The quiet, heavy blanket of the night has completely settled over the rural agricultural city of Feldringen. Inside a modest but comfortable local hotel, the Hohenberg legal team has finally retired to their respective rooms.

  The grueling demands of the day, combined with the emotional weight of finally meeting their battered client, have taken a massive toll on the young advocates. Down the hallway, Matthias, Leonhard, Adrian, and Emilia are all fast asleep, their brilliant minds finally getting the rest they desperately need before the impending courtroom battles begin.

  However, in one specific room at the end of the hall, a single desk lamp continues to cast a warm, golden pool of light against the dark windowpane.

  Erwin is still awake. He sits at the small wooden desk provided by the hotel, entirely surrounded by towering stacks of official court documents, police transcripts, and regional maps.

  Even though he had already memorized almost every single detail of the case long before they even boarded the train in Hohenwald, his mind refuses to shut down. He leans forward, running his index finger down a printed copy of the local bus schedule, meticulously cross-referencing the transit times with the sworn statements of the state's fake eyewitnesses.

  As he reads the same paragraph for the fourth time, the stern, demanding voice of his university mentor, Professor Falkenberg, echoes clearly in the back of his mind. The professor had always drilled one absolute truth into his students: a true legal scholar must read the case files endlessly, obsessively tearing apart every single sentence and analyzing the microscopic details to find the hidden cracks in the armor.

  In this specific case, that crack is the physical alibi. The irrefutable fact that Emmanuel was sitting on a slow-moving public bus at the exact moment the brutal murders took place is the ultimate weapon they possess. Erwin wants to make absolutely sure there is not a single, unforeseen loophole the corrupt prosecutors can use to counter their geographical logic.

  He turns the page, but the words suddenly blur together into an unreadable mess of black ink. Erwin blinks hard, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes. He slowly reaches out and picks up his smartphone resting on the edge of the desk. The digital clock on the glowing screen reads exactly eleven o'clock at night.

  A heavy sigh escapes his lips as he leans back against the wooden chair, rolling his stiff shoulders. He realizes with a sudden pang of exhaustion that he has been sitting at this desk, diving deep into the grim details of the murder files, for six solid hours straight.

  Erwin rubs his tired eyes with the heels of his hands, finally allowing himself to step away from the dark, suffocating world of criminal law. He turns his head, looking out the hotel window at the quiet, unfamiliar streets of the rural town. It is so different from the bustling, vibrant capital city he is used to.

  Instantly, his thoughts drift far away from Feldringen. They drift back to the sprawling campus of the university, and more specifically, to Aoi.

  A soft, melancholic smile touches his lips. He knows exactly how much she worries about him. He can easily imagine her sitting in her dormitory right now, probably feeling a little sad and lonely because he isn't there to walk her back from the library.

  He also thinks about his chaotic circle of friends—Marek, Samuel, Felix, Jonas, and Ryo—who are probably out causing some sort of harmless trouble or enjoying the spring evening without him. He misses the simple, beautiful normalcy of his life back home. The urge to hear her voice, to see her gentle face, suddenly becomes entirely overwhelming.

  Without second-guessing the late hour, Erwin unlocks his phone, opens his encrypted messaging app, and initiates a video call with Aoi.

  Miles away, back in the vibrant capital city of Hohenwald, the atmosphere in a small female dormitory room is incredibly quiet and heavy.

  Aoi is sitting on the edge of her bed, her knees pulled tightly to her chest. She has just spent the last twenty minutes slowly calming herself down after the brutal, emotionally draining confrontation with Helena and her elite circle of friends in the courtyard. Her breathing has finally returned to a normal, steady rhythm, but her eyes are still slightly puffy from the tears she shed in the privacy of her room.

  Normally, Kana would be here. Her energetic, cheerful roommate always knows exactly how to make Aoi laugh and forget about her insecurities. But tonight, Kana is away visiting some of her relatives in another district, leaving Aoi completely alone in the quiet room with nothing but her own heavy thoughts.

  She rests her chin on her knees and looks out the small window of her dorm. The night sky over Hohenwald is clear and brilliantly speckled with thousands of stars. She stares up at them, her heart silently projecting a desperate, loving prayer out into the universe, asking for Erwin to finish his grueling work quickly and return to her safely.

  Suddenly, the quiet silence of the room is shattered by the bright, cheerful ringing of her smartphone resting on the study desk.

  Aoi flinches slightly, startled by the noise. She uncrosses her legs and walks over to the desk, picking up the device. When she sees Erwin's name and his contact photo flashing on the screen indicating an incoming video call, her heart does a massive, joyful leap. All the lingering sadness and humiliation caused by Helena instantly evaporates, replaced by a desperate, overwhelming need to see him.

  But panic quickly sets in. She catches a glimpse of her reflection in the dark screen before answering. She looks like she has just been crying, which is exactly what happened. She cannot let him see her like this. Erwin is fighting a massive, dangerous war right now; the absolute last thing he needs is to worry about his girlfriend dealing with petty social bullying back at campus.

  Aoi takes a deep, stabilizing breath. She quickly wipes her cheeks with the sleeves of her sweater, forces her eyes wide open to clear away the redness, and practices a bright, cheerful smile. She clears her throat gently, ensuring her voice won't crack, and presses the green answer button.

  The screen flickers for a second before Erwin's handsome face appears. He is sitting in a dimly lit hotel room, looking incredibly tired, but the absolute second his dark eyes lock onto her through the camera, a breathtaking, genuine smile completely transforms his features.

  "Hey there, Beauty," Erwin says, his deep, soothing baritone voice washing over her like a warm blanket. "How are you doing over there?"

  Aoi feels a massive wave of comfort just hearing him speak. She holds the phone up, keeping her bright, practiced smile perfectly in place. "Hi! I am doing wonderfully here. Everything is perfectly fine. It is just a little bit quiet tonight because Kana is currently staying over at her relative's house, so I have the entire room to myself."

  Erwin leans closer to the screen, his tired eyes sparkling with a familiar, playful warmth. "You are all by yourself in that dormitory? That sounds entirely unacceptable. Do you need me to make a quick phone call and dispatch a squad of local police officers to stand guard outside your door so you don't feel lonely?"

  Aoi bursts into a genuine, musical laugh, the heavy weight in her chest lifting entirely. "You are completely ridiculous, you know that? You are always making these impossible jokes, yet somehow you are incredibly stubborn at the exact same time. I don't need a police escort to sleep in my own bed."

  "I am just making sure my favorite person is properly protected," Erwin counters smoothly, his smile softening into something deeply affectionate. "Tell me what you have been up to. Is campus surviving without me?"

  "Campus is actually incredibly boring right now," Aoi complains playfully, leaning back against her pillows and holding the phone comfortably in front of her. "Mei, Yuri, Hina, Nana, and I are all completely stressed out. The professors are burying us under massive piles of assignments like usual. And we can't even go out to the city to blow off steam because we are all trying to save whatever is left of our monthly allowances. The final semester exams are getting dangerously close, so we are practically living in the library."

  Erwin listens to her ramble with absolute, undivided attention. To anyone else, hearing about boring college assignments and tight student budgets might seem trivial, but to Erwin, it is the most beautiful sound in the world. It is the sound of a normal, peaceful life. It grounds him, pulling him out of the dark, twisted reality of corporate murder and corrupt legal traps.

  "I am sorry you are so stressed with your classes," Erwin says gently, resting his chin on his hand. "But I know you. You are brilliant. You and your friends are going to crush those final exams without a single problem."

  He pauses for a moment, his dark eyes scanning her face through the digital screen. Despite her bright smile, his sharp, highly observant mind catches a microscopic hint of exhaustion in her posture. "But enough about the assignments and your friends. How are you doing, Aoi? How are you actually feeling?"

  The direct, deeply personal question catches Aoi slightly off guard. The overwhelming urge to just break down and tell him everything—to tell him how Helena and her elite friends cornered her, how they insulted her father, and how much it hurt to be called a cheap parasite—rises violently in the back of her throat.

  She feels her cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and lingering sadness. Acting on pure instinct, Aoi quickly grabs one of her soft pillows and buries the lower half of her face into it, hiding from the camera.

  Erwin lets out a rich, hearty laugh at her sudden, adorable reaction. "Why are you hiding from me? Did I say something to embarrass you?"

  Aoi peeks over the top edge of the pillow, her dark eyes looking at him through the screen. She looks at the massive stacks of legal files sitting on the desk right behind him. She looks at the dark circles under his beautiful eyes. He is carrying the weight of an innocent man's life on his shoulders. She absolutely refuses to add her own trivial social drama to his heavy burden. She loves him too much to distract him.

  "I..." Aoi starts, struggling to find the right words that are technically true but avoid the painful details. "I just don't really know how to explain it. It has been a long day, and my brain is a little bit fried from studying cognitive behaviors."

  She slowly lowers the pillow, offering him a reassuring smile. "But I promise you, I am perfectly fine, Erwin. Really. I am just bored and a little tired."

  Before Erwin can press any further, Aoi quickly flips the script, going on the offensive. She narrows her eyes slightly, putting on her best stern, nagging girlfriend voice.

  "More importantly, look at you!" Aoi scolds gently. "What time is it over there? You look completely exhausted. You need to make sure you are getting enough sleep, and please tell me you are actually eating proper, healthy meals. I know how you get when you start reading case files. You completely forget that you are a human being who needs food and rest. I absolutely do not want you getting sick while you are so far away."

  Erwin chuckles, entirely amused by her sudden shift in tone. It warms his heart to know that someone cares about his well-being this deeply. "I promise I am eating. Emilia and the rest of the team are making sure I don't starve to death."

  "I am serious, Erwin," Aoi insists, her voice dropping into a softer, more earnest register. "I just really care about you. I don't want you falling ill. You have to take care of yourself."

  "I understand," Erwin replies softly, his eyes filled with pure affection. "I promise you, I will take good care of myself. I won't get sick."

  Erwin shifts in his chair, deciding to try one more time to gauge her mood. "Are you absolutely sure your day was just fine? Nothing else happened?"

  Aoi falls silent for a brief second, her mind racing to find a way to deflect the question. She absolutely refuses to let Helena's toxic words enter this beautiful conversation.

  "My day was perfectly fine," Aoi answers smoothly, her smile unwavering. "It was completely uneventful and incredibly boring, just like I said. Just books and lectures."

  Erwin nods, accepting her answer. He can tell she is holding something back, but he also trusts her enough not to push. Instead, he decides to give her something beautiful to look forward to, something to pull her out of the mundane boredom of her studies.

  "Tell me something, Aoi," Erwin asks, his tone turning casual and curious. "Do you enjoy traveling to old, historical cities?"

  Aoi blinks, confused by the sudden change in topic. "I don't really know. I have never actually traveled to one before. My family never really had the money for vacations. But I always love reading history books in the library and looking at the pictures of old architecture. Why do you ask?"

  "That is good to hear," Erwin says, a bright, excited smile spreading across his face. "Because I want to take you somewhere. When the semester ends and the holidays begin, I want to take you on a trip to the city of Altkanz."

  Aoi gasps softly, her eyes widening in pure shock. She immediately covers her mouth with her free hand, unable to believe what she is hearing. "Altkanz? Are you serious?"

  "I am incredibly serious," Erwin answers, his voice filled with genuine excitement. "I completely despise sitting around and dying of boredom during the semester breaks, so I want to go on an adventure, and I want you to come with me. I have actually never been there myself, but Marek never stops talking about it. He says the city is absolutely breathtaking."

  Erwin leans closer to the screen, his voice taking on a soft, storytelling quality. "It is an incredibly historic place. It is a city full of unique, ancient stories. It has survived through countless periods of intense hardship, but it has also seen eras of massive, unparalleled glory in the past. Marek says the ancient architecture there is completely unique, unlike anything we have here in Hohenwald. I have wanted to go for a long time, but I just never found the right person to travel with. I was hoping you would want to go with me."

  Aoi feels tears welling up in her eyes again, but this time, they are tears of absolute, unadulterated joy. The pain of Helena's insults is completely washed away by the sheer beauty of his invitation. He isn't just offering her a vacation; he is telling her that he sees a future with her, long after this dark corporate war is over.

  "I would absolutely love to go with you," Aoi answers, her voice trembling with happiness. "I would be honored."

  Erwin's smile widens, his exhausted heart feeling incredibly light. "Then it is settled. The moment my internship concludes and your exams are finished, we are packing our bags for Altkanz."

  He glances at the clock on his laptop screen, realizing just how late it has gotten. "I should probably let you get some sleep. And I need to get some rest as well before tomorrow."

  Aoi immediately nods, her protective instincts kicking back in. "Yes, you absolutely need to rest. I know those court files sitting on your desk are incredibly thick. Don't you dare stay up all night reading them."

  "Reading thick, impossible files is just part of the job," Erwin jokes lightly. "But I will go to sleep now. I promise."

  He looks at her through the screen, his dark eyes filled with an unbreakable devotion. "I love you, Aoi."

  "I love you too, Erwin," Aoi replies softly, her heart soaring. She looks at him, projecting all her strength across the distance. "Please, just come back to me safely."

  "I will be home soon," Erwin promises.

  With a final, warm smile, the video call ends, and the screen goes dark.

  Aoi lowers the phone to her lap. She falls back onto her soft mattress, covering her flushed face with both of her hands. A muffled, incredibly happy squeal escapes her lips. She rolls over, hugging her pillow tightly against her chest. She can hardly believe it. She and Erwin are actually going to travel to Altkanz together.

  The heavy, suffocating darkness that had surrounded her earlier in the evening is completely gone. As she closes her eyes to sleep, she is no longer thinking about cruel socialites or class divisions. She is only dreaming of ancient architecture, beautiful cobblestone streets, and the man she loves holding her hand as they walk through history together. She feels more at peace than she has in a very long time.

  Morning arrives in Feldringen with a biting chill that feels far sharper than the usual spring breeze back in the capital. A thin, grey mist still hangs low over the vast expanses of wheat fields surrounding the rural city, casting a somber, muted atmosphere over the landscape. It is a gloomy aesthetic that perfectly mirrors the explosive tension currently brewing in the heart of the town. Inside the modest local hotel, the legal team has been awake long before the sun even considered rising over the horizon. There is absolutely no casual banter or lighthearted joking in the lobby this morning. The air is thick with a heavy, suffocating silence. They look less like university students and more like a highly elite military squad conducting one final, meticulous check of their weapons before stepping directly onto a bloody battlefield.

  Erwin stands near the glass doors of the lobby, adjusting the cuffs of his dark navy suit with slow, highly calculated movements. He stares straight ahead, his dark eyes sharp, focused, and completely unreadable. The sweet, comforting conversation he shared with Aoi last night, along with their beautiful promise to travel to Altkanz for the holidays, is safely tucked away in the warmest corner of his heart. That single, precious memory acts as the ultimate emotional anchor he desperately needs to stay grounded in this chaotic reality. But on the surface, he has completely transformed back into the cold, ruthless legal tactician the shadow vanguard requires him to be. Today, there is absolutely zero room for hesitation, error, or mercy. The fragile life of a completely innocent young man rests entirely in their hands, and Erwin refuses to let him fall.

  Standing beside him, Leonhard is quietly cleaning his wire-rimmed glasses, his mind already running complex financial algorithms and recalling the exact page numbers of the offshore banking transcripts they hacked.

  Adrian adjusts his expensive silk tie, his posture radiating the absolute, dominating arrogance of a top-tier corporate executive. Matthias stands tall and rigid like a concrete pillar, his stoic face betraying no emotion whatsoever, acting as the impenetrable shield of the group. And then there is Emilia. The fierce courtroom spearhead looks simultaneously stunning and deeply terrifying in her meticulously tailored black suit. Her dark eyes burn with a righteous, unyielding fire, fully prepared to incinerate anyone arrogant enough to stand in the way of the truth.

  Dr. Alaric slowly walks across the marble floor of the lobby to join his five apprentices. His wooden walking cane taps rhythmically against the ground, a steady, grounding sound. The living legend of the legal world looks at each of them, his storm-grey eyes assessing their mental fortitude. He offers a slow, single nod of profound, unspoken pride. There is no need for a long, dramatic motivational speech this morning.

  They already know exactly what they have to do. With that silent confirmation, the six sharply dressed figures step out of the hotel doors in perfect unison, walking shoulder-to-shoulder down the cobblestone sidewalks toward the regional courthouse.

  The journey to the courthouse feels nothing like a peaceful morning stroll. The moment they approach the historic town square where the grand, old judicial building stands, the atmosphere instantly turns highly hostile.

  Dozens of local residents have already gathered outside the heavy wooden doors.

  The crowd is mostly comprised of grieving, angry members from the farmers' union who have been deeply traumatized by the brutal murders of their three leaders. Unfortunately, their raw, painful grief has been expertly manipulated and entirely misdirected by the false narrative constructed by the corrupt police force and the greedy corporate executives pulling the strings from the shadows.

  As the legal team walks confidently through the parting crowd, the hostility becomes palpable. Cold glares, sharp whispers, and even a few muffled insults cut through the chilly morning air. These people look at Erwin and his friends as nothing more than arrogant, overpaid defense attorneys from the wealthy capital, hired by a rich family to set a cold-blooded killer free.

  Local journalists swarm the steps, the bright flashes of their cameras firing aggressively, hoping to capture a moment of hesitation or fear from the young defense team. But not a single member of the shadow vanguard lowers their head.

  They walk with their backs straight, their gazes locked forward, completely ignoring the cheap intimidation tactics. They know the absolute truth that this angry crowd is blind to, and they are fully prepared to shatter the illusions today.

  They step through the heavy wooden doors and enter the main courtroom. The air inside smells of old varnish, dusty paper, and heavy anticipation. The room is already packed to the brim with spectators.

  The atmosphere is stifling, hot, and suffocating. Sitting confidently at the prosecution's table on the right side of the room is State Prosecutor Sterling. He is a middle-aged man with slicked-back hair and a smug, condescending smile that suggests he has already won the trial before the judge has even entered the room. Sterling is widely known as a highly ambitious, morally flexible local prosecutor.

  According to the deep background checks Leonhard ran, the man has incredibly close, highly suspicious financial ties to the upper management of GreenForm Inc.

  The defense team takes their seats at the heavy wooden table on the left with a terrifying, synchronized calmness. Erwin opens his leather briefcase, arranging the necessary physical documents, maps, and transcripts with high-level precision.

  A moment later, a side door creaks open, and two heavily armed bailiffs escort Emmanuel into the courtroom. The young farmer is still wearing his bright orange prison uniform.

  His hands are bound by heavy steel handcuffs, and the painful, dark purple bruises on his face serve as a brutal reminder of the torment he has endured inside the detention center. However, the absolute second Emmanuel's terrified eyes find Erwin, Emilia, and the rest of the team sitting calmly at the defense table, a genuine, undeniable spark of hope finally replaces the despair in his gaze. Emilia gives him a highly subtle, reassuring nod, silently promising him that this nightmare is about to end.

  A loud, sharp bang of a wooden gavel suddenly echoes through the large room, commanding everyone to instantly rise to their feet in complete silence. The Chief Judge, a stern-faced, older man whose eyes already look incredibly biased and bored, walks up the steps and takes his seat at the high bench. Without wasting any time on pleasantries or standard procedural greetings, he immediately formally opens the murder trial.

  Following the standard judicial procedure, Prosecutor Sterling is granted the floor to deliver the very first opening statement. He stands up slowly, buttoning his suit jacket with a highly theatrical flair.

  He walks out from behind his table and paces directly into the center of the courtroom floor, positioning himself perfectly so he can address both the judge and the gallery of grieving locals. He knows exactly how to manipulate the raw emotions of this town.

  "Your Honor, and the good, hardworking citizens of Feldringen," Sterling begins, his voice artificially booming, dripping with a highly fabricated, dramatic sorrow. "Today, we gather in this sacred hall of justice to seek retribution for three fathers, three community leaders, and three local heroes who were violently ripped away from us all in the most heinous, brutal, and inhumane manner imaginable."

  Sterling suddenly stops pacing. He turns on his heel and points an accusatory finger directly at Emmanuel. The dramatic, aggressive gesture causes the young, battered farmer to shrink down into his chair out of pure fear.

  "The defendant sitting in this room today, Emmanuel Volkov, is absolutely not the innocent, unfortunate young farmer that his elite, highly expensive defense team from the capital desperately wants you to believe he is," Sterling declares, his voice rising to a passionate shout.

  "He is a monster. He is a cold-blooded killer driven entirely by dark, personal greed and a deeply rooted, bitter vengeance. The undeniable evidence we will present throughout this trial will show, with absolute clarity, that the defendant planned this horrific massacre with chilling precision. He walked into that union office with murder in his heart, and he slaughtered three innocent lives without a single ounce of mercy."

  The prosecutor continues his theatrical monologue for nearly fifteen uninterrupted minutes. He paints a highly detailed, entirely fictional narrative designed purely to manipulate the jury's emotions. He talks at length about Emmanuel's supposed family debts, spinning a lie about how the young man blamed the union leaders for his family's financial struggles. Not once does Sterling mention actual physical evidence, geographical locations, or precise timestamps.

  He relies purely on psychological manipulation to weaponize the grief of the crowd sitting in the gallery behind him. When he finally finishes his speech and struts back to his seat with an arrogant smirk, the entire courtroom glares at Emmanuel with absolute, unfiltered hatred. Sterling feels completely satisfied, deeply convinced that he has already locked in a guilty verdict before the first piece of evidence is even introduced.

  The Chief Judge offers the prosecutor a slow, highly approving nod before shifting his gaze toward the defense table. His eyes are filled with condescension as he looks at the young students. "Does the defense actually have an opening statement they wish to share, or are we simply going to waste the court's valuable time today?"

  The air in the courtroom instantly feels like it drops ten degrees as Emilia slowly stands up from her chair. She smooths down the front of her black suit jacket with incredibly elegant, deliberate movements.

  She steps out from behind the heavy wooden table, but she doesn't pace around the room seeking attention like Sterling did. She simply stands perfectly still in the absolute center of the floor. She radiates an aura of absolute, terrifying calmness that instantly makes the dramatic tension in the room feel incredibly serious and heavy.

  "Your Honor," Emilia begins. Her voice is not loud or shouting, but it is incredibly clear, perfectly modulated, and entirely devoid of any cheap theatrical emotion. It cuts through the lingering tension like a surgical scalpel. "What the State Prosecutor just delivered to this courtroom was not a legal opening statement fit for a federal trial. It was a poorly written, highly manipulative work of theatrical fiction, designed entirely to mask the glaringly obvious fact that the state possesses absolutely zero credible physical evidence to hold my client in custody today."

  A collective, highly audible gasp ripples through the gallery of spectators. Sterling's smug smile instantly vanishes, replaced by a deep, angry frown. He clearly did not expect such a direct, frontal verbal assault from a young university student within the first ten seconds of her speech.

  Emilia locks her dark, piercing eyes directly onto the prosecutor. "Prosecutor Sterling just dramatically accused my client of being a cold-blooded, highly calculating murderer who planned this massacre with chilling precision. However, there is one massive, fundamental detail that the prosecution has intentionally hidden from this courtroom in order to keep their fabricated narrative alive. A detail based on something incredibly simple: the basic laws of physics."

  Emilia turns gracefully and walks back toward her table for a brief second. Erwin, moving with perfect, synchronized timing as if they share a single mind, slides a massive, highly detailed topographical map of the city and a highly enlarged copy of the official municipal transit schedule across the table. Emilia picks up the large presentation board and sets it up perfectly in the center of the room so the judge, the prosecutor, and the entire gallery can see it clearly.

  "Let us completely discard the manipulative, emotional theatrics for a moment and focus purely on undeniable, spatial facts," Emilia continues, her voice steadily rising with lethal legal authority. "The prosecution claims, based entirely on the highly questionable testimony of two specific eyewitnesses, that Emmanuel was seen standing directly inside the union office at exactly three-thirty in the afternoon. However, the official, time-stamped public bus tickets, the verified security footage from the southern transit station, and the sworn, recorded statement of the municipal bus driver himself prove with absolute, unbreakable certainty that at three-twenty, my client had just boarded a slow-moving public bus on the absolute southernmost edge of this city."

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Emilia points directly at the map, tracing the route with her pen. Her movements are sharp and precise. "The physical distance from that southern bus stop to the bloody crime scene is exactly six full kilometers, navigating through heavily congested commercial roads. The slow, municipal public bus route consistently requires a minimum of thirty-four minutes to complete that specific journey, stopping at every single block. So, I would absolutely love for the honorable Prosecutor Sterling to stand up right now and explain to everyone in this room what kind of dark, lethal magic my client utilized to bend the laws of space and time, travel six heavily congested kilometers on a slow city bus, and magically arrive at the crime scene in an impossible, microscopic ten-minute window?"

  Sterling literally jumps out of his chair as if the wood has suddenly caught fire. His face turns a dark shade of crimson, a mixture of pure outrage and sudden, blinding panic. "Objection, Your Honor! The defense is blatantly abusing the opening statement to deliver argumentative conclusions and dissect specific timelines before any official witnesses have even been called to the stand! This is a severe violation of courtroom procedure!"

  The Chief Judge, clearly biased and attempting to protect the corrupt prosecutor's crumbling narrative, immediately raises his wooden gavel, ready to strike the sounding block and shut Emilia down. "Objection sustained. Counsel for the defense, save your logical arguments and timeline dissections for the cross-examination phase. The opening statement is absolutely not the place to argue physical evidence."

  However, before the heavy wooden gavel can strike the desk, and before Emilia even has to open her mouth to defend herself against the highly biased ruling, Matthias stands up from the defense table. The sheer size of the man, combined with his incredibly rigid, dominating posture, instantly commands the absolute attention of the entire room. He acts as an immovable shield.

  "With all due respect, Your Honor," Matthias's deep, booming baritone voice echoes powerfully across the room, forcefully cutting right through the judge's interruption with absolute, high-level mastery of constitutional law.

  "According to the clear, explicitly written mandates of Article 14, Section 3 of the Federal Code of Criminal Procedure, the defense possesses the absolute, unalienable right to utilize their opening statement to fully outline the core theory of their defense. This explicitly includes highlighting any fatal, logical impossibilities present within the state's initial indictment. We are not dissecting individual witness testimonies right now; we are simply pointing out that the State Prosecutor's foundational timeline is fundamentally and physically flawed from the very beginning. If this court forcefully prohibits us from pointing out a basic mathematical impossibility, then this court is consciously and openly violating my client's constitutional right to a fair and transparent trial under federal law."

  Matthias stares straight into the eyes of the Chief Judge. His gaze is as cold as ice, fiercely challenging the older man. He stands there, absolutely ready to escalate this dirty procedural violation straight to the federal Supreme Court today if the judge dares to silence them again. He cites a highly specific, top-tier federal legal precedent with a terrifying speed and accuracy that makes the arrogant local prosecutor look like a high school student who forgot to read the basic textbook.

  The Chief Judge is rendered completely speechless. His jaw clenches tightly in barely suppressed anger. He realizes immediately that the stoic, intimidating university student staring him down understands the intricate loopholes of procedural law far better than he does.

  If he forces his biased ruling now, Matthias will immediately file it as a severe constitutional violation, which could completely invalidate the entire trial on appeal and permanently destroy the judge's long-standing career. With a heavy, highly reluctant breath, the judge slowly lowers his gavel. "You may continue your statement, Counsel for the defense."

  Emilia offers a subtle, highly predatory smile of pure satisfaction. She turns her head slowly back toward Sterling, who is still standing stiffly by his table, the color completely draining from his face.

  "Thank you very much for your profound wisdom, Your Honor," Emilia says smoothly, reclaiming absolute control over the entire courtroom. She allows a heavy, deeply uncomfortable silence to stretch across the room for several long seconds. She lets the undeniable truth regarding the mathematical impossibility of the timeline slowly sink into the minds of the gallery and the jury. The false, terrifying narrative that Emmanuel is a calculating monster begins to crack and completely fall apart right before their eyes.

  "So, if it is physically, geographically, and scientifically impossible for my client to have been at the scene when the brutal murders took place," Emilia continues, her voice lowering into a deadly, captivating register that plants a deep seed of terrifying doubt in the room.

  "Then a much larger, significantly more horrifying fundamental question must be answered by this court today. Who actually murdered those three brave union leaders in broad daylight? And much more importantly, what wealthy, invisible shadow entity actively funded and paid those two key eyewitnesses to deliver fabricated, engineered perjury just to frame a poor, innocent young farmer?"

  Emilia intentionally shifts her gaze, looking directly past the prosecutor and staring straight into the back row of the public gallery. Sitting there, trying to remain inconspicuous, are several men wearing highly expensive, tailored suits. They are the corrupt corporate executives from GreenForm Inc., sent to monitor the trial. Emilia’s lethal, piercing stare makes the powerful executives shift uncomfortably in their seats, suddenly feeling very exposed.

  "Throughout the course of this long trial, we promise that we will not only prove Emmanuel Volkov's absolute innocence," Emilia declares, her voice ringing out like a sacred vow and a terrifying threat all at once.

  "We will also completely dismantle the rotten conspiracy hiding behind this tragedy. We will present undeniable proof of illegal dark money transfers, we will expose the true, bloody motive behind the multi-million derhom land acquisition, and we will ultimately drag the real, corporate monsters directly into this courtroom to answer for the blood that was spilled on your own city's soil."

  The courtroom, which had previously been united in blind hatred against Emmanuel, suddenly erupts into a chaotic frenzy of shocked whispers and profound confusion. The local farmers in the gallery look at each other with wide eyes. If what this brilliant young defense attorney is saying is true, then they have been played for absolute fools by the corrupt police and the greedy energy company trying to steal their ancestral lands.

  Sterling looks completely panicked, losing his grip on the room entirely. He realizes that his carefully crafted character assassination has been completely flipped and destroyed in less than fifteen minutes.

  He tries to interrupt one last time, his voice trembling slightly with desperation. "Your Honor, these are wild, completely baseless accusations of slander aimed at corporate entities that are not even mentioned in the official indictment! The defense is rambling and creating pure fiction to confuse the jury!"

  This time, it is Erwin who acts. He doesn't stand up. He doesn't raise his voice to seek the room's attention. He simply leans forward in his chair with an incredibly relaxed, terrifyingly calm demeanor. His dark, calculating eyes lock directly onto the sweating prosecutor. Moving with a slow, highly deliberate motion, Erwin lifts a thick, heavy stack of sealed, highly classified financial documents and drops them flat onto the solid wood of the defense table. The heavy thud echoes loudly across the silent room.

  "We have the complete, verified records of their offshore banking transcripts right here, Prosecutor Sterling," Erwin says. His voice is incredibly low and deep, yet it effortlessly commands the absolute attention of the entire room. He radiates an aura of pure, intimidating dominance.

  "These are official, legally obtained, undeniable federal financial documents. If you genuinely wish to continue calling these facts wild slander, my team is more than happy to break the federal seals and read the exact illegal deposit amounts and bank account numbers out loud to the public gallery right this very second. The real question is, do you truly want to risk committing complete career suicide today?"

  Sterling swallows hard, his throat completely dry. He stares at the thick stack of sealed documents resting under Erwin's hand with pure, unadulterated terror. He knows exactly what dirty secrets are hidden inside those pages, and if the defense exposes them right now, his career won't just be over—he will likely face federal prison time for corruption.

  With heavy, defeated steps, and a look of absolute surrender painted across his pale face, Sterling slowly sinks back down into his chair without uttering a single word of protest. He silently allows the absolute dominance of the shadow vanguard to completely dictate the flow of the trial.

  Emilia looks around the silent courtroom one final time, her chest swelling with massive pride. The absolute psychological victory of this opening clash belongs entirely to them. She slowly turns her head and looks down at Emmanuel. The battered young man is staring at his defense team with an overwhelming sense of awe, heavy tears of pure hope pooling in his eyes. He finally realizes with all his heart that the people sitting next to him are not just normal university students trying to pass a class. They are a lethal, flawlessly coordinated legal machine explicitly designed to slaughter corporate lies.

  "True justice never hides behind manipulative, theatrical storytelling and cheap emotional tricks," Emilia concludes beautifully, her voice carrying a profound, undeniable weight that finalizes their victory. "True justice stands firmly on the unshakeable foundation of physical facts, unbreakable logic, and the pure, absolute truth that can never be bought, no matter how much money is offered. Thank you for your time, Your Honor."

  Emilia turns gracefully and walks back to her chair, sitting down calmly next to Erwin. The highly volatile, explosive opening clash is officially over, and the shadow legal team has just delivered a devastating, knockout blow.

  They have made one terrifying fact abundantly clear to the prosecution, the corrupt judge, and the wealthy executives hiding in the shadows. These five young advocates from the capital did not come to this rural town to play a simple courtroom game. They came wielding a sword, entirely prepared to wage an open, bloody war for justice. The brutal battle for Feldringen has officially begun.

  After the incredibly intense, suffocating heat generated by the defense’s opening statement finally began to settle, the Chief Judge cleared his throat loudly. The harsh, echoing sound was a desperate attempt to regain control over a courtroom that had just been forcefully hijacked by the young defense team. His face was still visibly tight, clearly displeased that his absolute authority had been so easily challenged and dismantled in the first twenty minutes of the trial. With a heavy sigh that betrayed his annoyance, the judge turned his attention back to the prosecution's table and instructed them to begin calling their primary eyewitnesses to the stand.

  State Prosecutor Sterling slowly stood up from his chair. Even though his face was still a shade paler than usual—a direct result of the terrifying threat regarding the offshore financial documents the defense had casually tossed onto their table—he tried his absolute best to project an aura of unshakeable confidence. He buttoned his suit jacket, cleared his throat to steady his voice, and formally called out two names into the quiet room. Peter Tillman and George Karkman.

  The heavy double oak doors at the back of the courtroom slowly pushed open, and two middle-aged men walked into the aisle. They wore simple, slightly worn-out casual clothes, looking incredibly stiff and uncomfortable in the grand, intimidating setting of a federal courtroom. They kept their eyes focused straight ahead, nervously wringing their calloused hands as they walked down the center aisle toward the witness stand.

  However, the moment those two men stepped into the room, the atmosphere at the defense table changed drastically. Emmanuel Volkov, the poor, battered young farmer who had spent the entire morning staring down at his handcuffed wrists in pure terror, suddenly snapped his head up. His eyes widened to an impossible degree, filled with a mixture of absolute shock, profound confusion, and a deep, agonizing heartbreak. It looked as if all the air had been violently punched out of his lungs.

  Emmanuel began to tremble uncontrollably. He leaned his bruised face closer to Dr. Alaric, who was sitting calmly beside him, and spoke in a shattered, desperate whisper that barely carried over the murmur of the crowd.

  "Doctor, those two men... they are my friends," Emmanuel whispered, his voice cracking with raw emotion as he stared at the two witnesses taking their seats. "We are all in the same farmers' union. I have known Peter and George for years. We plow the southern fields together every single season. Whenever the harvest is finally done, or whenever we finish a brutal week of manual labor, we always go down to the local tavern and share a few beers together. I just... I cannot believe this. I cannot believe they would actually betray me and invent such a horrific lie just for a payout."

  Hearing the agonizing realization of a young man discovering that his own friends had sold his life to a corrupt corporation, Dr. Alaric did not react with any overt emotional sympathy. Instead, his brilliant, calculating mind immediately categorized this deeply personal information as highly volatile ammunition for the impending cross-examination. He tilted his head slightly toward his client, his voice remaining incredibly calm, steady, and grounding.

  "When you arrived at the union building that afternoon and discovered the bodies of your leaders, did you happen to see Peter or George anywhere near the premises?" Alaric asked quietly. "Were they in the hallway, standing outside on the sidewalk, or anywhere in your immediate line of sight?"

  Emmanuel immediately shook his head with absolute certainty. "No, Doctor. There was absolutely no one around. The entire building felt completely empty and dead silent. It was just me and the three bodies in that room. Nobody else saw me walk in."

  From across the table, Erwin had been listening closely to the whispered exchange. His sharp investigative instincts immediately flared to life. He leaned his upper body forward, his dark eyes narrowing in thought.

  "What about the building's security system, Emmanuel?" Erwin asked, keeping his voice low but demanding absolute clarity. "Are you completely certain about the status of the surveillance cameras inside or outside the union headquarters?"

  Emmanuel let out a heavy, frustrated sigh, his bruised face reflecting a deep regret over their lack of proper facilities. "Our headquarters is just a very old, simple brick building, Erwin. We have absolutely no active security cameras anywhere on the property. The union treasury had actually just approved the budget to install a brand new surveillance system, but the technicians were not scheduled to put the cameras up for another two months. The local police know perfectly well that the building is a complete blind spot."

  Erwin leaned back in his chair, exchanging a highly meaningful, knowing look with Leonhard and Adrian. That single piece of logistical information explained the entire corporate strategy perfectly.

  The fact that the union building was completely devoid of surveillance cameras was the exact reason why the corporate executives and the corrupt prosecutors felt so incredibly confident using fake eyewitnesses. Without any objective video recordings to contradict their claims, human testimony became the only admissible evidence from the crime scene. And as the corporate world knew all too well, human memory and loyalty were incredibly easy to purchase if the price was high enough.

  At the front of the room, the court bailiff instructed Peter and George to place their right hands on the holy book. The two men recited the standard oath, swearing loudly in front of the judge and the entire gallery that they would tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. It was a blatant, highly offensive display of perjury that made Emilia silently grind her teeth in pure disgust.

  Once the formalities were concluded, the judge allowed Prosecutor Sterling to conduct his direct examination. Sterling kept his questions incredibly brief and simple, lobbing easy softballs at the witnesses to establish a fake baseline of credibility. He simply asked them to confirm their names, their presence at the scene, and their fabricated story of seeing Emmanuel standing over the bodies. Within ten minutes, Sterling proudly yielded the floor, looking entirely satisfied with his handiwork.

  The Chief Judge then turned his bored gaze toward the defense table and formally called upon Dr. Alaric to begin his cross-examination.

  Dr. Alaric pushed himself up from the heavy oak table. His movements were incredibly slow, deliberate, and entirely unhurried. He straightened his tailored grey suit, gripped the polished handle of his wooden walking cane, and stepped out onto the open floor. He walked toward the center of the room with the graceful, deeply intimidating presence of a legendary legal monarch stepping onto his personal battlefield.

  Erwin watched his mentor's back with a complex mixture of profound awe and intense anticipation. He knew exactly what was about to unfold. The old man leaning on the cane was not just a brilliant lawyer; he was a psychological executioner.

  Erwin remembered with vivid, terrifying clarity how Alaric had utilized this exact same chilling calmness to dismantle the federal trap set by his own father, Klaus von Stahlberg. Alaric never raised his voice in anger. He never resorted to cheap shouting matches or theatrical bullying. Instead, he preferred to weave a delicate, invisible web of logic, trapping his prey so gently that the witnesses rarely ever realized the noose was already tight around their necks until it was far too late to breathe.

  "Good morning, Mr. Tillman. Good morning, Mr. Karkman," Dr. Alaric greeted them. His tone was incredibly polite, warm, and conversational. He sounded exactly like a kind, harmless grandfather asking about the weather.

  The two witnesses, who had been gripping the edges of the wooden stand in nervous anticipation, visibly relaxed upon hearing the gentle, non-threatening voice. They returned the greeting with a renewed sense of confidence, perhaps foolishly assuming that this old man was far less dangerous than the fiery young students who had yelled about the laws of physics earlier.

  "I would like to spend a few moments discussing the specific nature of your relationship with my client, Emmanuel Volkov," Alaric began his inquiry, pacing very slowly back and forth in front of the jury box. "You both just stated to the prosecutor that you recognize him. Could you please elaborate on how well you actually know the young man sitting at my table?"

  Peter cleared his throat nervously, casting a quick, unsure glance toward Sterling before answering. "We... we are just coworkers at the farmers' union, sir. We know him because we all live and work in the same agricultural district."

  Alaric offered a small, polite smile, though the warmth never quite reached his sharp, calculating eyes. "Just coworkers? That is a very interesting choice of words. Please correct me if I am mistaken, but didn't the three of you frequently plow the southern wheat fields together? Weren't you three also specifically assigned to the same labor groups to help neighboring villages construct their municipal irrigation trenches? And, just to be thorough, wasn't it a fairly regular, ongoing tradition for the three of you to visit the local tavern and share a few beers together every time a heavy harvest was finally completed?"

  George looked visibly startled by the incredibly accurate, highly specific details of their personal lives. He swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably in his seat before nodding his head in defeat. "Yes... that is correct. We did work the fields together quite often, and we did share drinks. He is a very hardworking kid, we have never denied that fact."

  Alaric nodded slowly, tapping his cane lightly against the floor as if pondering a great philosophical mystery. The first psychological trap had just been successfully sprung. By forcing them to admit their close, personal friendship with Emmanuel, Alaric had just proven to the jury and the entire gallery that this wasn't a case of strangers identifying a random suspect. These men were his friends, which made their sudden accusation seem incredibly suspicious and deeply unnatural.

  "So, as someone who frequently spent hours working alongside him, laughing with him, and sharing drinks with him," Alaric continued, his voice smoothly transitioning into a slightly heavier, far more serious register. "Did you ever, even for a single, fleeting second in all the years you have known him, genuinely believe that your drinking buddy was actually capable of committing such a heinous, cold-blooded massacre against your own union leaders, exactly as you just described to the local police?"

  George lowered his head slightly, completely unable to meet the deeply disappointed, heartbroken gaze Emmanuel was currently directing at him from across the room. "I... I honestly never thought Emmanuel would actually be capable of doing something so brutal. He was always a very quiet, gentle kid. But... but based entirely on what we saw with our own two eyes that afternoon, we have to trust our vision. He was standing right there in the room with blood on his hands."

  "I see," Alaric murmured. His voice was incredibly light, almost entirely devoid of any concern. He stopped his slow pacing and stood perfectly still, locking his sharp eyes directly onto the two men. "Are you absolutely certain about what you saw? Are you one hundred percent positive, without a single microscopic shadow of a doubt residing in your conscience, that the young man standing in that bloody room at exactly three-thirty in the afternoon was Emmanuel Volkov?"

  "We are absolutely positive, sir," Peter answered loudly, desperately trying to mask his growing internal panic with forced, artificial confidence. "We both saw his face very clearly. There is absolutely no way we could mistakenly identify our own friend."

  Alaric raised his free hand in a highly exaggerated gesture of surrender, a sly, deeply predatory smile slowly creeping across his weathered face. It was a smile that made Prosecutor Sterling's blood run completely cold.

  "Oh, please do not misunderstand my intentions, gentlemen," Alaric said smoothly. "I am absolutely not questioning the biological functionality of your eyesight. I am fully confident that your eyes work perfectly well. I am simply feeling incredibly baffled by the sheer mechanics of the situation. I am wondering how it is physically possible for my client to suddenly materialize out of thin air at the scene of a brutal murder, while at that exact same precise moment, he was actually sitting comfortably inside a moving public city bus on the complete opposite side of town? Doesn't that strike you as a rather impossible miracle of nature?"

  Peter began to sweat profusely. The color completely drained from his face as the terrifying logical trap finally closed around him. "We... we don't know anything about any bus schedules, sir. Or how he managed to get there so fast. That is the police department's job to figure out. All we know is what we saw inside that room."

  The predatory smile on Alaric's face widened significantly. The old man turned his body with surprising agility, facing the Chief Judge directly. His voice suddenly boomed across the silent courtroom, demanding absolute authority.

  "Your Honor, since these honorable witnesses are so incredibly adamant about the flawless nature of their memories, the defense formally requests the court's permission to introduce and play a piece of verified visual evidence right now," Alaric requested confidently. "We wish to play the internal security camera footage obtained directly from the southern route municipal bus that my client was riding on the day of the murders. Let us all watch together and determine if this young farmer truly possesses the magical ability to exist in two places at once."

  The Chief Judge opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, Prosecutor Sterling practically launched himself out of his chair. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated panic.

  "I strongly object, Your Honor!" Sterling shouted, pointing a trembling finger toward the defense table. "This is highly irregular! This phase of the trial is strictly designated for the direct questioning and cross-examination of the state's primary eyewitnesses. It is absolutely not the time for the defense to forcefully present digital evidence or conduct a separate presentation! Protocol strictly dictates that video evidence must be presented during the defense's portion of the trial. Dr. Alaric is deliberately circumventing established courtroom procedures to confuse the jury!"

  Seeing the corrupt prosecutor desperately trying to use a cheap procedural shield to block the absolute truth from seeing the light of day, Emilia instantly stood up from her chair. She refused to let her mentor fight this procedural battle alone. Her voice rang out loud, firm, and saturated with an undeniable legal formality that commanded respect.

  "With all due respect to the prosecution, that objection is entirely baseless," Emilia argued passionately, her dark eyes blazing. "The immediate viewing of this specific security footage is absolutely vital to ensuring absolute legal certainty and transparency for the defendant right here, right now. It is painfully obvious that a massive, fatal contradiction exists between the official timeline provided by our client and the sworn testimony we just heard from the state's primary witnesses. Delaying the presentation of evidence that can instantly clarify this massive contradiction will only waste the court's valuable time and allow a potential perjury to poison this courtroom for another day. Justice demands clarity immediately."

  Sterling slammed his fist against his desk in deep frustration. "It still violates the structural schedule of the trial, Your Honor! This is a witness testimony phase, not a digital evidence discovery phase!"

  The Chief Judge, who was rapidly developing a severe headache from the relentless, high-level legal brawling, finally grabbed his wooden gavel and struck the sounding block several times. The sharp, echoing cracks immediately silenced the shouting match. The judge glared at both tables, deeply aware of the dozens of journalists and angry locals sitting in the gallery behind them, watching his every single move with highly critical eyes. He knew perfectly well that if he denied the defense the right to play the video right now, after they had hyped it up so much, it would look like a blatant, corrupt cover-up. The public backlash would be severe.

  "Everyone will remain silent!" the judge ordered loudly. He adjusted his heavy black robes and let out a long, exhausted sigh. His decision was made. He looked down at the defense table. "The prosecution's objection is overruled. In the interest of judicial efficiency and the immediate pursuit of the truth, this court grants the defense permission to display the bus security footage immediately. You may proceed, Dr. Alaric."

  The absolute second the permission was granted, Erwin and Matthias sprang into action. They didn't waste a single heartbeat. Both young men immediately stood up from the defense table and walked quickly toward the court's designated media podium, which was directly connected to a massive, high-definition projector screen hanging on the side wall. Moving with incredibly practiced, synchronized precision, Matthias plugged in their secure encrypted storage drive while Erwin rapidly typed in the complex decryption passwords to unlock the video files Leonhard had meticulously extracted and verified the night before.

  While the heavy projector hummed to life and the large screen slowly brightened, Leonhard leaned across the defense table, whispering urgently to Emmanuel.

  "Emmanuel, you need to think very carefully right now," Leonhard whispered, his analytical mind already anticipating potential issues. "When you got on that specific bus, where exactly did you choose to sit?"

  Emmanuel furrowed his bruised brow, desperately trying to mentally retrace his steps on that horrific afternoon. "I... I walked toward the middle section, maybe a little closer to the back," he answered softly. "The bus was already incredibly crowded with people getting off their early shifts. The entire front section was completely packed with people standing in the aisles. I really don't think the dashboard camera near the driver's seat would have been able to capture my face clearly while I was sitting down."

  Hearing that logistical nightmare, Leonhard winced slightly, but he nodded his understanding. The video file finally loaded, and Erwin pressed play. Every single person inside the massive courtroom—the judge, the panicked prosecutor, the tense jury, and the murmuring spectators—instantly fell dead silent, focusing their absolute, undivided attention on the glowing projector screen.

  The video displayed a slightly grainy, black-and-white recording of the interior of a standard municipal city bus. The digital timestamp glowing in the bottom right corner of the screen read exactly 3:20 PM, perfectly matching the exact moment Emmanuel claimed he boarded the vehicle.

  However, the critical problem Emmanuel had just mentioned became painfully obvious within the first five seconds. The narrow center aisle of the bus was completely jammed with standing passengers, their bodies shifting and swaying with the movement of the vehicle, creating a dense human wall that completely blocked the camera's view of the middle and rear seating areas.

  Erwin narrowed his eyes, staring intensely at the screen without blinking. He desperately searched the chaotic, moving crowd for a specific silhouette or a pattern of clothing that matched what Emmanuel was wearing that day, but the visual noise was simply too overwhelming.

  Prosecutor Sterling, who had been sweating bullets a moment ago, noticed the visual obstruction and slowly began to smile. He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling a massive wave of arrogant relief wash over him. He realized the defense's ultimate weapon might actually be completely useless.

  "Your Honor," Sterling spoke up, his tone dripping with condescending mockery. "We have all been staring at this highly anticipated footage for several minutes now, and the defendant's face is absolutely nowhere to be seen. The camera's view is entirely obstructed. I request that we terminate this massive waste of the court's time immediately and move on."

  However, the Chief Judge, who was now genuinely invested in the outcome of this dramatic standoff, raised his hand to silence the prosecutor. "No, Prosecutor Sterling. I want this recording to continue playing without any further interruptions. We are going to watch this until the end so there is absolutely zero room for speculation or lingering doubts in my courtroom today. Defense, please fast-forward the footage to the relevant timestamp if possible."

  Erwin offered a tight nod and reached for the controls, increasing the playback speed significantly. The minutes ticked by rapidly on the digital clock. The tension inside the room grew so thick it felt difficult to breathe. The timestamp hit 3:30 PM—the exact minute the two witnesses swore under oath they saw Emmanuel committing murder—and passed it by completely. The bus continued to drive through the city streets on the screen, but Emmanuel's face remained entirely hidden behind the sea of standing passengers.

  A cold sweat began to form on the back of Dr. Alaric's neck. The legendary lawyer stood perfectly still, his hands gripping the handle of his cane so tightly his knuckles turned white. He started to worry that relying on this specific visual evidence might actually become a fatal dead end. If the video ended without clearly showing Emmanuel's face, Sterling would immediately weaponize the failure, accusing the defense of fabricating stories, and the two lying witnesses would win the day.

  Sterling was now openly smirking, thoroughly enjoying the subtle panic creeping into the posture of the brilliant young lawyers from the capital.

  The digital clock on the screen continued its relentless march forward. Thirty minutes passed. Thirty-three minutes passed. The view of the streets passing by outside the bus windows clearly indicated that the vehicle had finally entered the central commercial district, approaching the final terminal located just two blocks away from the farmers' union headquarters.

  And then, exactly as the digital timestamp in the corner flashed 3:54 PM, Erwin slowed the playback down to normal speed. The heavy municipal bus came to a complete, shuddering halt. The hydraulic folding doors at the front of the bus hissed loudly as they swung open. The dense crowd of passengers who had been standing and blocking the camera's view finally began to shuffle forward, stepping off the bus one by one and slowly clearing the front aisle.

  And in that precise, agonizingly tense second, the absolute miracle they had been praying for finally materialized on the screen.

  A young man walked forward from the back of the bus. He stepped up to the driver's console, handed over his paper transit ticket, and turned his head slightly to check his surroundings before stepping down the stairs. For three crystal-clear seconds, he looked directly into the lens of the dashboard security camera. The black-and-white quality was more than enough to capture his facial features flawlessly.

  It was absolutely, undeniably Emmanuel Volkov. He was wearing the exact same plaid button-down shirt documented in his police arrest photos, and he was stepping off a public bus exactly twenty-four minutes after the brutal murders had taken place.

  An incredibly heavy, stunned silence hung over the entire courtroom for one long heartbeat before the public gallery completely exploded into a chaotic roar of shock, outrage, and disbelief.

  The Hohenberg legal team simultaneously let out a massive, collective sigh of pure, unadulterated relief that seemed to drain the tension right out of their bones. Adrian aggressively rubbed his face, Matthias allowed a rare, proud smile to break across his stoic features, and Emilia gently placed a comforting hand on Emmanuel's shoulder. The young farmer was now openly sobbing, burying his face in his hands as the crushing, suffocating weight of the false murder charges was finally lifted from his soul. The visual proof was absolute. It was mathematically and physically impossible for him to be the killer.

  Up on the witness stand, the color completely drained from the faces of Peter and George, leaving them looking like terrified ghosts. Heavy beads of cold sweat poured down their foreheads. Their eyes widened in pure terror as they realized the comfortable, highly paid lie they had constructed had just been violently incinerated in front of a federal judge.

  Dr. Alaric turned away from the projector screen very slowly. He looked up at the two trembling witnesses with a gaze so dark, cold, and terrifying it felt like a physical blow. The kind, gentle grandfather persona was entirely gone. Standing there was the Ghost Advocate, the ruthless executioner of the courtroom, completely ready to deliver the final strike.

  Alaric shifted his gaze to the Chief Judge, who was still staring at the frozen frame of Emmanuel's face on the screen.

  "Your Honor," Alaric's voice boomed across the room, carrying a level of absolute, dominating authority that instantly silenced the screaming gallery. "Based entirely on the verified, official municipal security footage we have all just witnessed with our own eyes, it is an undeniable, irrefutable fact that my client, Emmanuel Volkov, arrived in the central district exactly twenty-four minutes after the horrific murders took place."

  Alaric pointed his wooden cane directly at the sobbing young man sitting at the defense table. "This stands as the absolute, legally binding conclusion that my client is one hundred percent innocent of these fabricated murder charges."

  Without giving Prosecutor Sterling a single microscopic second to recover from the shock, Alaric whipped around, aiming his cane directly at the two terrified men sitting on the witness stand.

  "And there is a much darker matter that must be addressed by this court immediately, Your Honor," Alaric continued, his voice rising like a thunderclap. "These two men sitting before us just knowingly, willingly, and deliberately lied under the sacred oath of this federal court in a malicious attempt to frame an innocent young man for murder. Their heinous actions are a direct, severe violation of the criminal statutes outlined in Article 30 of the Criminal Procedure Code of 1996 regarding high-level perjury and false testimony. I formally demand that this court order the immediate arrest of both witnesses on charges of criminal conspiracy and felony perjury."

  The entire courtroom—from the stunned jury and the furiously writing journalists to the panicked corporate executives hiding in the back row—finally received the absolute legal and moral clarity they had been waiting for.

  The truth had been revealed in the most brutal, undeniable way possible. Emmanuel Volkov was innocent, and the rotten, corrupt conspiracy poisoning the heart of Feldringen had just been dragged kicking and screaming into the light.

  The war was far from over, but the brilliant young shadow vanguard from the capital had just won their very first major battle with a flawless, devastating victory that would echo through the halls of this courthouse forever.