The air in the grand hall was thick with tension. A circle of ancient symbols glowed beneath Shinjiro's feet as Patrick stood ready, the Judicium Veritas spell swirling faintly in the air.

  Patrick raised his hand, ancient runes glowing along his wrist.

  Patrick: (softly, almost to himself) Poor kid…

  Then, he spoke.

  Patrick: State your name.

  Shinjiro lifted his head. His voice was clear, unwavering.

  Shinjiro: My name is Shinjiro.

  A faint glow radiated from the tome. The spell had been cast. The truth had been revealed.

  The spell confirmed he was telling the truth.

  Aethus' face didn’t change. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes sharp as daggers.

  Aethus: Where have you come from?

  Shinjiro hesitated for just a breath. A silence too small for most to notice—but not Patrick.

  Shinjiro: Alcrad.

  The spell glowed once more.

  True.

  Patrick felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple. The hesitation had been slight—but it was there.

  Shinjiro was playing a game.

  Aethus, however, wasn’t concerned. He had only one question left.

  He leaned back, speaking louder this time.

  Aethus: Are you a part of Daimyojin? Did you set the fire?

  The room held its breath. This was it. The moment everyone had been waiting for.

  Shinjiro smirked.

  And then, in a voice laced with mockery, arrogance, and something close to amusement, he spoke.

  Shinjiro: That’s right. I am the one who killed them all. I am Daimyojin itself!

  Gasps. Shouts. Some drew their weapons instinctively. Leo Raksha stood immediately, his muscles tensed, his hand moving toward his sword.

  "What?! So it was true?"

  "He admitted it!"

  "That bastard! Kill him now!"

  (Leo jumps over to the stage in a rush to attack Shinjiro)

  (The spells shows he is telling a lie)

  “What? So it was true?”, someone from the crowd.

  In a flash, Leo leapt onto the stage, his blade drawn, ready to strike. But the spell pulsed again—this time glowing red.

  But then—

  The spell pulsed.

  A cold, blue glow filled the chamber. The truth had been spoken.

  The spell confirmed it.

  "False."

  Shinjiro: It’s a lie. Look at the spell.

  Leo: (stops) It’s a lie! That means you are innocent!

  A silence more deafening than any scream filled the room.

  A noble in the gallery blinked, voice barely a whisper.

  "Wait… does that mean…?"

  Leo’s sword stopped mid-draw. His eyes widened slightly, then narrowed.

  "It’s a lie," he muttered under his breath. "That means…"

  The truth settled in, slow and creeping, like a sickness infecting the room.

  Shinjiro was innocent.

  Patrick felt his stomach drop. His breath hitched. How? How did the boy know?

  Aethus’ fingers clenched against the armrest of his chair. His jaw tightened. This wasn’t possible. The trial had been staged. There should have been no escape.

  Yet here he stood. Untouched. Unpunished.

  Shinjiro had beaten them.

  Leo exhaled sharply, shaking his head before stepping toward Aethus.

  Leo: The boy has proven his innocence. I assume he is free to leave.

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  Aethus didn’t respond.

  He couldn’t.

  But the silence spoke for him.

  Leo placed a firm hand on Shinjiro’s shoulder. His grip was strong, unreadable.

  Leo: (quietly) You almost got yourself killed there.

  Shinjiro only smirked.

  As the nobles slowly filed out, whispers filled the room.

  Shinjiro was innocent. The spell had proven it.

  But the royals didn’t need the law to kill someone.

  And in the shadows of the chamber, Damian watched, his eyes cold, calculating.

  This wasn’t over.

  Not even close.

  Aethus: The boy has proved himself not to be a criminal. Patrick?

  Patrick: Yes as the spell shows he is innocent.

  Damian was looking at Patrick with anger in his eyes.

  Leo: Is it okay? If I take this boy now to his quarters.

  Aethus: You can.

  Leo: Okay.

  Shun and Rakk left the place in a hurry. Shun’s face was a mystery. What could have gone wrong?

  The place is empty now. The people leave one by one. All the criminal charges against Shinjiro were dropped and He was taken back to the quarters by Leo to meet Iris.

  **

  Scene: Shinjiro’s quarters

  The tension in the room loosened as Leo pushed open the door, guiding Shinjiro inside. The wooden floor groaned softly beneath their weight, the scent of old parchment, melted wax, and something faintly metallic lingering in the air. The dim candlelight flickered, casting long shadows across the stone walls.

  Iris sat near the desk, one leg lazily draped over the other, his fingers idly tracing the worn edges of a book. His expression was unreadable—cool as always—but there was a sharp glint in his eyes as he studied Shinjiro.

  Iris: You are here. Master!

  Leo: I thought I would drop him here. He’s a smart kid.

  Shinjiro: No! It was all his plan. Even telling the wrong name of my hometown to you.

  Leo raised an eyebrow, amused.

  Leo: How did you do that? Iris?

  Iris sighed, closing the book with a soft thud. He stretched his arms behind his head, rolling his shoulders before speaking.

  Iris: I spent all night with Gin reading these books on the Judicium spell and Priest Patrick.

  His voice was steady, but his half-lidded eyes betrayed exhaustion.

  Iris: I came to know, Patrick can manipulate the spell by becoming the target of the spell itself and he whispers a truth or a lie. I knew he was going to be near Shinjiro which makes it hard to know who the spell was being used on.

  (yawns)

  Leo: You look like you need sleep.

  Leo turned toward Shinjiro, his gaze steady, unreadable. Then, with a firm but almost reassuring grip, he placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  Leo: You also need rest. Don’t worry anymore, you are one of us now.

  Shinjiro let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The weight of everything—the trial, the accusations, the judgment—had been crushing him from the inside out. Hearing those words felt like something grounding him, if only for a moment.

  Shinjiro: You almost killed me there. Thanks.

  Leo: I was acting, trying to make it more real.

  Iris: Shut up! You are bad at lying.

  Leo smirked, shaking his head.

  Leo: That’s not what I taught you, Iris, being a lie detector.

  His voice held a rare softness, something closer to amusement than strict authority. He turned on his heel, walking toward the door.

  Leo: I’ll be leaving now. Take care.

  (Leo leaves.)

  For a moment, the room fell into silence. The kind of silence that settled after storms—not entirely peaceful, just… quiet.

  Shinjiro rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at Iris, who had already turned his attention back to his book.

  Shinjiro: Thank you, Iris.

  Iris: No worries.

  Shinjiro hesitated for a second, then let out a tired chuckle.

  Shinjiro: I am so tired. I am going to sleep.

  Without thinking, he flopped onto the bed—only for a loud groan to erupt from beneath him.

  Gin: What the hell!!! You broke my bones!

  Shinjiro jumped up, startled. The blanket rustled, revealing Gin sprawled out, his dark hair a mess, his face twisted into a glare.

  Iris: (laughs) You deserved that.

  Shinjiro: I am sorry! I didn’t realize it was you.

  Gin groaned, rubbing his ribs. His messy hair stuck out in all directions, and he looked far too irritated to care about fixing it.

  Gin: It’s this dumbass' fault. Couldn’t you tell him I was sleeping?

  Iris: I forgot.

  Gin: Huh?!

  Shinjiro chuckled, shaking his head. He looked between the two of them—Gin still rubbing his ribs, Iris flipping lazily through the book, looking like he hadn’t slept in two days.

  Shinjiro: Thank you.

  Gin: Who are you thanking?

  Shinjiro: All of you.

  His voice was quieter this time.

  Shinjiro: I thought Aetherblades would be furious fighters, serious, committed men.

  Iris: (smirking) We are. We just don’t spend all our time brooding in dark corners.

  Shinjiro scoffed.

  Shinjiro: You’re literally sitting in the darkest corner of the room right now.

  Iris: …Touché.

  Gin: (stretching) Listen, if you wanna be serious and committed all the time, that’s fine. But it sounds exhausting.

  Iris: Exactly. And we’re not in battle every second of the day, Shinjiro.

  His voice lost its usual sarcasm.

  Iris: It’s okay, Shinjiro. Forget about what happened to you. It’s a new start.

  Gin: Yeah, buddy.

  Shinjiro blinked. The words hit harder than he expected. A new start.

  He had never thought of it that way.

  Iris stood, closing his book and giving a lazy wave.

  Iris: Let’s go, Gin. Go sleep in your room.

  Gin groaned but got up, still mumbling about his ribs.

  Shinjiro: Can you give my message to Saber and Ryuma? Just say I will talk to them tomorrow.

  Iris: Okay.

  The door shut behind them.

  For the first time in a while, Shinjiro was alone.

  He lay back, staring at the ceiling. The mattress wasn’t exactly comfortable, and his body still ached from the trial, but… for once, the weight in his chest felt a little lighter.

  Maybe, just maybe—this really was a new start.

  **

  Shun walked ahead in silence, his eyes downcast, his steps mechanical as if he were moving forward on instinct alone. The faint glow of lanterns barely lit the cobbled streets of Lennox, their flickering light stretching long, distorted shadows against the walls.

  Rakk followed closely behind, hands in his coat pockets, watching him carefully. The usual lightness in his step was gone.

  Rakk: (lightly) Shun, are you too happy to speak? Your friend is alive and well.

  Shun stopped mid-step.

  His shoulders tensed, his head still lowered. For a moment, Rakk thought he wouldn’t answer at all. Then—

  Shun: (coldly) That wasn’t Shinjiro.

  Rakk’s steps faltered. The air between them suddenly felt heavier.

  Rakk: What? That can't be.

  Shun slowly turned his head, his expression unreadable. The dim streetlight barely reached his face, but his eyes— his eyes held something dangerous.

  Shun: He looked similar, but he’s not.

  Rakk frowned, trying to process the weight of those words.

  Rakk: I didn’t remember his face well. But… he told the officers about you, your hometown.

  Shun: (clenching his fist) That’s not my friend.

  The wind whispered through the alleyways, cutting through the silence like a warning.

  Rakk: (carefully) Are you sure?

  Shun: (low voice, unwavering) How can I forget his face? I remember it well.

  His voice didn’t shake. Not even once.

  Rakk exhaled slowly. He had known Shun long enough to recognize this look—the sharp edge in his voice, the tension in his stance.

  He wasn’t guessing.

  He knew.

  Rakk’s expression darkened as the weight of Shun's words sank in, thick and suffocating.

  Rakk: Then where is your friend, Shun? And who is that boy claiming to be Shinjiro?

  The question hung in the air, heavy, unanswered.

  The shadows of Lennox seemed to stretch further, swallowing the narrow streets as if the city itself refused to give them an answer.

  The one who looked like Shinjiro was Shinjiro himself but not quite.