. Kallen felt the back of her neck and forehead. She wasn't sweaty. In an attempt to look more presentable, she combed her hair. A young woman with long, straight green hair came out to meet her. Pretty, with narrow and drooping shoulders, a defined waist and wide hips. Slightly shorter than Kallen. Her skin was almost ghostly. Her eyes were angular and amber. It reminded Kallen of the eyes of snakes. She was wearing only a white shirt with a lapel and it was buttoned up to the neck. Just that. The sleeves were loose. She knew that the woman did not live alone. Anyway, she wasn't there to intrude on her clients' lives.

"Twenty minutes. What a diligent service! I'm impressed," was her greeting.

"Thanks. Your pizza, miss," Kallen pointed out, handing her the box.

"Well. You said it was 15$. Here you go." The woman's voice was thick and soft as a lullaby. The two exchanged the money for the box.

"Have a nice day," Kallen said, stuffing the money into her jeans pocket.

"Oh, it will be!" This smells delicious," she commented, tilting her nose to the box.

Kallen headed for the stairs. She was about to leave when the woman said:

"Hey! Why would you give me a vegetarian pizza if I ordered a Hawaiian? You made a mistake with this delivery."

"What? No. That can't be," the redhead denied, arching an eyebrow. "I personally took your order over the phone and heard when you said "vegetarian pizza", I even asked you to confirm."

"Do you think I don't remember what I asked for? Look, I don't care that you wrote vegetarian pizza instead of Hawaiian pizza, but I can't take it," she clarified, handing her the box. "You are going to have to come back and make me the pizza I ordered or give me back my money, what will you do?"

"Why are you giving me this? It's yours! You ordered it. See, I'm not lying. I have the paper here with your order".

Kallen reached into her breast and pants pocket for the paper. The client crossed her arms under her chest in denial.

"It's the paper with someone else's order. It's not mine. Do you know what? Forget about the pizza, better give me my money back and let's pretend this never happened."

"Don't be silly!" Kallen snapped, incredulous and visibly upset. "You called our establishment at 2:15 PM and requested a vegetarian pizza for this address. It took me a while to make it and I immediately came here so it wouldn't get cold. I didn't cook or travel half an hour for you to deny the order."

"Won't you give me my money back? Fine, I'll sue you all for scammers," she warned. Although she was threatening Kallen, her expression wasn't fierce like that of a typical customer irritated by the service; but, rather, she was sly and said that with a cold serenity. Kallen, on the other hand, was the one who was becoming increasingly furious. "Oh, how timely! There my lawyer came. He'll clear it all up," she said, referring to the person behind Kallen.

The redhead turned on her heel. In the hallway a man wearing a black suit was approaching them. Beneath his jacket, he wore a lilac shirt that matched his purple tie. An unusual, yet successful combination of colors. His hair was deep jet black. His bangs fell on both sides of his pale face like the wings of a raven. His eyes were the same color as his tie, with that she already knew that the choice was not random. He was tall, handsome, and slim. Ironically, he was fragile in appearance. His movements were graceful. Felines, if I had to add. The young woman lowered her guard. This was going to take a little longer.

Our intelligent readers will have deduced that it was Lelouch.

"What is it, C.C.? Has the pizza arrived yet?" He asked, glancing at his pocket watch.

"No. I'm afraid a mishap arose: I ordered a Hawaiian pizza and they mistakenly brought us a Vegetarian one. I have shared the problem with her, but she insists that I ordered a Vegetarian and doesn't want to return my money. I'm about to call the police to report this crime," said C.C., leaning back from the door.

"No! You are not going to call the police because there is no scam here!" she roared in a tone of ultimatum. She addressed Lelouch. His penetrating gaze chilled her, but she wasn't intimidated. "Look, you, your girlfriend called us this afternoon and ordered delivery for a medium-sized veggie pizza," Kallen said, almost rubbing the paper on his face. "I arrived ten minutes early and now she denies it. I don't know what kind of joke this is, but that was enough, don't you both think?

"The service isn't what it was before: when the customer made a complaint, the employees solved it because they didn't want a bad review," said C.C.

"Believe it or not, I've seen loads of cases similar to this one: locals sell their most expensive offer to unsuspecting customers to charge them a higher price and increase their profits." A very dirty scam," Lelouch agreed.

Kallen snorted, totally outraged. The new one was less intelligent than the other or perhaps worse.

"You can't sue us for fraud! She has no greater proof than her own words! I know it well because I'm a lawyer. Don't fool me with lip service, charlatan" Kallen warned.

Lelouch had a smile on his lips that changed his expression completely. There was something innocent about it and also terrifying. He surrounded her, just as the big bad wolf would when he hungrily besieged the tender sheep. Kallen didn't lose sight of him and turned on her axis following him. Reflexively, she straightened her shoulders as she felt him inspect her up and down.

Lelouch couldn't deny that she was attractive. She had the silhouette that would make any man turn his neck and any woman would kill: rounded hips, defined waist, lush breasts. But her true magnetism lay in her severe and insistent gaze.

"Listen! What happens? Why are you surrounding me?! Are you a kind of vulture or what?!" She stammered.

"You just don't look like it…" Lelouch contemplated, stopping and ending that dance.

"Looks like what?!"

"A lawyer," he said, smiling. "If you're a lawyer, why are you dressed like that and working as a pizza delivery girl?" He questioned her. "I think you're the true charlatan"

Touché. C.C. started laughing. Kallen felt the colors creep up her face from both shame and anger. The sheep was not going to be eaten. She didn't hesitate to challenge him:

"It doesn't concern you! I could ask you why you are not in your office at this hour. Or does it not occur to you that I could sue you both for scam? How can I not know that you planned it? The vegetarian pizza request and the fact you both acting like fools, everything to claim for a compensation that would give you money and pizza for free. Do you know what, you idiot? If you have nuts, sue us. We will come out innocent: the law will protect us."

Kallen had said that without thinking. He had been carried away by the situation. She didn't want to put Ohgi and his pizza shop that had opened its doors to her when she needed it most in a legal mess. If he was as astute as a lawyer as well as cynical as he showed himself then, they would look bad at trial and bad publicity wouldn't help the business. She hoped her threat scared him enough to force him to react. She had managed to maintain eye contact, at least. She didn't want to admit it, but he had made her nervous in a way that no one in the past could boast about.

The challenge didn't erase the lawyer's malicious smile.

"Please, if you're going to hit him, don't let it be in the face," C.C. interceded, breaking the tension between Kallen and Lelouch. They turned to her briefly. "It's the most beautiful thing he has."

"Alright," Lelouch returned. "Listen now, charlatan, neither you nor we want to have any problem: it isn't what C.C. and I would like, and I know your boss wouldn't want his pizza place to be sued. Also, it wouldn't be good for you either. I propose that we do this: we'll accept the vegetarian pizza and you keep what C.C. has paid you, but let's meet tomorrow so you can refund the difference compared to the price of the Hawaiian pizza. Deal?"

"What? No!"

"It's the most equitable solution for all. Nobody loses. Can you think of something better?"

She nodded, unhappy. She didn't like the deal. It felt like she was losing out anyway and the worst thing was that it wouldn't get any better. They could proceed with the lawsuit if she did not agree to their terms. She sighed resignedly.

"Well. We have a deal, where are we going to meet at tomorrow? Right here?"

"No, I'd rather it were somewhere else. I'll let you know. For this, I need to have your phone number."

He said, handing her his cell phone. "Thank you"

Reluctantly, Kallen grabbed it and entered his number in her address book. Then she handed it back to him. Not without sending him a grim look. Lelouch found it amused and his smile widened even more. Kallen gave C.C. the pizza box and withdrew. She was being serious, biting her lower lip to keep from screaming. She did not answer him because with the humor she had, words were not going to come out of her mouth, but a spit.

"You'll receive a message from Lelouch Lamperouge. Be alert, Kallen," he said, reading the new contact.

Kallen stood quiet, but they both knew that she had listened. She slowly walked down the stairs one at a time. Even though she could go fast, walking would help her drain her anger. Lelouch Lamperouge. What a son of a bitch! When she felt the taste of her blood, sinking her teeth into her cheek with such force, she put her own hands behind her head. Frustrated, she had already left the building and, since she was still thinking about Lelouch, she did not notice the car coming her way. This stopped in a timely manner avoiding a fatal accident. Kallen jumped back in alarm.

"Hey! Be more careful! Can't you see this is a crosswalk?! Bastard!"

And she dug her palm into the hood with a little more fury than the car and its driver deserved.

How many hassles to just meet a woman! It was the first time he had made such strategy to obtain a phone number. Lelouch was also thinking of Kallen, just that in a different way than hers. He was curious about what kind of person Kallen Stadtfeld was and he would find it out on firsthand, at last. To say that he was satisfied barely described his current state of mind.

C.C. turned on the flat screen TV in the living room. She sat down on a soft white sofa. In one corner was Cheese-kun, an orange stuffed animal that was shaped like a drop of mozzarella cheese. Or that was what C.C said. Lelouch wasn't sure nor was he dying to find out. C.C. placed the pizza box on the low glass table in front of her, opened it, and minced a large slice. She took it, at the same time that she brought a glass of whiskey that had been poured and a box of cheeks. She pressed her back against the couch, wrapped her arm around her stuffed animal, and began to eat. She gulped down the first three-bite portion. For C.C., this was heaven.

"So you ordered a veggie pizza and denied the order claiming you had ordered a Hawaiian pizza," Lelouch summed up unfriendly, planting his hands on the edge of the backrest and leaning over his ear. "Seriously?"

"Don't judge me. You didn't specify anything to me. It was the best I could improvise," she excused herself, licking the melted cheese from her fingers. "You asked me to create a misunderstanding and distract her and I did, isn't that what should matter? Didn't I fulfill my task?"

"Yes, you did," Lelouch snorted sarcastically. "You didn't mention in your report that Kallen was a lawyer. It was those kinds of details that I asked you to be meticulous and investigate carefully. Go investigate her again and this time get it right."

"Report? What I gave you was a vague description," replied C.C. Clenching a cigarette between her teeth, she lit it with a lighter. "In what way do you think this woman can be useful to us?"

"Useful?" Lelouch questioned, suppressing a smirk. "I haven't said that."

"Ah! But you think about it," she said, expelling a puff of smoke. "You have that look."

"What look?"

"That crafty, calculating son-of-a-bitch look that occasionally makes me proud," she described with a sly smile. "I know you as well as if you were my boyfriend."

"¡Tsk!"

Lelouch straightened and walked away. The knot on the tie was jerked loose. He placed his pocket watch on the dresser in the hall, took a rolled newspaper from his jacket, and withdrew an arm from one of the sleeves. C.C. grabbed another slice of pizza and took a bite of it.

"Oh, come on! You have to admit that the assumption was funny."

"I don't blame her for thinking it considering you're wearing only one of my shirts. I clearly told you not to wear them because the neighbors might see you and misunderstand everything," he said, hanging his jacket on the hanger. "If I see you disobeyed me again, I'll freeze that card that you like to use so much to buy your pizzas."

"Tyrant!" Growled C.C., pouting.

"Damn smoker. My apartment is unbreathable because of you," the young lawyer complained, waving his arms, indicating the surroundings.

"Oh! Am I bothering you?" Asked C.C. feigning surprise.

"Frequently."

"Great!" She exclaimed. "We all have our vices and inner demons and I have a toxic affair with cigarettes while cheating on it with alcohol. I'm sorry, I'm not sorry," quacked C.C. with her mouth full, sweeping the breadcrumbs off the couch and off her shirt. "It is your small price to pay for a secretary who looks after your interests' full time."

"Yes, especially that she takes care of my physical integrity," he scoffed. "'Please, if you're going to hit him, don't let it be in the face. It is the most beautiful thing that he has'".

Lelouch smacked her lightly on the head with the newspaper, and then threw it on the glass table. The headline reported that President Charles' youngest daughter would be the guest of honor at the art show they would open that day. C.C. gave it a fleeting glance. She didn't want to take her eyes off the screen.

"I ran into Euphemia at the exhibition 'by chance.' We talked a bit about everything: art, work, education, lifestyles, brothers. We hit it off instantly. We even had lunch in a lovely Italian restaurant. Everything came out to order. She wants to repeat our date sometime. It's a great achievement. To take big steps, you have to take small steps," he told him, smiling. "The greatest thing? She doesn't suspect anything. She is quite naive and less predisposed than our friend, Miss Stadtfeld."

"Luck definitely has its favorites," C.C. commented without looking at him. She was concentrating on her medieval fantasy show.

"I think we've reconciled over time," Lelouch observed. "The rest of the afternoon I was reviewing the offices for sale and those that are for rent, I found a perfect one and I was able to interview the owner, he sold it to me at an absurdly cheap price. He wanted to get rid of it. By our luck, tomorrow we will go to furnish it so that the firm works as soon as possible. Tamaki and the boys will help us."

C.C. grabbed the glass. She was about to put it into her lips when she stopped short.

"Tamaki and his men? Ah! Shit, no."

C.C wrinkled her nose in annoyance and took a drink. Lelouch looked at her. She was lying on her side, her legs spread out on the sofa, a cigarette in one hand, her whiskey in the other, and her stuffed animal was tucked under her arm.

"I see you quickly settled on this site. It's cute, is not it? Nunnally thinks I chose it because I wanted to brag about my fees. The truth is that it has nothing to do with luxury or neutral tones or crystal decoration. Actually, I chose it for the view."

Lelouch opened the blinds. The panoramic windows gave them a commanding view of the city. Right in the middle of all stood the imposing Britannia Corps building.

"By the way, where's Nunally?"

"She went out with Sayoko to buy some things. You already know. Like you, she wanted to know how much the city has changed. She has the right to, doesn't she? Your sister told me they would be here in half an hour," C.C. replied apathetically. "Well I guess you got off to a good start then. Congratulations."

C.C. stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. Immediately another was smoked.

"Start? No, no, no," he denied, smiling at her in the same way he had at Kallen seconds ago. "This war started seventeen years ago in my house and I promised Charles zi Britannia in court that I would bury the hatchet in his head," he clarified. "Perfect. Since she won't be here, it will give me time to sew the missing stitches on Zero's suit."

"Yes, yes, come on, go. You won't let me hear Melissandre," complained C.C., sulkily.

Lelouch slipped into his room and locked himself in. C.C., who was alternating between slices of pizza and sips of whiskey while watching Game of Thrones, glanced at his bedroom door as soon as she heard it close.

Lelouch Lamperouge was special. When he first told her of his plan, she thought he was crazy. But the tinge of pain in his voice that he was trying in vain to hide made her understand that he was not joking. She also remembered other details such as that he said it to her at twilight like the one that was happening at that moment. The death of the day that could be translated in the future into the downfall of President Charles and his business empire. Lelouch had the gift, like few others, of knowing how to choose. In a way, the choice of his apartment reflected his taste for aiming high and C.C. kept her opinion, even when Lelouch insisted on saying that the reason was another. Whether it was the words he selected or the poised tone he used or his determined gaze with that spark of madness, he convinced her. He encouraged her to lead her own fight. The next second, she was on his plan. Maybe she became his accomplice because she was just as crazy as him."

C.C took a look at the window, while she meditated on something curious: the demons tended to look longingly at the sky, to remember who they were and where they came from.

A/N: And this was the first chapter! I loved writing it and I hope you guys enjoyed reading it. Personally, I was proud of Suzaku and Lelouch's presentations. They are important to the characters. I think in one scene I've established very well what their personalities and their positions in this story. I really enjoyed the way Lelouch painted himself through Alexandre Cabanel painting (if you don't know about it, I hope you will check it out). Lelouch is a Luciferian character and I don't intend to disguise that fact, but rather to use it. What can I say about Suzaku? He must be a prosecutor, no matter what! I'm fully confident that I can convince you all that the right professions for Lelouch, Suzaku, Kallen and C.C are those I chose for them in this fanfic. This, on turn, answers the question I asked you in the preface. By the way, I know that we already know the appearances of the characters, however, when passing the characters to this new context, in some way, I have made them mine (they are my versions, after all); so it will be as if we were meeting them for the second time. I invite you to tell me what you think of the first chapter. What did you like the most? What did they dislike from it? Which plans do you think Lelouch is up to? What are your expectations? Let me know anything you want to share.

We will be reading each other in the second chapter: «Ghosts».

Thanks so much for reading this. Remember that if you want the updates to continue, you must show your support. That would be it for now. Take care, roasted marshmallows!

Fun fact: the title of the chapter is "Return" alluding to the fact that Lelouch returned after seventeen years to his hometown and, at the same time, if you watched the series and are reading this fanfic, it is a way of telling you that Lelouch It has come back in a way you never thought you would see.