𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚂𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙼𝙰𝙽. || 𝙺𝙶𝚁𝙿 𝙰𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

TW :warning: mild mentions of gore and vomit, implicit sa.

[ 𝚃 𝙴 𝙰 𝚂 𝙴 𝚁 ]

𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚐𝚘...

The pulsating music reverberated through the club, a deafening cacophony of neon lights flickering like distant stars in a city that never slept. A constant, thunderous rhythm of electronic beats animated the atmosphere, yet Sanri remained an island of tranquility amidst the chaos. His fingers delicately adjusted his tie, a fluid motion perfected by years of practice, while his lips curved into an impeccable smile as he charmed his way through a circle of women.

When the night descended, something shifted within him—an unspoken transformation. The neon glow seemed to awaken a side of him, something long buried beneath the weight of daytime propriety.

Tonight, with his sleeves rolled up, his tattoos were fully revealed, the pink ink matched his bottom eyeliner, and his hair, styled differently than usual, framed his face with an air of untamed elegance. This was the side of him that emerged only in the shadowed depths of Roppongi—Tokyo’s infamous nightlife district, a place where the boundary between truth and illusion blurred, and where he could slip unnoticed among the hidden movers of the city’s underworld.

A figure slipped through the crowd, his familiar face cutting through the haze of conversation and laughter. The man seated himself at the bar with a casual roughness, subtly gesturing for Sanri to come closer. With a quiet smile, Sanri excused himself from the women’s company and approached the bar, leaning against it with an easy grace, his elbow resting on the smooth surface as he extended his hand in greeting.

"I heard the great lawyer had a double life." the man remarked with a knowing smirk. "But I never expected that with all the money you make, you'd still need to work as a host in a hole-in-the-wall club like this."

Sanri’s lips curled into a playful grin.

"Oh, come on, Mr. Shirota, you know I’m not here for the money. I’m here for the fun, just like everyone else. The usual?"

Without waiting for an answer, he began preparing the drink the man always ordered. Though Shirota had been a client of his for some time, their relationship had always been more than professional. Shirota, a man who ran a string of illicit businesses and wielded power through his wealth, had often found himself on the wrong side of the law. And time and time again, Sanri had been there to defend him, to navigate the legal labyrinth and protect his interests. These minor transgressions—tax evasion, squabbles with unsatisfied clients—were hardly the real danger. They were just the surface, the tip of the iceberg, beneath which darker waters swirled.

This life as a host, a role so at odds with his public persona as an "Ultimate Lawyer," was his way of staying close to the shadows, to the players who operated in the hidden corners of society, but always just far enough to avoid being ensnared by them.

Shirota leaned in, his voice suddenly more serious.

"I didn’t come here for pleasantries, Sanri. There’s something I need you to listen to. It’s urgent."

Sanri’s eyes narrowed, the playful glint in his gaze fading as he regarded the man with curiosity.

"You’re serious... Of course, tell me. You know I’m always willing to take on a case. I’ve got some time this week. It's my nephew's birthday so I'll use the extra money to buy him even more gifts."

"It’s not about me." Shirota continued, lowering his voice. "I have a friend—a good man, a family man. But he’s in trouble. Real trouble. And it’s not something he deserves." He clenched his fist, striking the bar with quiet intensity. The music thudded on, uncaring, as the two men shared a rare moment of silence. "He’s been accused of something monstrous...ahem.."

Sanri’s brow furrowed as he paused, the words hanging heavily in the air.

"Abuse... to children." Shirota murmured, as if the words themselves were poison.

Sanri’s expression darkened, a wave of disbelief washing over him, breaking the bottle he was holding.

"To children?!" His voice was a low whisper, barely audible above the hum of the club, but filled with disbelief.

"It’s all a lie!" Shirota insisted, his eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and determination. "They’re trying to ruin him. A couple of mothers with vendettas have come forward with false accusations. They want to smear his name—tarnish his reputation to ruin the elections. You understand the stakes? It’s all about power, Sanri. They want to destroy him, and in the process, they’ll destroy his family, too."

Sanri’s eyes locked onto the older man’s, sensing the urgency in his voice, the weight of the situation. He leaned back slightly, absorbing the gravity of the request.

"You know my rates, Mr. Shirota. I don’t come cheap."

Shirota waved him off, a gesture of absolute confidence.

"Money’s not an issue. What matters is this man’s reputation—his life. He’s a man of honor, of integrity. And this… this is an orchestrated smear campaign. I’m not asking you to win this, Sanri. I’m telling you to make it disappear. Make it vanish, like it never happened."

Sanri took a slow breath, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass.

"You never lose, Sanri... You’ve always gotten me out of trouble before, and I know you’ll do the same for him. He’s valuable to me—he’s important to my interests. I need him cleared. I can’t afford for this to turn into a scandal. Do this, and you’ll have my eternal gratitude. Do this, and anything you need from me will be yours."

Sanri met the man’s gaze, his expression unreadable, before he gave a slight nod, sealing the deal with a simple gesture.

"Alright. I’ll take the case. If what you’re saying is true, I’ll defend him with everything I have."

Shirota’s lips curled into a satisfied smile.

"I knew I could count on you."

"One innocent man. One false accusation. I’ll make sure his name is cleared, no matter what it takes. I don't play when it comes to children."

──────────────────────────

[ 𝙿 𝙰 𝚁 𝚃   𝙾 𝙽 𝙴 ]

What is your name, age, and pronouns?

𝚂𝚊𝚗𝚛𝚒 𝚉𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚞

𝚃𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢-𝚝𝚠𝚘

𝙷𝚎 / 𝙷𝚒𝚖

What is your ultimate talent? Elaboration is not necessary, but is encouraged.

𝚄𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙻𝚊𝚠𝚢𝚎𝚛

𝚁𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚜, 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚠 𝚒𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚜—𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚎𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎.

𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚗, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍. 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚜𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚢, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍, 𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑-𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛, 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚞𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚎. 𝙴𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚎, 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍.

𝙲𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚜.

Please state any health conditions or risks we should be aware of.

𝙽𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚑𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜.

𝙵𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚎.

──────────────────────────

[ 𝙿 𝚁 𝙾 𝙻 𝙾 𝙶 𝚄 𝙴 ]

𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚘...

The night air still carried the delicate sweetness of late spring, as the final cherry blossoms whispered their quiet adieu to the school year, scattering their soft petals in the gentle breeze—an ethereal prelude to the warmth of summer that was soon to embrace the world.

Sanri's fingers absentmindedly stirred the champagne in his glass, the golden liquid shimmering as the effervescent bubbles swirled in an almost hypnotic dance. He let his mind drift, unanchored, as he pondered the future now laid before him. With his graduation behind him, the world seemed to pulse with possibility, each path gleaming brighter than the last.

The ceremony had been a triumph, a moment of deserved recognition. The private celebration that followed was the culmination of years of dedication and perseverance. Surrounded by those who had ed him through every grueling step of his journey, the moment felt like an unspoken reward—a quiet affirmation of everything he had worked for.

In the midst of the rising revelry, he had withdrawn to a quiet corner, seeking solace in the calm. His thoughts raced, fragmented and fleeting, too fast for him to grasp, and so he simply let them swirl, allowing himself to absorb the moment. In that small, secluded space, he found peace—a rare gift.

Everything was as it should be. The career he had longed for, worked tirelessly toward, was finally within his reach. The years of sleepless nights, pouring over books and case files, had led him here, to this night of celebration. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he could simply be. He could enjoy.

"You're glowing, brother."

A soft voice cut through his musings, and he turned to find his sister, her smile a beacon of warmth amidst the bustling crowd. She pushed through the gathering, her laughter filling the air, a sound so light and full of affection that it wrapped around him like a comforting embrace.

There was something more in her eyes tonight, though. A secret joy that she had yet to share with the world, but one that shone through her every movement. She was pregnant. He saw it in the way she caressed her stomach, as if protecting the tiny life that grew within her. It was their secret, one she had yet to announce to the family, but he knew.

"Is it that obvious?" he chuckled. "Yeah, I’m excited. This is it—I’m about to start working for real. No more internships."

"I’m so proud of you," she said softly. "My little brother, an Ultimate! I couldn’t be happier. But..." Her expression darkened ever so slightly. "I’m worried. Not for you, but for the world. With everything happening in the news—Japan’s future... I worry. Sometimes, it’s hard to see a way forward. But it’s people like you who give me hope. A just society—that’s what I want for my son. A world full of love and fairness. I know you will protect him."

"You put so much faith in me, sis.." he replied. "I won’t let you down. I’m going to change the world with this talent of mine. I’ll fight for a better future—for my future, and for my nephew's."

"Your nephew already has a name you know..? Haru."

"Haru...Haru. Light, joy, spring. Beautiful name, sister."

"You’re going to be the best godfather. I know you’ll always be there for him. I count on you."

"Of course." He nodded, his heart swelling with pride as he raised his glass. This was his chance to give back—to honor the person who had always been his anchor, the one who had believed in him when no one else did. "To Haru."

Clink!

The soft chime of their glasses meeting was more than just a sound—it was a vow.

"You know, toasting with water is bad luck." he teased.

"And what do you want me to do?" she laughed, shaking her head. "I can’t drink alcohol for the next four months!"

"Four months?! That was fast!"

"I know! But promise me something." she said, her tone shifting to something more serious. "This job—it’s important, but don’t let it take you away from what truly matters. Don’t let success change you."

Her words hung in the air, a reminder that amidst all the accolades, there was still a person to remain true to. She had always been the steadying force in his life, the one who reminded him of who he was beneath all the titles and achievements.

"I won’t forget. I promise."

──────────────────────────

[ 𝙿 𝙰 𝚁 𝚃   𝚃 𝚆 𝙾 ]

The crash of the room filled his ears. Sanri remained still, standing next to the defense table, as the judge pronounced the words he had heard dozens of times in his career.

"The defendant is found not guilty."

The murmurs exploded in the courtroom, a mixture of relief, indignation, and surprise, nothing out of the ordinary. Not everyone could be happy with a ruling. His client—friend of Mr. Shirota—took a deep breath before offering a triumphant smile. Sanri felt the man's hand gripping his with force.

"Knew you were the best, kid. I owe you one. You’ve saved me. Thank god, thank.. thank you."

Sanri nodded with a mechanical smile. He had won. Another victory. Another case closed. A favor for one of his regular clients; with the payment, he could buy plenty of gifts and a cake for his nephew. It had been ages since he'd seen him, he'd been so busy... All of a sudden his chest sunk.

It wasn’t unusual to feel strange after a trial, especially in cases where he defended someone with shady accusations. He had decided to trust the man, after all, he had connections in the government and gave him plenty of s. But this time, there was something else. Something sharp. Something that had been bothering him a little throughout the trial.

He wasn’t sure exactly what made him go back to his office that night instead of heading to the club like he usually did. Maybe it was the deafening silence when he closed the courthouse door, or the way his stomach twisted when he saw his client's relieved face. Maybe it was because of the nature of the case—no adult witnesses, no testimonies. Teachers scared to lose their job. Families full of shame and embarrassment...

The lamp on his desk cast a dim light over the documents scattered in front of him. His fingers skimmed the papers quickly. Evidence, testimonies, records... everything was quite secretive and private when it came to minors.

Until his eyes landed on a sheet he didn’t reading closely before.

Victims List.

His gaze slowly descended, line by line. Names of students... no, preschool children. How could schools and families make things up like that... How bad was the taste of people willing to ruin a mayoral candidate? Names that meant nothing to him... until one did.

Haru Zeginaru. 4 years old.

His heart stopped.

His breath became erratic, and the office seemed to close in on him.

No. No, no, no, no...

His vision blurred. The room distorted, the shadows of the shelves stretching like threatening specters, threatening to trap him and swallow him whole.

It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be him. It couldn't. What was he even doing on the victim list?

But it was him.

Sanri's trembling fingers traced the letters of the name, over and over, as if reading it enough could make it disappear.

Haru.

A child he used to take to the park when he had free time. The one who used to cling to his arm and laugh with him. The child he was supposed to protect.

And he... he had just freed his...

The air grew dense. His chest tightened in a painful spasm. He tried to inhale, but his throat closed, suffocating him in his own despair. He placed his hands on his neck and squeezed, intending to rid himself of the invisible rope strangling his airways.

He brought a hand to his mouth, stifling a gasping sob. Everything went dark. The lamp’s light faded, devoured by an suffocating blackness that seemed to seep through the walls.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t think.

All he could hear was the echo of the verdict in his head.

"Not guilty."

Sanri collapsed against the desk, his nails digging into the wood as panic consumed him.

...

Then he opened his eyes again. The real world appeared abstract to him, he couldn’t process what he was seeing. Everything was moving. Or was he moving?

He tilted his head back, his hair, harshly bleached to a chick-yellow color, fell like a cascade of straw backwards, and tried to take a deep breath. Everything hurt, as if someone had hit his temple with a metal hammer. He feared touching it in case he found blood.

His body felt heavy, battered, more than he had in recent days, stretched out on the sofa letting sadness and guilt consume him. When had he last eaten or showered?.. Who cared about that. He couldn’t leave the house. He hadn’t been able to look his sister in the face since. Or Haru.

A nausea rolled over him, followed by a retch, and finally, he vomited. More than vomit, it was acidic liquid by this point, he hadn’t eaten solid food in weeks. He didn’t even throw up much.

And like it did every day since the incident, his body began to tremble, and he broke into tears. A sob that no longer felt gut-wrenching, more like a subtle reminder of what he had done. A subtle reminder of the shit he had become. Just his mind torturing him for the garbage his existence had turned into. For how badly he wanted to end it all.

Sooner than later, the tears disappeared, leaving him a bundle of shivers, pale and barely able to breathe.

He hadn’t even realized yet that this wasn’t his home. That he was in an unfamiliar place. He only realized when he reached out to feel around for a bottle of alcohol and then realized his hands were tied.

The blond man tried to stand, but the metallic sound of heavy chains kept his foot pinned to the floor. He fell face-first, turning his face at the last moment to avoid breaking his nose on the impact.

His eyes were beginning to adjust to the room's lighting when the door suddenly swung open. A familiar pink—haired girl entered. An old client? ... A name came to mind, but he couldn’t connect where from; his thoughts slipped away before he could focus on them.

Were they going to kill him? Well. If that was supposed to be it, so be it. He deserved it. He didn’t want to live anymore. He hadn’t been brave enough to do it himself; at least someone else should do it.

He looked at the crook, almost pleading with his eyes. Begging the other to, in the absence of alcohol, strike his head over and over until it knocked him unconscious, no, to smash his skull so that only a pulpy mess of tissue and crushed bone remained. Only that would end the pain.

“If you don’t want them to kill you, then you’re going to answer my fucking questions."

But instead, the girl began to question him.

That was his punishment. It had to be his punishment. He had died. And now, he was in limbo, being questioned for his actions.

“Who the hell are you supposed to be?”

Who was he? Who was he supposed to be?.. Who the hell was he?

With a slow, deliberate motion, he rolled onto the cold, unforgiving floor, his eyes locking onto the girl as he lay there, his body twisted at an awkward angle. His head tilted slightly to the side, the movement almost contemplative, as if searching for a way to make sense of the disarray in his mind. He struggled to form coherent words, the effort feeling almost too much for him.

"... A pathetic piece of shit." he muttered, his mouth dry. "That's all I am, miss. Just trash."

There was no flicker of doubt in his eyes, no hint of hesitation in his tone, more like a warning. He wasn’t trying to be dramatic, or to seek sympathy. He was simply stating the truth. His truth.

“D’you know why someone as oh so highly praiiised as you ended up in this shithole?”

His muscles twitched involuntarily, a violent spasm that ripped through him like an uncontrollable force. It was like pulling a fish out of the water, watching it flail, gasping for the very thing it needed to survive. Or like digging up a worm from the earth—writhing, desperate, twisting in agony.

He pressed his forehead back to the cold floor, the hard surface offering more comfort than the person standing in front of him. It was easier to look at the ground, to lose himself in the emptiness, than to face the judgment in their eyes.

"Trash... should be thrown away. I guess."

Praised. Yes. There had been a time, a fleeting moment, when everyone had been proud of him. When he thought highly of himself. A time when he actually believed he could change the world for the better. How laughable. What a ridiculous, shitty dream.

"Shit belongs in the shithole. You said it yourself, miss."

“What do you think about love? They’re watching. Answer correctly.”

His teeth ground together, the pressure building with an involuntary tremor in his jaw, locking shut with an intensity that spoke of pure instinct—his body’s reflexive response to pain, as though he were bracing for something far worse.

It almost felt as if they were about to electrocute him, the tension in his mouth so severe, a crackling anticipation hanging in the air. His eyes squeezed shut, his entire being preparing for the coming blow, the shock, the release of whatever was to come. Every question felt like a whip to his back.

Love. Love... Love was...

“Something that doesn't belong to trash like me." he muttered through clenched teeth, his voice hollow and bitter, and as if on cue, his eyes began to overflow with the relentless tide of tears.

Lately, he couldn’t a moment when the tears didn’t come. He barely recognized himself anymore—his reflection felt like a stranger, a man lost in the wreckage of his own making. He was still haunted by the fact that his body kept producing tears, as though it had forgotten that there was nothing left to grieve. What was he crying for? He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve to cry. The guilt gnawed at him. It was all his fault.

“Love… it’s when you try to change the world, to make it a better place for that one person.”

The former lawyer slammed his forehead against the cold floor in a desperate attempt to silence the voice in his head. To stop the chaos inside. To quiet the ringing pain that pulsed behind his skull.

“But there’s nothing like that in the trash. If you dig deeper, all you find is more garbage.”

The words tasted like acid on his tongue, maybe just the aftertaste of having thrown up, and yet he couldn’t stop them. The weight of it all crashed down, suffocating him under the crushing realization that love had never been meant for someone like him. Not anymore.

“Great. They’re gonna have fun with you."

Sanri continued to writhe on the floor, unable to look at the girl, as if she somehow knew what he had done. Were they going to laugh at his expense?

"No—please. Just end it. No more torment..ghk—Please...give me a reason to live, or put me out of my misery."

"I’d wish you good luck, but you’re going to die. Don’t even waste your breath.”

He curled up into a tight ball on the floor, his pleas fading into silence. His body trembled as he tried to shield himself from her gaze, yet he couldn’t escape the suffocating weight of his own guilt.

He was going to die. He thought, perhaps this would be the only peace he’d ever find.

It all went dark.

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[ OOC SECTION ]

What is your name and preferred pronouns?

Meimi

any/all

What is your timezone?

CST

Do you have any triggers or discomforts? Please let me know and clarify which—you're free to privately message me them as well, so long as you inform me before applications close.

No triggers no discomforts

Please provide a reference of your OC! Something visible is preferred, but a detailed written description will work just fine, too.

Sanri before the trauma. I feel so sigma and awww—

Are you aware your OC may die at any point, whether that be from murder, trial, or somewhere in between? If your character is confrontational, you may be at HIGH risk of dying outside of murders and trials. Please keep this in mind.

Heh please do.

Anything else?

My apologies for the yappery :stuck_out_tongue_closed_eyes:

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#interwovenkg