What a bright day today was—for some such a dull day today was, as if people enjoyed it too easily. Everyone was safe; crime did not exist anymore thanks to the Grand Judiciary. When the riverbank finally gave way to stone, four colossal gateways rose, marking the entrances to the Grand Judiciary, an estate of law and judgment isolated from the rest of the world.
Inside the Grand Judiciary, life was unbelievably boring and repeative.
Especially in the eastern front, where the café was usually empty. At one of the tables sat Higa Henly.
When he first received an invitation to work for the Grand Judiciary, his happiness knew no bounds. But his illness—a affliction that stole all color from his vision—soon became a burden. In a system obsessed with perception and logic, a lawyer who saw only black and white was deemed unreliable. That judgment was the very thing that pushed him into depression.
The ninth cup of bitter black coffee had no effect on him. After he set the porcelain cup aside, one of the workers approached with the bill—a folded slip that terrified him, because he had no money. His only option was to repeat his usual phrase.
"I will pay tomorrow. Sorry for today," Higa said, his expression pitiful.
The worker immediately refused.
"Pay here at once! You have not paid for eleven months. I do not want any excuses today."
After a moment of awkward silence and pleading, Higa managed to convince the worker that he would pay tonight.
He did not eat much. From a distance, it might have looked as though the evening breeze carried him toward the sky. After walking for a while, he found a warm wooden bench and sat down. Leaning back, his gaze drifted from the massive building to the darkening sky. Dusk had fallen. His colleagues passed by without a word. He had no idea how he was supposed to pay the bill tonight, and the thought pulled him deeper and deeper into his mind.
As the half-moon started to rise, a man stopped in front of him.
"You look like a lawyer. Are you?" the stranger asked.
Higa, lost in thought, gave a slow nod.
The man's voice steadied. "I've been falsely accused of theft. It's a minor charge, but I need someone to stand for me. If you take the case, I'll pay you."
The words felt like a lifeline.
He was excited for the first time in a long while; after all, this would be his first case.
"I will work for you," Higa said.
His thoughts shifted instantly from the unpaid bill to the structure of the case: an accuser, a victim being accused, a minor theft. Neither side had the money to hire an average lawyer—only a small one. And so Higa began to plotting.