Chapter 20:

A Terrifying Trial Begins

If The Weak Were To Live


“The city is full of people, so news travels incredibly fast when something major happens. Ladeans are known for their propensity to gossip.”

—Robin Benz


By the time Mirei gets her dress on, we’re several minutes past the time we were supposed to leave. Roo hurriedly takes us to the closest transportation array and we step on it. The magic lines pulse with light before the scenery snaps from that of a row of buildings to an enormous courthouse. It resembles those on Earth, except instead of it being white, it’s made of gray stone. I would argue that it’s more window than stone, at least from this view. Orange lamps weave around the thick pillars that loom over the main entrance. Two double doors open and close repeatedly as people rush in and out. One such person, with vines for hair and eyes made of gems, bumps into us and scowls. Roo glares right back and tugs us forward. We stumble up the wide staircase and through the doors.

The main lobby is positively packed. Nobody stops to stare at us, something that I’m completely unfamiliar with. I still remember how on my first day at high school, people kept talking about me due to my illness. I’m grateful that, no matter what kind of reputation I’ve garnered in this world, nobody will look twice. But perhaps that’s because no one knows who I am or the part I played in Chekagi Tree’s downfall. While I don’t feel that Mirei or I did anything to cause it, I still feel guilty for some illogical reason.

Roo hauls us past several reception desks lit with azure globes and up more staircase. My geta shoes clack against each polished step, but it’s largely blurred by the sounds of everyone else.

“I didn’t realize no one would recognize us,” Mirei points out. “After all, we’re suspected of destroying a third of the city.”

Roo looks over at her slightly confused. “Why would they recognize you? The only people that might know who you are is the group of elderly and children that I rescued, but they promised not to say anything I wonder how long that will last considering children don’t seem to have a filter. It usually doesn’t matter though. The court sends out a letter of nondisclosure, which guarantees their silence until the trial is over.”

“You used the law to silence them?” I say, baffled.

“No, I merely requested that the trial be closed to the public. Part of that is asking potential witnesses to keep their thoughts to themselves, at least until after the verdict has been released.”

“…Maybe they respected the court’s order because you saved them.”

Roo’s reaction shocks me. He simply sighs and shakes his head, before seething, “Who would be thankful for me? What’s a handful of lives against half of Chekagi Tree? I’m incredibly lucky that barely anyone knows my face. If they did, I would be ostracized.”

Roo is silent after that, no matter how much Mirei tries to refute him. As we get closer to the top floor where our trial will be held, I find that my gaze is locked on Roo. His shoulders sag and his back is hunched over. He is the picture of defeat. I understand his position, but I still admire him for what he did. He nearly sacrificed his life for his people. If it weren’t for my actions, he would be dead.

We get to the top and speed walk down a long hallway of many doors. Some have a green lantern lit beside them, signaling that a trial is in session.

Finally, Roo says something. “I should thank you, Haruki.”

My attention snaps up to find Roo looking sidelong at me. His eyelids fall before he looks forward once more, speaking quickly but with a soft voice. “If you weren’t there, I would’ve failed my whole country. My death would be the ultimate failure, one that would diminish my family’s reputation. I will thank you properly after your trial, regardless of the outcome.”

My breath catches in my throat. Right as we stop in front of the door to our courtroom, I raise my gloved hand toward his shoulder. “Roo…”

But before it lands there, he’s already gone, trudging alone down the empty hall. My eyes follow him until Mirei tugs my sleeve insistently. I swallow whatever emotion is crawling up my throat and turn to my little sister.

“Let’s go. We’re late,” She tells me.

After a few beats of silence, I nod. I gather up every scrap of courage I have to push open that door.

The room is small; there are only three long rows of seats separated by an opening for us to walk through. We pad across soft carpet, gazing at the large circular table at the courtroom’s center. At the farthest end of the room is the adjudicators’ box, looming over the table. There is an ornate seat reserved for all three of the adjudicators, raised upon a platform of jade. The flags of each Tree hang on the wall above the adjudicators box.

Luckily, only the prosecution and the discussion moderator are waiting for us. It would have been way worse if the adjudicators knew we were late. I adjust my haori and Mirei flattens her skirts. We stride forward.

“Welcome, defendants Haruki and Mirei Takahashi. Please take a seat at the end of the table. We’ll get started shortly,” The moderator booms. As we approach, I see the deep set of his beady eyes and the emotionless smile that stretches his mouth. Violet robes wrap around his lanky figure, ending at knobby wrists. His hands are clasped together over a folder on the table, presumably the list of debate topics and whatnot.

I nod at him once and pull out my chair. Mirei does the same, and the drag of the chair leg against the carpet echoes throughout the small courtroom. The silence is oppressive. I take a deep breath and chance a glance at the prosecution at the other end of the table.

It is an old man, but not so old that he looks weak. In fact, it’s the complete opposite. His gray beard trails below the table, but he is incredibly muscular and rigid. Shadows obscure the man’s eyes as his fedora hat falls forward slightly. I never realized fedoras existed in this world, but at this very moment, I wish they didn’t. I can tell the trial is starting, but all the knowledge I’ve crammed seems to disappear due to one distinct thought: this guy is terrifying.