Damian's smirk didn't waver.
If anything, it deepened.
I clenched my jaw, keeping my expression neutral as he adjusted his stance, exuding confidence.
"Mr. Leviathan," he said smoothly, "are you familiar with the individuals known as Mr. Do, Mr. Lust, Mr. Fade, and Mr. Anvil?"
I froze.
Not outwardly. But internally, every alarm in my head rang at once.
I didn't recognize those nas.
Except for one.
Mr. Do. The imposter from the trial I had been a juror for. The man who had stolen the Masked Syndicate's na to cover his own cris.
I t Damian's gaze, forcing calm into my voice. "I have heard of Mr. Do," I admitted. "But we are not affiliated. As for the others, I have no knowledge of them."
Damian turned toward the Lie Detector.
The man—stoic, unreadable—nodded slightly. "He speaks the truth."
A small flicker of relief settled in my chest.
That was it.
If I had no knowledge of them, how could I be responsible for their cris?
But then—
Damian smiled.
Not in frustration. Not in defeat.
In satisfaction.
Like I had given him exactly what he wanted.
My stomach twisted.
And then, Damian began speaking.
He spoke in a slow, deliberate tone—like a man weaving a story, shaping the room's perception with each word.
"These individuals," he started, "have used the Masked Syndicate's na to commit cris. They have engaged in fraud, deception, and in so cases, outright violence."
I already knew where this was going.
I took a sharp breath and slamd my hands against the stand. "Objection! Relevance."
The judge glanced at , considering.
But then—
"Overruled," he said firmly. "There is a clear connection between these individuals and the Masked Syndicate."
Damian gave a mockingly grateful nod. "Thank you, Your Honor."
He turned back to .
His words ca sharper now.
"These criminals," he continued, "used your organization's na to commit fraud. They claid to be sothing they weren't. They manipulated their supposed 'ranks' to deceive others, to convince them that they were sothing far more capable than what was seen on their official records."
I gritted my teeth.
He was framing this perfectly.
He wasn't accusing us of those cris.
But he was implying that we had created the circumstances that allowed them to happen.
He locked eyes with .
"Do you deny these claims, Mr. Leviathan?"
My jaw clenched.
I knew what he was doing.
If I said yes, I'd be outright lying—because I couldn't deny that corrupt individuals had abused the Masked Syndicate's na.
And if I said no, I'd be admitting so level of guilt.
I swallowed.
"No," I said, my voice even. "I do not deny it."
I had no other choice.
Damian let that answer settle over the courtroom.
The jury sat a little straighter.
The audience leaned forward slightly.
He had just planted the seed of doubt.
He had frad the Masked Syndicate as a dangerous, uncontrolled entity. One that enabled criminals, whether we were aware of it or not.
And I had no way of disproving it.
Damian smiled.
"No further questions, Your Honor."
The weight of the courtroom pressed down on as I stood from the witness stand.
I moved stiffly back to the defense table, my thoughts racing.
I had lost that exchange.
And worse—Damian had set up sothing that I couldn't easily dismantle.
He had taken advantage of the Masked Syndicate's secrecy, of the very nature that made us untouchable, and turned it into a weakness.
We had no official records. No clear way of proving who was or wasn't a mber.
And because of that—
Any criminal could claim to be one of us.
And the public would believe it.
I sat down, forcing myself to breathe evenly.
I needed to think.
I needed a way to break this argunt.
I scanned my skill list ntally.
I had two lawyer skills I hadn't used yet.
Closing Statent (Lv. 3).
Corruption Identification (Lv. 3).
Neither of those would help right now.
That left Persuasive Arguntation (Lv. 5).
I tapped my fingers against the table, considering.
And then—
A thought struck .
My gaze flickered up toward the judge.
Slowly—deliberately—I stood.
"Your Honor," I said, my voice calm. "I would like to motion to dismiss."
The entire courtroom froze.
The jury blinked in surprise.
The audience murmured.
Even Damian's expression cracked for just a mont—his confidence faltering as he processed what I had just said.
The judge narrowed his eyes. "Explain yourself, Mr. Leviathan."
I took a slow breath.
And then, with complete confidence, I spoke.
"This case is about the alleged cris of Mr. Fox, Mr. Dust, and Mr. Angel," I stated. "The accusations revolve around them hiding their rank, their skills, and potentially engaging in acts of terrorism."
I let that settle for a mont.
"But the prosecution has introduced an entirely different set of individuals—Mr. Do, Mr. Lust, Mr. Fade, and Mr. Anvil—who are not my clients, who are not affiliated with us, and whose actions should have no impact on this trial."
Damian's hands clenched.
I pressed forward.
"This is no different than blaming a CEO because a criminal wore their brand while committing a cri," I continued. "Or holding an innocent person responsible simply because a fraudster pretended to be them."
I stood up from my seat while gesturing my hand slightly towards Damian
"If the prosecution truly believes that my clients are guilty of these cris, then they should present actual evidence linking them to these acts. Instead, they are relying on guilt by association—an association that does not exist."
I straightened.
"The actions of imposters are not evidence against my clients. They are not legally connected. They are not responsible for their cris."
I exhaled.
"And for that reason, Your Honor, I motion to dismiss these accusations as irrelevant to the case."
Silence.
A long, heavy silence.
One side of the audience looked relieved.
Another looked uncertain.
And so—those who had already made up their minds about the Masked Syndicate—looked furious.
The judge steepled his fingers, mulling over my words. Then—after a long pause—Bang.
"Motion approved."
I exhaled.
Damian's head snapped toward the judge.
"Y-Your Honor, you're surely jesting," he said, his tone less composed than usual with his fingers digging into his palms. "There is a clear connection—"
"Drop it, Mr. Voss," the judge said, his voice firm.
Damian's jaw tightened. For a mont, he looked like he wanted to argue—but then, with a slow exhale, he forced himself to nod. "...Understood."
I let myself sink back into my chair, breathing out slowly.
That had been too close.
But it had worked.
The judge leaned forward.
"That concludes today's proceedings. The court is adjourned until tomorrow."
A mixture of reactions spread through the room.
So were satisfied.
So were confused.
And so—like Damian—looked beyond frustrated.
The first day was over.
And I had made it out alive.
But this was just the beginning.
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