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Mirko stared at her father's face while he stood at the podium.
Justice Moriyama looked at her as he studied her face, trying to make sure she in not messing around, like she always does.
He had raised this girl. He had watched her grow from a scared child in an orphanage into the most fearless hero in the country. He knew every version of her.
This alas... was the version where she will not give up till the very end.
He sighed inwardly and thought, She has made up her mind.
"I'm not kidding, old man," Mirko said firmly. "This is real."
Justice Moriyama looked at her for a long moment. Then his expression changed. The father was gone... and what was left was the pillar of justice.
"Mirko," he said, "if you want to do this, you will address me as Your Honour. You will follow court procedure and will present your evidence in the manner required by this institution. This is not your gym. This is not your patrol route. This is the Supreme Court of Japan."
Mirko blinked... she was a little shocked. She had seen her father serious before, but this was different.
She stood still and nodded.
"Understood, Your Honour."
The courtroom finally exhaled. The father-daughter dynamic had been entertaining, this? This was not entertaining anymore. This was serious stuff.
At the prosecution's table, Kuroda jumped from his seat.
"I object, Your Honour!"
"The time for evidence presentation has already concluded! Both parties have made their arguments! The court was moments away from rendering a verdict! Allowing a new witness to present testimony at this stage is a gross violation of procedura-"
"Shut up and sit down, Kuroda."
Kuroda froze.
"There is nothing simple about this case," the judge said. "Nothing about these proceedings has followed standard protocol, because the situation itself is without precedent. A student was attacked by an engineered villain at a school event. He died. He came back. He killed the villain. A government institution is accused of deliberate inaction. An unknown transformation occurred on live television."
He looked at the courtroom.
"I will not send a boy to prison over procedural technicalities when new evidence has been presented that could fundamentally alter the outcome of this trial. I will not sacrifice justice on the altar of convenience. And I will not let the rigidity of scheduling prevent this court from hearing testimony that may be critical to rendering a fair verdict."
He turned to Mirko.
"Hand me the papers."
Mirko walked forward and placed the folder on the judge's bench. Justice Moriyama opened it and began reading page by page.
While the judge read, the courtroom waited.
And Mirko, with nothing else to do, walked over to Akira.
She stopped beside the defendant's podium and looked at him and grinned.
"Damn, kid," she said, keeping her voice low enough that the microphones wouldn't pick it up. "That's quite a mess you've gotten yourself into. I've gotta say, though, the whole purple-flame-godly looking thing? That was awesome."
Akira looked at her, totally confused.
"Aren't you, um..." he started, then paused, searching for the right words. "I don't know... weird about being around me? After all, I'm a murderer."
Mirko stared at him blankly. Then she glanced around the courtroom quickly.
Making sure no camera or microphone was nearby, she leaned in close. Close enough that her rabbit ears brushed against the top of his head. And she giggled.
"Well," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear, "since you're already involved with our little party... it should be alright to tell you."
She pulled back just far enough to meet his eyes.
"I've killed a few people, too."
Akira's world tilted.
Not because he had a problem with killing. If he did, he would be the biggest hypocrite on the planet, and he knew it. The man he had burned alive in the sky was still fresh enough in his memory that any moral objection to the concept of lethal force would have been laughably hollow.
What shook him were the implications.
Three things hit him simultaneously, stacking on top of each other.
First, someone was behind all of this. Not just Mirko. Not just Nezu. There was a network. An organisation. A "party," as she had called it, with members and operations and, apparently, a kill list. This wasn't a favour from a hero with a soft spot for troubled teenagers. This is likely an invitation.
Second, the reason she was helping him was not charity. It was recruitment. Whatever this organisation was, whatever they did, they wanted him.
Third, the fifth-ranked hero in Japan had just whispered to him, in a courtroom, that she had killed before, as if sharing a secret about a favourite restaurant.
"Thanks for helping me out," Akira said.
Because what else could he say?
Mirko slapped him on the back hard enough to make him almost stumble over.
"No worries, kid," she said. "Just don't disappoint Sparky. He's got high hopes for you."
"Sparky?"
Mirko's grin returned.
"You'll meet that son of a bitch soon enough."
Before he could ask another question, Justice Moriyama looked up from the folder.
The courtroom snapped to attention.
The judge had read every page. Every document. Every timestamp, every signature, every line of the paper trail that Mirko had constructed in forty-eight hours.
"Hero Mirko," the judge said formally. "According to these documents, you claim that Akira Shuzenji has been operating under your unofficial mentorship since the age of fourteen. Approximately one year. Is that correct?"
"That is correct, Your Honour."
"And you authorised his engagement with the villain Muscular?"
"I did."
"On what basis?"
"On the basis that the villain had a documented personal vendetta against my mentee, that no other hero on site moved to intercept the villain, and that the safety of civilians in the stadium required the threat to be removed from the premises immediately."
Justice Moriyama set the folder down. He removed his glasses, cleaned them, and put them back on.
"The documentation appears to be in order," he said. "However..."
The word hung in the courtroom like a blade suspended by a thread.
"Under no circumstance does a mentorship arrangement grant the mentee the authority to kill. Under no circumstance does a supervising hero's authorisation extend to lethal force against a subdued opponent. The charges of unauthorised quirk usage and unsanctioned combat may be addressed by your testimony, Hero Mirko. But the charge of homicide remains."
At the prosecution's table, Kuroda stood.
"Exactly, Your Honour," he said, his voice steadying now that he had found solid ground again. "Under no circumstance should the defendant be allowed to escape accountability for a death. Regardless of mentorship, regardless of authorisation, regardless of the emotional circumstances — a human being was killed. That is a fact that no amount of paperwork can erase."
The courtroom murmured in agreement. The momentum had shifted again. The mentorship claim had neutralised the procedural charges, but the killing remained. The elephant in the room that no amount of legal manoeuvring could make disappear.
Mirko looked at Kuroda. Then at the judge. Then at the courtroom.
And she smiled.
"Your Honour," Mirko started, "the prosecution raises a valid point. No hero — and no mentee of a hero — has the right to take a life without authorisation from a recognised institution."
She paused.
"Which is why I would like to present someone to this court. Someone who represents the institution that gave Akira Shuzenji the authorisation to use lethal force against the villain known as Muscular."
Kuroda's blood ran cold.
What institution?
Madam President leaned forward in her seat. Her granite composure cracked.
What institution has the authority to authorise lethal force outside the HPSC?
Mirko turned to the courtroom doors and gave a dramatic bow.
"Your Honour, please allow me to present the spokesperson of the organisation that gave Akira the green light. I present to you... Sparky."
She caught herself and cleared her throat.
"Ahem. My apologies. I present to you... Indra. Also known as The Thunder Born."
RUMBELLLLLLLL!!
A single bolt of lightning hit the centre of the courtroom floor.
It came from nowhere. Just a vertical column of blue-white electricity that struck the marble with a crack that made every person in the room flinch.
When the light faded, a man stood in the scorch mark.
Tall, lean, and bronze-skinned. Wavy hair and electric blue eyes that glowed in the artificial light of the courtroom.
He looked around the courtroom with the lazy, half-lidded expression of someone who had been woken from a nap and wasn't particularly happy about it.
Then he turned to Mirko.
"Can you please," he said, his voice calm and dry, "stop calling me Sparky."
Mirko threw her head back and laughed.
"Yeah... NOPE, SPARKY!!"
Indra sighed and turned towards the judge.
The courtroom was frozen. Three hundred people, staring at the man who had just materialised in a bolt of lightning in the middle of the Supreme Court of Japan. The press section had stopped writing. The politicians had stopped whispering. Even the security personnel had stopped reaching for their weapons, because what exactly were they supposed to do?
Because those who recognised him understood what his presence meant.
India's joint Number One Hero. The Thunder Born. One of the most powerful quirk users in the world. A man who operated at the intersection of international heroics and geopolitical power. A man whose very presence on Japanese soil turned this trial from a domestic legal proceeding into an international incident.
In the back of the prosecution's section, Madam President was no longer composed.
She was sweating.
Because she knew what Indra was. She knew what he represented. She knew the power that stood behind him — not just his quirk, not just his combat ability, but the institutional weight of the organisation he served. The Asian Hero Support Association, led by President Ming. The network that spanned the continent and operated outside the jurisdiction of any single government.
What is this monster doing here?
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OUR BOY INDRA IS HERE!!!
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