An Evolution So Profound That The POV Changed

I have walked many paths, crossed innumerable oceans, seen incredible things. In all the years I’ve lived, I’ve learned a certain fact about life: some of the most valiant people are those who choose to do law school. Willingly.

—Robin Benz

Roo slams a tower of books in front of Mirei and I. It’s almost as tall as Mirei, who is roughly four feet tall.

“These are all textbooks on how the government works, its law, and a history of major trials.”

Mirei’s face pales, staring at each of the book spines. Most of them are thicker than her wrist.

“Can you just… teach us? I can’t read the letters,” Mirei stammers. I nod frantically. Reading is not my strong suit, but if someone verbally teaches a topic to me, I catch on quickly.

“I can just cast another layer of the translator spell so that you can read.”

“No!” Mirei and I declare simultaneously.

Roo huffs and runs his hand through his hair. “Fine. You’re lucky that I’m technically a government official. I know more or less how everything works. Let’s start with how your trial will look.”

Roo explains that, as he said before, the trial will be in debate format. The defendants—Mirei and I—and the prosecutor will sit at one table. A discussion moderator will preside over the debate, making sure that both parties stay on topic. As they hand out the discussion topics, a trio of adjudicators will be sitting nearby, silent. This group is responsible for deciding who won.

“Your job is to convince the adjudicators that you are not responsible for the sandstorm disaster two days ago. In fact, the best way to go is to prove that you’re not a threat at all,” Roo advises, tapping on the desk. He leans over it, watching Mirei and I closely to make sure we’re paying attention. His expression is stony, a complete change from his playful attitude earlier. It confuses me endlessly, but it also intrigues me. Roo is never predictable.

“How do we do that?” Mirei questions, already rubbing the stress lines on her forehead.

“Oh, that’s simple,” Roo says in a casual, almost flippant tone.

I blink. “Really?”

“Yes. Simply bring a Magic Measuring device, show how weak you are, and you’re golden.”

Mirei huzzahs. “Woo! Thank God it’s that easy! I thought we’d have to cram debate techniques and become geniuses overnight. Thank God we’re weak!”

I purse my lips, feeling like I should scold Mirei, but not sure how. It’s not like anything she said is… false. We are incredibly weak, at least according to Roo.

“Your naïveté is showing, little girl,” Roo chides, swirling his finger in the air twice. A scroll zips from one of the bookshelves behind him and soars through the air before gracefully landing on the desk space in front of us. I shove the tower of books back to give the scroll more room.

Roo rounds the table and places himself between my chair and Mirei’s. He unwraps the red ribbon circling the scroll, causing a fraction of it to roll open. He smooths out the yellowing page with two hands. My eyes flit all over the page, baffled by the sheer amount of words I see. The characters are reminiscent of Hiragana, but definitely not the same. They’re incredibly tiny and connect together, making it seem like scribbles. There’s at least one-hundred vertical rows of this writing on the part that Roo smoothed out for us to see.

“This scroll is the Rules of Trial. It is sent to the defendant and prosecutor before their trial. You must memorize everything in this scroll in three hours.”

My jaw drops open so wide that I swear I can hear it smack the floor.

“T-T-T-Three hours?!” My teeth chatter at the prospect of reading the tiny, illegible font for three hours straight. I think I might have an aneurysm.

Mirei cackles boisterously. “Don’t joke like that, Sage Roo! You almost got me, but I’m too good for your half-cooked jokes. Now what do you actually mean?”

Roo simply stares at her, eyebrows arched. He doesn’t laugh.

“I’m serious.”

Mirei’s face falls. I smack my forehead against the ancient desk.

“I’ll cast the second layer of translator magic,” Roo says in a dry tone, touching one finger to the back of my head and Mirei’s head.

* * *

That day, Haruki truly ascended. He was no longer human, but a vessel— a vessel of rules. He read until his eyes only saw words when he looked around. He memorized until he couldn’t hear his own thoughts, only the mnemonic devices Sage Roo drilled into his mind. There was a moment where he rolled on the floor like a hot dog, chanting “Objections can only be used when the opponent delineates a sequence of events that contradict an epitome of facts that otherwise prove another claim; notwithstanding…”

Mirei got to a point where she was convinced that she was a wise old man on the verge of godhood. She chastised her nonexistent class of pupils when they incorrectly answered a question about the Rules of Trial.

Sage Roo merely smacked them with books until they were knocked back into their senses. This process repeated hundreds of times in the span of three hours.

* * *

“Alright, Takahashi Siblings. The hour has come,” Roo announces. “You have suffered—” He takes one heavy step away from us for each word he says. “—cried, screamed, and cheered like maniacs. You have evolved. I now declare you graduated from my Law School crash course. What say ye?”

He whips around to face us, hand outstretched in declaration. I wheeze from my position under the desk, unable to form words. Mirei, who hops down from the desk and onto the floor in front of me, is somewhat more coherent, as she manages to reply: “I’m ready to obliterate the prosecution.”

She sounds and looks totally feral, with the way her hair is knotted from all her times pulling at it and scratching her scalp in confusion. Her eyes have a glint only the moderately unhinged have. I suppose I don’t look much different.

Roo nods once in approval. “And you, pupil Haruki?”

I grunt.

Roo nods once more in approval. “Now, let’s get you dressed up for court.”