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Kazuma (1)

Barok stood at the window behind his desk, looking out at the people swarming the streets outside the Prosecutor's Office as they rushed about their lives. He felt a strong, sudden urge to join them, to slip into the throng and blend in with the crowd, to drift along wherever the current took him and disappear and start a new life somewhere else.

A fanciful notion. He would never blend in, for one. The crowd would part around him, casting him their fearful, sidelong glances. Someone might poke a sword at him. He could not disappear so easily here in the capital.

But he could leave. He could publish the truth about Klint and flee to the countryside, hole himself up in the estate and leave this wretched city behind him. He wanted to. It was almost frightening how much he wanted to.

He was tired. He was finished. He had martyred himself for this ungrateful city and its crooked justice system, only to realize he'd been the fool all along. He couldn't bear to sit here and be ground down to pieces any longer. Just walking into this office made him want to scream—not with fear, but with frustration and loss and potent, helpless fury. He could feel the walls closing in around him, a prison of his own making.

There was nothing left for him here. His life's work was a ruin. He had butchered the Professor case and convicted the wrong man entirely, lost his footing in the courtroom when Naruhodo proved again and again that he was wrong, and played a role in the murder of the Reaper's victims who he had always known were guilty, at least, but no longer had the confidence to be sure. He had told himself again and again that it was worth it, that he was fighting for justice and pulling criminals off the street and doing his best to find the real Reaper so that he could continue his work without that ugly aftertaste souring it, but in the end, it was all ashes around him. Perhaps he'd only ever made everything worse. He'd wasted his life chasing ghosts, playing Stronghart's puppet, gritting his teeth and suffering for the greater good and trying to convince himself it was better that way.

There was no one left to keep him here either. Stronghart was in prison—and a murderer to boot. Gregson was dead—and a murderer. Sithe was in prison—and a murderer. And Klint was as dead as he'd ever been—and, painfully, impossibly, a murderer. Even his portrait was gone now, banished from the office to erase the Professor from this supposed building of justice.

Barok cut a glance at where it had once hung out of habit, the empty expanse of wall a knife sliding between his ribs.

Why are you still standing here, then? he imagined his brother asking. After everything? Why not run?

And the answer to that was Kazuma Asogi.

Kazuma Asogi had asked Barok to stay and continue mentoring him. Through clenched teeth, to be sure, the words yanked painfully out of him like every syllable tasted bitter on his tongue, but he had asked.

"You're the best there is," he had said. And that was true.

"You owe me this much," he had said. And that was not.

"My father, then," he had said. "Don't you think you owe him something for what you did to him?"

Barok didn't know that he owed Kazuma Asogi anything. He didn't know that he owed Genshin Asogi anything either.

But he thought back to when his apprentice had first come into his care, blank-eyed and lost, memories locked away and face caged behind a mask. He thought of the moment those prisons had cracked open and everything had come flooding back, painting Asogi's face and lighting his eyes with a maelstrom of emotion as he gained everything back in an instant only to realize it was all smoke and mirrors. That everything was still lost. His father was gone just as soon as he had remembered him, the life he'd once known stripped away. Barok knew that feeling, although he'd been aware and awake for every agonizing second of it, without the cold comfort of oblivion except for those brief snatches when the wine did its work.

I don't owe you anything, he thought. But I'll do it anyway.

As if summoned merely by the thought of him, Asogi pushed his way into the office. Barok heard the door open and close. He watched the dim, wavering reflection in the window as Asogi stalked across the room to that ridiculous low desk he insisted on so that he could kneel on the floor. Every step was clipped with tension, sharpened to a knife point. Kazuma Asogi knew how to wield words and silences like weapons as well as Barok ever had. He knew how to show his displeasure and resentment through the brusqueness of every gesture, the edge to every word that left his mouth, the contempt curling the corners of his lips and lighting his eyes. He needed no mentor there.

Barok wanted to go home. He wanted to walk out of this godforsaken office and leave Asogi's vitriol behind. He wanted to wrap himself up in the blankets in his brother's old rooms and drink until it drowned out the ghosts whispering in his ears, press his face deeper and deeper into the pillows to smother all the fury and grief and guilt and shame that he exhaled on every breath these days. He was so tired. So ready to leave it all behind. He did not have the energy to spar with Asogi, to ignore every barbed comment and puzzle out how to teach a student he'd never wanted and who despised him. It would be so much easier to walk away.

Instead, he turned away from the window and the pale facsimile of freedom it offered.

"Good morning, Mr. Asogi."

Asogi glanced up, the corners of his mouth curling towards a sneer. "Is it, My Lord?"

No, it was not.

There was so much of Genshin in his son's face. Except in the contorted expression and burning eyes, but that, at least, matched the picture Barok had drawn up in his mind of a vicious, traitorous murderer. A picture that had been wrong. Barok expected Genshin had been a sad, guilt-ridden kind of murderer instead. He knew that feeling too.

He pushed it aside and blinked until Genshin's ghost dissipated, leaving only his son. It was never quite gone, though. Barok had lived the past decade in the shadow of his brother's ghost, and he knew the weight of it. He knew that Genshin's had joined him. Perhaps Klint and Genshin still lingered in this room, watching the last remaining tatters of their broken families—the two men who had come, and still might come, so close to reenacting their old tragedies.

Barok had made so many mistakes in his life—he couldn't make that one too.

You are going to hate me for this more than anything else, he thought, regarding his smoldering apprentice wearily, but I am going to stop you from turning into the rest of us.

Kazuma stood before van Zieks's desk, shifting impatiently from foot to foot and glaring a hole into the man's bowed head while he reviewed the documents before him unhurriedly. Van Zieks ignored him with infuriating indifference, the way he always ignored Kazuma's little aggressions these days. The most he'd done was suggest Kazuma might sit back at his own desk while he waited, but he'd only shrugged when his apprentice declined. And so Kazuma stood here like an idiot, smoldering with resentment, too stubborn to back down now.

These past few weeks had been beyond difficult. Ryunosuke and Susato and Mikotoba had already left the country, leaving him behind. He had to face van Zieks alone, without anyone to commiserate with. The only saving grace was that the man had been frequently absent on his own errands. Kazuma did not ask what he was doing, even though he knew it was unusual for him to be gone so often. One did not look a gift horse in the mouth, as the English apparently said.

His reprieve was now coming to an end, in any case. Van Zieks was haunting the office at all hours again, dragging his chilly silences and gruff criticisms along with him. It was driving Kazuma mad to be trapped again in a room with van Zieks, forced to rub shoulders with the man who had, if not been entirely responsible for his father's death, at least played a rather significant role in it. Kazuma needed him, but that didn't mean he was happy about it. That didn't make it any easier.

He had spent the past weeks steeling himself for van Zieks's proper return to the office, the end of whatever project was keeping him occupied elsewhere, but the actual event had been both anticlimactic and more infuriating than he'd anticipated. He had been prepared for the man's snide comments, icy contempt, and short temper. Instead, he'd been greeted by a stone wall. Van Zieks was still cold and often irritable, but for the most part he simply refused to engage with Kazuma's barbs and provocations at all. Kazuma was spoiling for a fight, and van Zieks refused to give him one. It was maddening.

Van Zieks sighed, the first sound he'd made in several minutes besides the occasional scratching of his pen as he scrawled nitpicky corrections across Kazuma's work. At least he wasn't sighing over Kazuma's work this time. His gaze was flicking between one of the witness statements and the evidence catalog.

"We have a problem," he said. "Something isn't right here. This may be a losing case. We'll have to rework how we present everything."

"I don't see the problem," Kazuma said snidely. "If you lose, you can just kill the man yourself and be done with it, can't you? It seemed to work well enough for your brother. It wasn't too good for you before."

This was a cheap shot, and he knew it. Heckling van Zieks about the Reaper affair after everything they'd gone through to prove his innocence was cruel, especially given Kazuma's own fanatical role in his persecution. The added jab at Klint was just a bonus because Kazuma knew that even if van Zieks could ignore barbs directed at himself, he would find it harder to hold his tongue when his brother's name was invoked.

Sure enough, a muscle jumped in van Zieks's jaw, teeth grinding together. But he didn't even look up at Kazuma, only continued perusing the documents.

"I meant that there's a chance the suspect is innocent," he said flatly.

Anger flared bright in Kazuma's chest. "That's never stopped you before, has it?"

Poking at the Reaper conspiracy might be cheap, but he felt entirely justified in snapping at van Zieks regarding his father's unfair conviction and death.

Van Zieks's jaw clenched ever tighter and paper crinkled as his fingers tightened around the page, but he kept his gaze stubbornly downcast.

"We don't have enough evidence to conclusively prove it either way yet, but we'll need to consider the possibility and do more research. Every case needs a prosecution regardless, but we can tailor our strategy if the defense seems incapable of holding its own. In the end, it's not our decision to make. The judge and jury will decide. We need to focus on building the best case we can and ensuring the truth comes out in the courtroom, whatever it may be."

"Why even bother with the courtroom at all?" Kazuma shot back. "You'd save yourself a lot of effort if you just handled the problem in the streets. It would save us a tremendous amount of paperwork."

Finally, finally, van Zieks's head snapped up. His eyes were bright with fury.

"Get out," he said, voice trembling with rage.

Kazuma blinked at him, taken aback. He was finally getting a reaction, but…

"And do what?"

"I don't care," van Zieks snapped. "Just get out of my office."

Kazuma couldn't read the intention behind his mentor's words, and it left him uncertain. Did van Zieks just want him to go for a walk to give them both the chance to clear their heads before they got back to work? Or was he finally kicking Kazuma out of his office for good, dissolving their partnership? He sounded angry enough to mean the latter.

Kazuma had been holding his breath for weeks, waiting for exactly that. He had known that sooner or later, there was a good chance van Zieks would renege on their agreement and abandon the apprenticeship. Maybe he had been pushing at van Zieks all along to force the confrontation he knew was coming.

In a way, he felt vindicated. He had known van Zieks was just waiting for a chance to push him out. But on the other hand…

A heavy weight settled in Kazuma's stomach. He had the satisfaction of being right, but at what cost? If he lost his apprenticeship, what would he do? He'd be stranded in London without anyone to teach him the skills he needed for his study tour. Or maybe he would be unceremoniously packed back off to Japan, branded a failure. He was already lost and set adrift without the driving purpose that had kept him going for so long. If he lost this too, this tentative new purpose he had taken up to fill the void, what would become of him?

"Come back in the morning," van Zieks said, watching Kazuma with glittering eyes before returning his gaze to the paperwork. His voice was tight but calm again, sharp-edged but hiding his wrath beneath a thin veneer of polite indifference once more. "You can resume work then. With an improved attitude, I hope. You are dismissed for the remainder of the day."

Kazuma let out a breath. So he was only being reprimanded like a petulant child, sent to a timeout in his room. That rankled. But it seemed he hadn't lost his apprenticeship just yet, and it was surprising how much relief crashed over him.

"Fine," he bit out, turning on his heel and storming out of the room.

He spent the rest of the day in an unproductive sulk, imagining increasingly belligerent confrontations with his mentor and wondering what he would be walking into tomorrow. He thought of all the things he should have said. The ones that might have cracked van Zieks wide open. It would be foolish to actually say them if he wanted to retain his apprenticeship and even more foolish to point a blade at the man's throat like he sorely wanted to, but it was satisfying to fantasize about.

He went to the office the next morning with the mindset of going into battle. He had no idea what to expect, but he was wound tight and ready to lash out at the first provocation.

Van Zieks was already there, going through yet more paperwork. When he glanced up at Kazuma's arrival, his eyes were veiled and his expression shuttered. None of yesterday's anger showed on his face, but Kazuma wasn't fooled. He was sure it was still smoldering beneath the surface, even if van Zieks was doing a better job of hiding it now.

"Good morning, Mr. Asogi," van Zieks said in a perfectly bland tone. "I have a case for you."

Kazuma drew up short, taken aback. "What?"

"I have a case for you to lead the prosecution on. Just be aware that according to the terms of your probationary practice, you still require supervision on every aspect of the investigation and trial. I cannot overstate the importance of putting forward your best work. You need to make a good second impression to make up for the first one."

Van Zieks plucked a sheaf of papers from his desk and held it out. Kazuma eyed him warily as he slowly crossed the room. This felt like a trap. After yesterday's argument, he doubted van Zieks was feeling charitable enough to do him any favors. So far, Kazuma had only been allowed to write case reports for old cases and assist van Zieks with the cases he built around his out-of-office errands—building the arguments for trials he'd never have the chance to lead. This would be the first time he was given the chance to take the reins in the courtroom since the Reaper trial.

He snatched the papers from van Zieks's hand and glanced over the first page, his eyes skimming over the words without truly processing them.

"I'm only going to say this once, so listen carefully," van Zieks said in a very serious, hard-edged tone. Kazuma's gaze snapped up to meet his. Van Zieks's eyes were flinty and solemn. "The work we do here is important. It involves altering the course of people's lives. The consequences of mistakes or negligence are very grave. You must always take it seriously. The flippant attitude is not appropriate.

"I know you are just trying to bait me, but don't ever joke about abandoning our sacred duty to resort to extrajudicial measures. You must not ever set foot outside the bounds of the law, no matter how justified it might seem to you. That's a slippery slope. You and I both know very well where it leads. We are going to go over every last piece of paperwork with a fine-tooth comb for every single case. Never forget that we hold people's lives in our hands, and so we must approach every facet of our work with the utmost diligence and care."

Kazuma flinched back, stung. "I know that," he snapped. "I'd never…"

But the problem was, he had. He had agreed to an assassin exchange and nearly attacked Gregson, hadn't he? He'd come close enough. He would never resort to murdering anyone—he was sure he wouldn't—but he had flirted with the edges of the law and found himself on the wrong side of things.

It was unfair of van Zieks to throw this at him now. Kazuma had obviously only been referring to murdering criminals like the Professor and the Reaper had, and there was no need to make some big lesson out of it. He resented the implication that he wasn't taking his job seriously when van Zieks knew very well that the snide comments were only meant as jabs at him. It was hardly an attitude Kazuma actually held towards his profession.

"I'd never go around murdering people," he snapped. He wasn't quite bold enough to add 'like your brother' after yesterday, but he hoped his tone was sharp enough to imply it. "And I've no interest in bungling my cases and convicting innocents." He was certain he saw van Zieks's lips tighten ever so slightly, so the barb must have hit home. "I'm taking this very seriously."

Van Zieks stared at him for a long moment, expression blank and eyes flat. "Good," he said. "Then let's get to work."

As it turned out, it was hard to get excited about the prospect of getting his own case even though it should have been a great triumph. It was an open-and-shut case of no real import that he would have to jump through hoops to lose. He thought van Zieks had picked possibly the most boring case in existence for him as some kind of payback. No one had been seriously injured, the stolen goods had been recovered, and the thief had been caught within hours. Such a small, uncontested robbery was hardly worth their time.

Kazuma was more careful about blurting out whatever came to mind now, worried he might push van Zieks too far after all, but slowly regained enough confidence to slide in snide remarks about what a pain his mentor was being. He stayed away from any more commentary on the Reaper or van Zieks's brother for now, but griping about the everyday annoyances of their job seemed fair game. Van Zieks seemed unbothered by complaints about his thoroughness in tearing apart Kazuma's work and making him redo it countless times, but finally, after one snippy comment too many, he changed tacks and assigned Kazuma errands instead.

Kazuma went first to collect an updated autopsy report from Doctor Gorey—always a chilling prospect, with her knives clacking towards his skin a little too close for comfort—for the case with the possibly innocent defendant that van Zieks was building with his apprentice's nominal assistance. The second errand was stopping by the Yard to pick up a new witness statement for the robbery case Kazuma was being allowed to build and prosecute under his mentor's close supervision.

The first task was exactly as unpleasant as he had expected.

"Yes, I have it," Gorey said, staring at him intently with those disconcertingly flat, unblinking eyes of hers. "But first, I had a question about the functioning of Eastern kidneys. You only need one kidney to survive. May I have the other? I want to examine it."

Kazuma was not about to sacrifice his internal organs for the sake of getting van Zieks his autopsy report and would sooner send the man to fetch his documents himself. If anyone needed to cough up a kidney to pay the ransom, it was van Zieks. Thankfully, Gorey only sighed and muttered something about 'next time' when Kazuma refused. She handed him the report instead of holding it hostage, and he got out of there as fast as he could before she changed her mind.

Collecting the additional witness statement was thankfully a less perilous venture, but Kazuma was in a foul mood after the rest of the morning's annoyances and resented the task accordingly. The only bright spot was running across Lestrade on his way out of the Yard. Kazuma had never thought much of her before, but he found that he liked her a good deal better after she raised her eyebrows and said, "Got ya doin' 'is grunt work for 'im, does 'e? Grumpy old cove."

At least someone seemed to understand the challenge of working with a difficult man like van Zieks. And it was grunt work. Usually, they had such documents delivered to their office unless they had business at Scotland Yard or the coroner's office and wanted to discuss some matter in more detail. Van Zieks had only sent Kazuma on these errands today out of pure petty spite, even if Kazuma had been asking for it.

If they were both fed up and needed a break from each other, that seemed as good an excuse as any for Kazuma to make that break as long as possible without being blatantly insubordinate. He took his sweet time. Every extra minute he snatched for himself felt like a small victory.

His pace slowed to a crawl the closer he came to finishing his tasks, and when he finally had no more excuses to stay out in the city, he took his time traversing the halls of the Prosecutor's Office too.

Because he was dragging his feet, he ran straight across the Lord Chief Justice himself stepping out of another prosecutor's office. If Kazuma had done his errands in a timely manner instead of taking a leisurely stroll around London, he would have passed by several minutes earlier and missed the chance encounter entirely.

"Mr. Asogi," Lord Ashbourne greeted with a smile too warm not to raise Kazuma's suspicions. "You look like a busy man. Your case goes to trial tomorrow, doesn't it?"

"Yes," Kazuma agreed to both counts, although he was actually taking a break from being busy right now.

He regarded the man warily. The Lord Chief Justice had never stopped to exchange pleasantries with him before, although he supposed the man had just been appointed to the office a couple of weeks ago and they hadn't had much chance to run across each other.

"Very good," Lord Ashbourne said, affable and undeterred by the lukewarm reception. "I know it's a smaller case than you're used to, especially given the type of work your mentor usually takes on, but it will be a good start. Considering the general consensus was not to let you lead the prosecution at all for a good long while, this is actually quite lucky for you. I hope Lord van Zieks has impressed upon you how important it is for you to put forth your best work to give yourself a better chance at earning more courtroom privileges."

Kazuma frowned. He knew from the terms of his probation that he was hardly allowed to do anything without van Zieks's supervision and could only work on the cases and tasks assigned to him, but he hadn't heard anything about being barred from the prosecution. Van Zieks had told Kazuma in no uncertain terms that he needed to put his best foot forward since this was the first case he would be prosecuting since the Reaper trial and had been painstakingly meticulous about ripping all of Kazuma's work to shreds and making him redo it half a dozen times, but this had just seemed like more of his usual brusque, difficult temperament.

"What do you mean?" Kazuma asked. "What general consensus?"

Lord Ashbourne regarded him with a faintly baffled air. "Has he not told you? There was some pressure not to let you back in the courtroom after the Reaper trial. In fact, a good deal of pressure not to let you stay in London at all, after that assassin exchange business. Lord van Zieks was meeting with diplomats and judicial officials long before I was appointed to my post and could assist him with finalizing the details of your apprenticeship. He was quite persuasive when he bought you into this case, arguing that you could continue your education in the courtroom if we picked cases where you could not do too much damage, and he has agreed to take responsibility if anything does go wrong. Otherwise, you would be barred from court entirely. You are fortunate to have such a staunch advocate on your side."

He might as well have been speaking another language.

"What?" Kazuma asked, reeling and at a loss.

Lord Ashbourne frowned. "You didn't wonder why you haven't suffered any reprimand besides the restrictions on your practice? Lord van Zieks has personally vouched for you. It's the only reason you are still allowed in this building, much less London. Did you know that your compatriot, Mr. Naruhodo, was banned from the courtroom for six months due to a misstep he made in court? Your altercation with Inspector Gregson, gross prosecutorial misconduct, and involvement in some assassin plot would have earned you a much stricter penalty if your mentor hadn't stepped in and assumed responsibility for you and your conduct. He is taking a very big risk for you. I hope you will take full advantage of this second chance he has bought you."

Kazuma had no idea what to make of that. It was as if Lord Ashbourne had yanked the rug out from beneath his feet and left him reeling, fighting to find his footing again. Van Zieks had not volunteered any of this. Even if he had, Kazuma probably would not have believed him. But there was no obvious reason for the Lord Chief Justice to lie about such a thing, and Kazuma could hardly relay any doubts he might have to the man's face.

Kazuma mumbled some deflection, gave a quick bow of farewell, and skittered away before Lord Ashbourne could decide to impart any other uncomfortable truths. He wanted to take some time to breathe and think things over, but he was already pushing his luck after how long he had dallied.

He went back to his office and paused in the doorway, studying the man hunched over the desk with his brows knitted in a troubled line as he scribbled away furiously. Oh, Kazuma hated him. But now he had to wonder too.

As if sensing his scrutiny, van Zieks glanced up. His mouth pinched into a displeased scowl.

"There you are. I hope you enjoyed whatever break you were apparently taking, but usually those are reserved for when we are not behind schedule. Come here. I've just reviewed the revised arguments you've submitted, and you know they're sloppy. You need to take this seriously. I already warned you: even if it's a small case, these are still people's lives we're dealing with. And you need to make the best impression possible in your return to the courtroom. This is shoddy work, and I have little patience for this– this substandard, slapdash drivel. You need to fix this now."

For once, Kazuma didn't have a sharp retort lined up, ready to trip off his tongue. He crossed the room silently, searching his mentor's face and finding no answers.

Why would you bother? he wondered. After all I've hated you and you've hated me, why…?

But he was too proud to ask, and if van Zieks could read the question in his eyes, he was too proud to answer.

Kazuma trotted down the hall at a quick clip. There was no time for dallying today. They had a meeting scheduled at the Yard, and his lunch had run late. He did not even have a proper excuse to offer. Nothing had happened—he had merely lost track of time. Van Zieks would be displeased, which meant he'd be even more insufferable than usual. The biting commentary would be bad enough, but even worse was when he turned his look of profound disappointment on his apprentice, as if Kazuma was not taking his responsibilities seriously or living up to his potential. It did not matter what van Zieks thought, but Kazuma hated it more than anything when the man looked at him as if he had expected better and been let down.

He was only ten minutes late, and their office was right down the hall. Surely, ten minutes wouldn't be enough to earn a lecture. Then again, van Zieks did love a good lecture.

He whipped around the corner fast and yelped in surprise when he collided with someone coming in the opposite direction. He reeled back, stumbling but keeping his balance. His victim, a lanky, sour-faced prosecutor by the name of Kiligrew, windmilled his arms and lurched sideways into the wall. A file slipped from his grasp and exploded in a flurry of papers that soared through the air and drifted towards the ground.

"I'm so sorry!" Kazuma said, horrified. "Are you alright?"

He dropped to his haunches to snatch up the pages layering the floor, scrambling in his haste to rectify the embarrassing situation before he brought van Zieks's full wrath down on himself for his tardiness.

"Don't!" Kiligrew snarled, swooping down and snatching the pages from Kazuma's hand. "I don't need your help. Just watch where you're going."

"I just–"

"Keep your filthy Eastern hands off my things."

Kazuma's mouth snapped shut with an audible click, and he could feel the color rising to his cheeks. He stood slowly, narrowing his eyes at the other man. Kiligrew glowered back.

"Excuse me?" Kazuma asked in a low, dangerous voice, his hand dropping of its own accord to rest lightly on the hilt of his sword.

Kiligrew didn't have the good sense to look afraid or apologetic. "No one wants rats running around underfoot," he snapped. "Go back where you belong, try not to keep making a mess everywhere you go, and stay out of my way."

Kazuma saw red, fury crawling up his throat like acid. He didn't know how Ryunosuke and Susato had always been so gracious in the face of the casual and not-so-casual racism they encountered here, but he was not nearly as forgiving as they were.

His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword and his fury was coalescing into sharp-edged words in his mouth, and he might have done or said something very foolish indeed if the door to their office hadn't opened farther down the hall.

Van Zieks stepped into the hallway, head tilted and eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation. Then he started towards them at a deliberate, unhurried pace. His footsteps echoed off the tile, and Kiligrew stiffened abruptly, an uneasy look passing over his face.

"Is there a problem out here?" van Zieks asked flatly. "You're making quite a racket."

Kiligrew quailed for a moment but then rallied, turning to face the more intimidating prosecutor's approach. "Your apprentice is running amok through the halls and trampling over people!"

"I said I was sorry," Kazuma muttered.

"I'm afraid that would be my fault," van Zieks said. "We have a meeting, and I impressed upon him the importance of making it back in time. Please accept my apologies for this incident."

This seemed to confuse Kiligrew more than vindicate him, but then he shook off his unease and pressed his advantage, emboldened by the surprisingly servile reaction.

"The boy is a menace!" he declared. "It's bad enough that the Lord Chief Justice let this foreigner stay after all the trouble he caused. If he's going to keep being a nuisance, he should be shipped back off again. I hope that you will punish him appropriately and keep him under control."

Kazuma could throttle the man, but he didn't dare move while van Zieks was on the prowl. Kiligrew had severely misjudged the situation. Van Zieks's voice was smooth, his words placating, his gestures unaggressive, but there was a hard edge beneath this thin veneer of civility, and his eyes were like ice. He was coiled tight, ready to strike.

He brushed past Kiligrew and then Kazuma before turning back to stand directly behind his apprentice and rest both hands on his shoulders. Kazuma stiffened under the touch, glancing up and craning his neck back. Van Zieks's gaze was fixed on Kiligrew, cold and calculating. His grip tightened meaningfully until Kazuma dropped his hand away from his sword.

"As you say, he is my apprentice and the responsibility of correcting his behavior falls on me," van Zieks said. "I have assumed all responsibility for his behavior, and therefore any failing on his part is a failing on mine. Since that is the case, you should bring any grievances to me. There is no reason for you to address them to him directly. Do not approach him again. I will, of course, be at your service should you wish to lodge a complaint."

The color drained steadily from Kiligrew's face until it had achieved the shade of curdled milk. Kazuma had been an easy target: young, inexperienced, a foreigner in a strange land without anyone to stand behind him. But now someone was standing behind him, quite literally. He imagined he looked a great deal more intimidating with van Zieks rising up behind him like an imposing shadow. Kiligrew might have been bold enough to pick on an easy target, but he would not have challenged van Zieks that way. Now van Zieks had essentially said that any criticism of Kazuma was a criticism of him, and Kiligrew was looking very sorry that he had ever opened his mouth.

"I, ah…" Kiligrew swallowed hard. "I meant no offense."

"Of course not," van Zieks said graciously. "Mr. Asogi, why don't you gather Mr. Kiligrew's things for him, since you seem to have put them in disarray? We should always clean up our messes."

"I tried," Kazuma said, trying to keep the sulky, peevish note out of his voice. "He told me to keep my filthy Eastern hands off his things."

Kiligrew flinched back, the pages he'd snatched back from Kazuma crumpling in his tightening grip.

"I see," van Zieks said, his hands slipping from Kazuma's shoulders. "In that case…"

He stepped around Kazuma again and knelt down with surprising grace, delicately plucking papers from the ground and gathering them into a neat sheaf. Kiligrew's eyes bulged, and he looked as if he might choke on his tongue.

"No, no," he said hurriedly. "There's no need for that, My Lord. Really, I–"

"Unless my hands are also too soiled to be of assistance?" van Zieks inquired politely.

If van Zieks were a different man and this were a different situation, Kazuma might have laughed. He had seen van Zieks at his most intimidating, but this was a more subtle display of dominance. Somehow, van Zieks seemed more dangerous than ever when his malice was papered over with gracious civility. He could sharpen the politest gesture into a weapon.

"No, of course not!" Kiligrew squeaked.

He dropped gracelessly to his hands and knees, scrabbling in the dust to snatch up whatever pages he could get his hands on before van Zieks did so in his show of mock humility. Kazuma sneered down at him, vicious satisfaction pulling one corner of his mouth upwards. Kiligrew looked a bit like a rat himself, flailing about on the floor.

Van Zieks went about his task unhurriedly, his unruffled poise in sharp contrast to Kiligrew's frantic haste. When the last of the papers had been collected, both men rose to their feet again. Kiligrew clutched his messy bundle of haphazard pages in his hand, and van Zieks offered him his own neat stack, each edge perfectly lined up with the next.

"Thank you," Kiligrew said awkwardly. "You didn't have to…"

He reached out to take the papers, but when he tried to pull them away, van Zieks's hand tightened around the sheaf.

"You would do well to remember that Mr. Asogi is here as an official representative of the Empire of Japan," van Zieks said coolly. "If I might offer a word of advice, it would be unwise to tangle with a diplomatic envoy. It might lead to foreign affairs problems. Career-ending problems. We wouldn't want that."

Kiligrew swallowed hard. "N-no… Of course not."

"Very good." Van Zieks let go of the pages, and Kiligrew clutched them to his chest and backed away a few paces. "Good day to you. Mr. Asogi, come."

He stalked off down the hall and Kazuma followed after him, although not before throwing Kiligrew a contemptuous glance. Van Zieks ushered Kazuma back into their office and shut the door.

"I thought we needed to go to the Yard," Kazuma said. "We're late."

"Yes, well, we're late already. What's a minute or two more?" Van Zieks fixed Kazuma with a flat look. "Take a moment to collect yourself."

"I'm perfectly collected."

"Yes, that's exactly what it looked like. I shouldn't have to tell you this, but under no circumstances are you to even think about drawing a sword on anyone unless you are defending your life, and especially not in the middle of the Prosecutor's Office."

"I wasn't actually going to pull a sword on him," Kazuma muttered. Van Zieks crossed his arms over his chest, eyebrows lifting minutely. "Probably."

"Diplomatic immunity will only get you so far," van Zieks warned. "You came here under false pretenses as part of an assassination scheme and have already displayed aggression. Any further sign of violence is liable to get your study tour revoked. You must learn how to handle these situations without violence, and preferably with enough decorum that no one will accuse you of poor conduct."

Kazuma glowered, lips pulling into a sneer. "I don't need you to defend me. I can handle myself."

"I know," van Zieks said simply. "But it is, in fact, my responsibility. Whatever our petty squabbles within this office, we should strive to present a united front outside of it. It is better that you do not make enemies of your colleagues when possible. I do not want any consequences interfering with your apprenticeship. If someone is bothering you, you may direct them to me. But with any luck, I've made enough of an example out of Mr. Kiligrew that people will think twice next time. I'm sure the story will make the rounds at the office before day's end. Our colleagues are a vicious pack of gossipmongers."

"He deserved it," Kazuma muttered. "He was awful."

"Even so, we don't resort to violence in civilized society. It doesn't matter what he does or does not deserve. You should care less about him and more about yourself. If the idea of common decency doesn't stay your hand, consider the consequences to yourself. Fools like Mr. Kiligrew are not worth losing your apprenticeship for, no matter how awful they are."

"Or is it only that you think he isn't wrong at all?" Kazuma asked snidely. "He was only saying what you and half of London think. You can try to sweep in and play the hero, but the reason you don't want me attacking him is because you agree. You're just as bad as he is."

Van Zieks sighed and brought a hand to his face. "I'm no one's hero, Mr. Asogi, and I never pretended to be. But if you are going to insist on defending your nation's honor, better that you draw a sword on me than some other unlucky fool. At least I won't drag you to the Lord Chief Justice for it and demand you be exiled from the country. I meant exactly what I said. You are going to jeopardize your position here if you go making enemies and engaging in those kinds of altercations."

Kazuma stared at him very hard. He was hardly going to believe van Zieks would rise to his defense out of the goodness of his heart, so there must be another reason. Van Zieks hadn't even wanted to continue the apprenticeship in the first place, so that seemed like an unlikely reason too. And it seemed vanishingly unlikely that he'd respond well to having a sword drawn on him regardless of the circumstances.

Maybe if he had put in as much work to sort out this apprenticeship as Lord Ashbourne had said, he just didn't want Kazuma to throw it all away and get banished from the country. But honestly, that seemed like exactly the outcome he should desire. A ready-made excuse to get rid of Kazuma.

"What do you care?" Kazuma asked. "I'd think you'd be happy enough to send me back to my backwater country. I don't need you to defend me, especially if you're going to be a hypocrite about it. You're the last person with a right to pretend to care about someone else's prejudice."

Van Zieks turned away and drifted behind his desk to stare out the window. He didn't reply immediately, and when he did, he spoke slowly and his voice had a distant quality to it.

"It's easier to have a reason," he said finally. "An excuse. Something to blame other than ourselves. I've had a lot of time to think about it recently, and I think… It was easier for an entire people to be terrible than for only a friend to be. It was easier to fault a nation than to fault myself for being so terribly wrong. I didn't just trust the wrong person—it was the entire people who were duplicitous. It's less personal that way, maybe. He betrayed us because his race predisposed him to it, not because he had tricked us into being his friends, pretended to care, and then stabbed us in the back. It's safer when you can see people's treachery written plainly across their skin instead of buried in their hearts.

"It's a foolish way of thinking, perhaps, but when you are barely keeping your head above water, sometimes we clutch at whatever we think will save us. But I suppose it's harder to think that way now, knowing that all the worst traitors were here at home all along. I trusted Klint more than anyone. I trusted Lord Stronghart and Inspector Gregson and Doctor Sithe too, at least for a time, and in the end… The common thread is me and my poor judgment of character. Ironic. I didn't want to believe I could be so wrong about someone I had cared about, so I put on blinders and made the same mistake again and again and again.

"So, Mr. Asogi, I will attempt to keep my prejudices out of our professional relationship while I work through them, because they no longer serve the purpose they were created for or bring me the comfort I needed. Maybe I have outgrown them, finally. If that makes me a hypocrite, then at least I will be a self-bettering one."

Kazuma stared at him, taken aback by van Zieks's sudden, startling openness. The admission of being wrong. The obvious consideration that had been put into the subject.

"I… I don't think–"

"I should think you might understand on some level," van Zieks said very quietly. "Isn't it easier to blame me too?"

Kazuma's mouth snapped shut, and it took a solid twenty seconds before he found his voice and rekindled his ire again. "But it was your fault."

"Yes…" van Zieks said in a vague, distant kind of way. "I won't deny the part I played. And yet you still hate me more than Inspector Gregson, who planted the evidence that secured the conviction, and Lord Stronghart, who masterminded the entire plot, and your Nippon– Japanese judge Jigoku, who pulled the trigger."

Kazuma flinched back half a step as the words hit home. They were true. He hated everyone who had conspired against his father, but it was the shadow of the prosecutor securing a false conviction that he had raged against for all these years, and that shadow had resolved itself into van Zieks. Somehow van Zieks was still the embodiment of the treachery swirling around his father's murder, even though it seemed that out of all the guilty parties, he was actually the most innocent. Maybe it was just that he was the only one left in Kazuma's grasp. The only one still here to lash out at and make pay.

Kazuma didn't even know what he was supposed to say to that. "I…"

"It's alright," van Zieks said, sounding suddenly very tired. "It doesn't matter to me, really. I don't care if you despise me, but you should be aware of your own inclinations, even if that's putting a face to a monster just so that you aren't so afraid of the dark. You can keep it as a crutch, but don't let it blind you. And if I might offer some advice, try not to let it interfere with your apprenticeship more than it needs to. Don't cripple yourself just to take me down with you. I doubt I shall need your help."

Kazuma clenched his hands into fists at his sides. He didn't know what to make of any of this. Van Zieks never spoke so openly—barely about their work, much less about personal matters. Kazuma wanted to sneer at him for making excuses for himself and trying to pressure his apprentice into letting go of his grudge, but… That honestly didn't sound like what van Zieks was trying to do at all. Kazuma could not tell what the man was trying to say.

Don't be like me, maybe. I will be your monster if that's what you need to hold on to in order to keep your head above water.

Kazuma shivered at that. He was reading too much into things again. Better not to think too much. There were easier answers to grasp on to.

"You're awfully chatty today," he said rather than acknowledging any part of it. He folded all the words away into some dark corner of his brain, either to wither away unacknowledged or be drawn out for inspection at a later date.

"Hm." Van Zieks turned away from the window, and Kazuma caught only a flicker of bone-deep exhaustion before his face was wiped clean again. "Have you recovered your composure? Good. Let's go to our meeting, then. We are very late. Do try not to stab anyone along the way."

He strode briskly from the room without a backwards glance, leaving Kazuma to hurry after him.