The questions came at him like acid, sharp and relentless, as if designed not to seek the truth but to break him down.

The opposing lawyer stepped forward, voice dripping with condescension. "Gurvinder Singh, you stand before this court today after miraculously surviving an alleged murder attempt. Quite the fighter, aren't you? Tell us—how exactly did you manage to escape twenty armed men?"

Gurvi clenched his jaw. He knew where this was going. They weren't just questioning his survival; they were trying to make it sound unbelievable.

"I fought," he answered simply, his voice steady.

The lawyer scoffed. "Fought? Against twenty men? Without a weapon?" He turned to the judge. "Your honor, does this sound logical? Either this boy is the most dangerous man in Paris, or he is lying."

Murmurs spread through the courtroom. Marinette's fists clenched, her heart pounding in frustration.

The lawyer continued, "Let's talk about your past. You claim to have been abused, yet for years, you said nothing. Why should we believe you now?"

Gurvi inhaled deeply. "Because I was a child. And I was scared."

The lawyer smirked. "Scared? You, a child who supposedly endured years of brutal beatings, who survived underground fights, who—let's not forget—just walked into this courtroom covered in scars as some kind of symbol—you were scared?"

Gurvi's fingers curled into his palms. Every word was a trap. If he said he wasn't scared, they'd claim he was lying about his past. If he admitted he was scared, they'd say he was weak—too weak to survive what he claimed to have endured.

The lawyer leaned forward. "Tell me, Gurvinder, if your uncle was truly so cruel, why didn't anyone else ever report him? No teachers, no neighbors, no witnesses?"

Silence.

Gurvi's throat tightened. He had answers—he could tell them about the silence of bystanders, the way people turn away from suffering that isn't their own, the way his uncle manipulated everything. But would they even listen?

The lawyer smirked at the hesitation. "No answer? Convenient."

Marinette's nails dug into her palm. She could see it—the way they were twisting everything, making him sound like the liar instead of the victim. Her blood boiled.

But then, Gurvi lifted his head, his gaze locking onto the lawyer's with a quiet, burning defiance.

"I didn't say no one reported him," he said finally, his voice low but firm. "I said no one listened."

The room fell silent.

The judge leaned forward, his expression unreadable. "Mr. Singh, answer clearly—if your uncle was as abusive as you claim, why was there never any formal complaint against him before this case?"

Gurvi took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he steadied himself. He had been preparing for this, but the weight of the moment still pressed down on him. His voice, though quiet, carried across the courtroom.

"There were complaints," he said. "There were whispers." His eyes never left the judge. "But whispers don't mean anything when the people listening don't care."

The judge raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying no one took action?"

Gurvi let out a sharp breath. "They looked away. Teachers saw the bruises, neighbors heard the screams. Some pitied me. Some told me to be 'strong.' Some said it was a 'family matter.' And those who did try?" He let his fingers graze one of the deeper scars on his side. "They were threatened. They had families of their own. My uncle made sure no one would stand against him."

The lawyer scoffed, stepping forward. "So you expect us to believe that an entire community ignored what you claim to have gone through?"

Gurvi's jaw tightened. "Yes," he said, his voice firm. "Because that's what people do. They ignore what they don't want to see."

The courtroom was silent. The judge studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Continue."

Adrien stepped up to the stand, adjusting his posture. He wasn't nervous—he had spoken in front of cameras, crowds, and even under his father's cold, scrutinizing gaze. But this? This was different. This was about Gurvi. A boy who had fought battles no one should have to, who had nearly died just hours ago, and yet still stood here, unbroken.

The judge leaned forward. "Mr. Agreste, you have spent a fair amount of time with Gurvinder Singh. Can you describe your experience with him?"

Adrien let out a slow breath, gathering his thoughts. "Gurvi is… unlike anyone I've ever met." He glanced at his friend—his scars exposed, his eyes sharp with determination. "From the very first day, he carried himself differently. He was confident, sharp-witted, and had this… presence about him. People were drawn to him, even if they didn't fully understand him."

A faint, knowing smile crossed Adrien's lips. "He always had something to say—whether it was a joke to lighten the mood or a smart remark that left people speechless. He never let anyone think he was weak. Even when people looked down on him, even when they whispered behind his back, he still made them laugh. He still carried himself with pride. And he never—never—let anyone see how much he was hurting."

Adrien's expression darkened slightly. "But if you looked close enough, you could see it. The way he would deflect when conversations got too personal. The way he avoided questions about his past. The way his smile sometimes didn't quite reach his eyes."

The opposing lawyer scoffed, flipping through their notes. "That's a touching story, Mr. Agreste. But let's focus on the facts. Gurvinder Singh has been in multiple violent altercations, including one just today. Would you say that's normal behavior?"

Adrien's jaw tightened. He looked at the lawyer, then at the judge, then back at the crowd—his voice dropping, cold and sharp.

"You're right. It's not normal. None of what he's been through is normal. Gurvi didn't get into fights because he wanted to. He fought because he had to. Because the world gave him no other choice."

He glanced at Gurvi again, his fists tightening. "But what is normal about a boy being beaten for losing a fight he was forced into? What's normal about a kid being left to bleed in an alley because his own family saw him as nothing more than a way to make money?"

The lawyer opened his mouth, but Adrien's glare shut him down before he could speak.

"And today? Today, he was nearly killed. And even then—while bleeding out, while barely able to stand—he still shielded Marinette with his body instead of running. Because that's who he is." Adrien's voice was unwavering now. "He's not the monster you're trying to paint him as. The real monster is the man sitting over there."

Adrien turned his gaze to Mahendra, his usually warm green eyes now cold with fury.

The courtroom fell silent. The judge shifted slightly, before nodding for the next witness.

Alya walked up to the stand with steady steps, but her heart was racing. She had always been the one to chase the truth, to tell the world's stories—but this time, the truth was right here, standing in front of her, fighting for his life.

The judge cleared his throat. "Miss Césaire, you are known for your journalism work. You have observed and interacted with Gurvinder Singh closely. Tell us, in your experience, what kind of person is he?"

Alya took a deep breath, then looked directly at the judge. "Gurvi is a survivor." Her voice was firm, unwavering. "He's one of the strongest people I've ever met. Not just physically—though, yeah, we've all seen that—but emotionally. The way he carries himself, the way he pushes forward no matter how much the world throws at him… it's incredible."

She turned to face the crowd, eyes burning with conviction. "But the thing about Gurvi? He doesn't just survive for himself. He fights for other people. Always."

The defense lawyer adjusted his glasses, unimpressed. "Miss Césaire, let's be real here. Your so-called 'incredible' friend has been in multiple violent situations. How do you justify that?"

Alya let out a sharp laugh. "Justify it? I don't have to justify it—because if you knew even half of what he's been through, you wouldn't be asking that question."

She pointed at Gurvi, her voice rising. "You see those scars? Those aren't from street fights. They're not from some reckless kid looking for trouble. They're from years of being beaten, of being used, of being treated like he wasn't even human. And yet, here he is—standing, fighting, still choosing to protect people instead of becoming what the world tried to turn him into."

The lawyer scoffed, flipping through his papers. "A touching speech. But how do we know you're not just biased? After all, you were one of the first to turn his story into a hero narrative."

Alya's jaw clenched, but she smiled—dangerously. "Yeah, I was. And I'd do it again. Because Gurvi is a hero."

She leaned forward, eyes locking onto the lawyer's. "You think heroes are just people who wear capes and fight bad guys? No. Heroes are the ones who refuse to let the world break them, who keep going even when everything is against them. And that's who Gurvi is."

The courtroom was silent. Even the judge looked taken aback.

Alya took a breath and straightened. "So, yeah. Maybe I am biased. Because I've seen the truth. And the truth is—he deserves justice."

The judge nodded slowly. "Thank you, Miss Césaire. You may step down."

Nathaniel stepped onto the stand, his fingers tightening around the edges as he took his seat. He had never been one for public speaking, but for Gurvinder—for the truth—he was willing to stand in front of everyone.

The judge adjusted his glasses. "Nathaniel Kurtzberg, you have known Gurvinder Singh for some time now. Can you tell us about your experiences with him?"

Nathaniel inhaled deeply before speaking. "Gurvi is… not what you expect when you first meet him." He gave a small, almost nostalgic smile. "He comes off as confident, almost too confident, always cracking jokes, always making it seem like nothing can get to him. He's got this natural charisma—he can talk to anyone, win over a room in minutes."

His smile faded, and his expression became serious. "But beneath that? There's a lot of pain he never shows. He doesn't like to talk about himself, about his past. He keeps people at a distance, making sure no one sees how much he's hurting. And yet, he's the first person to stand up for someone else. The first person to fight when something is unfair. He acts like he doesn't care, but the truth is… he cares more than anyone I've ever met."

The defense lawyer tilted his head, unimpressed. "That's a rather poetic description, but let's talk facts. Gurvinder Singh has been involved in violent situations before, has he not?"

Nathaniel clenched his jaw, but he didn't hesitate. "Yes, he has. Because he was forced to."

The lawyer raised an eyebrow. "Forced?"

Nathaniel's grip on the stand tightened. "Do you think he wanted to fight? That he chose to be put in those situations? That he wanted to be hurt over and over again? Gurvi was put in a life where fighting was the only way to survive. But even then, he never fought for himself—he fought for others."

He glanced at Gurvi, his voice unwavering. "He fought for Marinette when she needed him. He fought to protect the people he cared about. He fought because he had no other choice. And even after everything, after all the pain, he still refuses to become the kind of person who hurt him. That's who he is."

The courtroom was silent for a moment before the defense lawyer sighed. "And yet, despite all this supposed strength and charisma, you are telling me he never confided in you? Never shared his struggles?"

Nathaniel let out a short, bitter laugh. "That's the thing about Gurvi. He doesn't want to burden people. He jokes around, he acts like everything is fine, but deep down? He carries everything alone."

He looked at the judge now, his voice firm. "But just because someone doesn't say they're in pain doesn't mean they aren't suffering. And just because someone has survived doesn't mean they should have had to."

The judge nodded slowly, taking in his words. "Thank you, Mr. Kurtzberg. You may step down."

Nathaniel hesitated before stepping down. His fingers clenched for a moment before he took a deep breath, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

"There's… one more thing," he said, his eyes flickering toward Marinette before landing on Gurvinder. "I used to love Marinette."

A hushed murmur rippled through the courtroom, but Nathaniel didn't stop. He forced himself to keep going. "When I saw her getting closer to Gurvi, I hated it. I hated him. And at some point… I even started to hate her for choosing him over me." His voice wavered, but he pushed through. "I told myself it wasn't fair. That he didn't deserve her. That I did."

Nathaniel's gaze hardened, but not with anger— with regret. "And the worst part? He knew. Gurvi knew I resented him. He knew I wanted him gone. And still… he was the one who came up to me. He was the one who told me that I shouldn't go down a path of hate."

His voice was thick with emotion now. "I hated him, and all he did was try to save me from becoming someone I wasn't."

He exhaled shakily and turned to the judge. "If Gurvi was the selfish, reckless person they're painting him out to be, he wouldn't have done that. But he did."

The judge watched him carefully before nodding. "Thank you, Mr. Kurtzberg. You may step down."

Nathaniel turned and walked back to his seat, his eyes meeting Gurvi's for just a moment. And in that glance, there was no resentment, no jealousy—just understanding.

As Marinette took the stand, the questions came at her like daggers—sharp, relentless, meant to tear apart everything she had said before.

"Miss Dupain-Cheng, isn't it true that you've only known Gurvinder for a few months? How can you possibly testify to his past?"

"How do we know your feelings for him aren't clouding your judgment?"

"If Gurvinder was truly suffering, why has no one spoken about this before?"

Marinette's grip on the wooden stand tightened, her heart pounding, but she didn't back down. Instead, she took a deep breath, steadying herself before speaking.

"Because no one cared to look," she said, her voice clear and unwavering. "Because for years, he was nothing but a fighter to people like them." She shot a sharp glance toward Mahendra. "But I did look. And I found someone who did, too."

The courtroom went silent.

"I met someone the other night—Mahendra's old neighbor." Marinette turned to face the judge directly. "She was there when Gurvinder was a child. She watched him grow up. And she saw everything."

Mahendra stiffened in his seat. The silence in the room thickened.

Marinette glanced toward Tom and Sabine's lawyer. "Please, show them the last piece of proof."

The lawyer handed a folder to the bailiff, who brought it to the judge's bench. The entire courtroom watched in silence as the judge opened it and pulled out the photographs inside.

First, a picture of a small, joyful Gurvinder in the old woman's garden, his parents by his side, laughing. A stark contrast to the man who now stood in the courtroom.

Then, a series of horrifying images—Gurvinder, much younger, standing in the middle of the street, his back striped with deep, bloody wounds. Mahendra standing behind him, whip in hand, mid-swing. People in the background watching, some turning away, pretending not to see.

Gasps erupted in the courtroom. Someone audibly cursed under their breath.

Marinette didn't look away. She stared straight at Mahendra, her blue eyes burning with fury. "This is what he did to him. This is what no one saw."

The judge's expression darkened as they examined the pictures. The entire room felt suffocating with the weight of the truth.

Mahendra shifted, visibly tense, but before he could speak, Marinette continued. "That man," she said, pointing at Mahendra, "has tried to erase Gurvinder's past, his future—his entire life. He tried to kill him even today." Her voice shook, but she forced herself to stay strong. "But no matter how much he tries, he can't erase this."

She looked back at the judge. "Now tell me, do these look like the scars of a reckless person… or the scars of a survivor?"

The courtroom fell into a suffocating silence. Everyone was waiting—waiting for the judge to speak, waiting for the weight of the evidence to settle.

Mahendra sat frozen in his seat, his face pale. His fingers trembled as he clenched them into fists, his breath uneven. For the first time, the man who always held power, who always dictated Gurvinder's fate, looked scared.

His eyes darted around the room, searching for something—anything—to turn this in his favor. But there was nothing. The photos, the testimonies, the very presence of Gurvinder standing before him, alive after everything, had shattered the control he once held.

Gurvinder didn't look away. He stood tall, shirtless, his scars bared for all to see. He wanted Mahendra to see them. He wanted him to know that no matter what happened next, no matter what tricks he tried to pull, he had already lost.

The judge exhaled deeply, setting the photos down. "Mr. Mahendra," they finally spoke, their voice heavy with the weight of the truth laid before them, "do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Mahendra opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was drowning in his own fear.