Rockridge’s voice fell like a stone into a pond, and ripples ran through the crowd as faces tightened into thought.

Skela reeled, confusion fogging her eyes before her voice stumbled out. “I—I didn’t…”

“Not only that. You murdered Andesim and staged it as a guilt-ridden suicide. You wanted no leaks, and the dead don’t talk. They carry every sin you twist onto them.”

“Don’t spit poison, old man! She was on the road back with me when Andesim died!”

“‘Sweet Kiss lets you time a victim’s death down to the second’—that was your claim, not mine.”

The minister cut his eyes toward Neprah, his stare like a knife’s glint. “All the suspect had to do was dose Andesim, count the seconds, leave, and craft a perfect alibi. Isn’t that right?”

The onlookers nodded, suspicion spreading like cold water seeping through cloth.

Andesim’s strange death clearly tied to the king’s assassination, and Skela’s strongest lifeline was her alibi. If she couldn’t reach Balad, then the killer had to be someone else.

Turn the hourglass, though, and if that proof crumbles, Skela stands on a cliff edge with the wind howling.

Adelaide watched the sudden turn of the tide, her eyes narrowing like shutters against bright sun.

“Forgive my impertinence, Lord Rockridge.”

Her voice was mild as warm tea, and every gaze swung to her like sunflowers chasing light.

Summoned as a juror because she’d been at the scene, Adelaide had hoped to be a quiet reed in this river.

But to test a thought flickering like a moth at a lantern, she spoke.

“As a member of the jury, I must point out your chain of logic starts from guilt, not proof. Without evidence, we shouldn’t assume malice in the accused.”

Rockridge glanced at her, something sparking like embers in ashes within those gray, old eyes.

“Reality is plain. If she’s innocent, the scales will tilt for her even under trial. Yet she fled her cell. If not from a guilty heart, then why?”

“So that Justice wouldn’t be veiled by Chaos, Lord Rockridge.”

Adelaide set a hand to her breast, solemn as a votive candle in a quiet shrine.

“As Skela’s senior and friend, I know she’s kind. Above that, she’s devout, a true believer who won’t let Chaos roam free. Someone like her might break prison to seize a sinner, but she wouldn’t lie to save herself, and she would never commit a blasphemous murder.”

She bowed deeply toward the bench, her posture a drawn bow. “Every word above, I stake on the name of the Douglas Family, Your Excellency.”

In the Sarman Empire, a family’s name wasn’t silk on the tongue; it was iron law. If guilt was proven, the guarantor family bled with the accused.

“Lady Adelaide…”

Below, Skela’s voice trembled like a string plucked too hard. Adelaide answered with a gentle smile, afternoon sun laying a warm blade across her shoulder, as if to say all would be well.

But storms don’t end with one ray. Rockridge coughed twice, dry as parchment.

“Since Miss Adelaide will vouch for her, let’s suppose her heart stands with the scales. But—” his tone turned like a windshift, “what of the ‘mysterious one’ in this tale? What motive lit its steps?”

Adelaide’s face shifted; for a heartbeat, she saw the pale corner of Rockridge’s mouth curl like a thin hook.

“This ‘mysterious one’ cut the accused’s shackles, then handed addresses, names, and symbols to His Highness Neprah, as if foreseeing their pact. So perfect, so all-knowing—a tailor-made savior to acquit the accused, isn’t it?”

She almost flung the blade of truth at his face—The mysterious one is right before your milky eyes, you fossil—but her features stayed cool as glazed porcelain.

“Perhaps more than one heart stands with the scales, Lord Rockridge.”

“Perhaps, as you say. If so, that righteous ‘mysterious one’ won’t let another be wronged for their sake. If it wants to prove the accused clean, it must step out and prove it exists.”

At that, Adelaide smiled without warmth, while inside her tongue clicked like a pebble. Trouble.

In the script she knew, Skela was never caught. Neprah found the trail alone. No “mysterious one” was needed, so this scene never happened.

To push the river back into its bed, Adelaide had stepped in as an outside variable. But she couldn’t stand before everyone and claim the hood.

Hmm… what now?

While she hunted for a path like a fox through thickets, Rockridge’s aged, solemn voice rode the voice amplifier across the plaza. The crowd stirred like a hive awakened.

“A righteous soul who refuses to prove the accused’s innocence—such a contradiction. It seems this ‘mysterious one’ is fiction after all—”

His voice climbed to a peak, ready to hammer down a verdict. A cool voice cut across it like a shadow crossing the sun.

“No. She’s real.”

For a blink, Adelaide thought she’d let her heart speak aloud. But it wasn’t her voice.

She turned. A figure in a gray coat shouldered through the crowd like a skiff parting reeds, stepping to the defendant’s stand.

Under every gaze of the High Tribunal, the “mysterious one” pulled back her hood.

Seeing that familiar face, Adelaide’s pupils tightened like shutters. Bewilderment cracked through her calm.

No big round glasses. Brown curls tamed into a low ponytail. But those stubborn dark circles were a signature. She knew her.

Her… how?

“Hazel, why are you here? Didn’t you say to keep your business secret?”

Skela hurried two steps and caught Hazel’s hand, worry bright as water in her eyes.

“Since Lord Rockridge called, I couldn’t sit and watch the fire spread,” Hazel said, then faced the bench. “Yes. I’m the ‘mysterious one’ you speak of.”

“Eh? Wait, you’re the mysterious one? But—”

“Shh.”

“Oh. Oh.”

Hazel pressed a finger to Skela’s lips. Skela nodded obediently, understanding dawning like a sunrise, yet she refused to let go of Hazel’s hand.

Adelaide watched their easy, intimate rhythm. Relief didn’t come; confusion did, a fog over still water.

Why is Hazel here? She never shows in the script… And when did she and Skela grow this close?

She wasn’t alone. Chief Justice Padini’s glacier face cracked a fraction; his brow lifted like a ridge.

“You. Why are you here?”

“To prove the defendant’s innocence, Father.”

“Right—” Skela puffed up to back Hazel, then that last word struck like thunder. She gaped and snapped her head toward Hazel.

“—Huh? You—you’re the Chief Justice’s…?”

“Shh.”

“…”

The same hush and the same closeness. Chief Justice Padini’s frown climbed higher, a mountain gathering storm.

“Since you’ve stepped forward, what have you to say to Lord Rockridge’s doubts?”

Hazel squared her shoulders, unflinching as a spear planted in earth.

“I freed Skela from prison. I sent coordinates and guidance. I steered His Highness Neprah to meet her in the woods. All of that was me.”

“Why?”

“The scales were tilting toward evil. I couldn’t turn away.”

“Then how did you learn the poison came from Dalahaman?”

“I read His Majesty’s autopsy report. Only one toxin matches the signs at his death. In the texts, the Kashi are skilled with that poison. I inferred the only Kashi settlement. Simple logic. I’m not the all-knowing phantom you imagine, Lord Rockridge.”

She spoke and cut a glance at Rockridge, a quiet blade in the light.

“The royal house holds fuller files than mine, yet they didn’t think of it—or thought of it and chose not to act. Either way, I couldn’t stand idle.”

The true “mysterious one,” Adelaide, listened to Hazel’s clean, confident weave and barely recognized her friend. She’d thought Hazel a mad scientist who only cut open bodies.

Still, the spell landed. Hazel turned the spear cleanly toward Rockridge’s camp.

So, how will you answer… Lord Rockridge?

The lines were tied from knot to knot. Would he let go, or show his hand like a card bled through?

Adelaide watched him with interest. He chose, as expected, to bleed.

“Hazel Padini, if your motive is spotless, why hide your name? To me, that reeks of guilt.”

“If not for the threat hanging over Skela, I wouldn’t have bared it. That threat is exactly why I chose this path.”

Hazel met his stare, steel against stone.

“I’d already joined Skela and His Highness Neprah in Dalahaman. I found the vial of Sweet Kiss. I asked them to keep my name out, to avoid the mire that follows. But you left us no choice.”

She lifted Skela’s hand, drew her close, and stood with her under the full blaze of eyes.

“I think, with Skela’s honor and justice now proven, there’s one thing left: your sincere apology. Well? Lord Rockridge?”

Rockridge’s already narrow eyes thinned to slits. For a heartbeat, Adelaide saw irritation flick like a wasp in his gaze.

“Your testimony is still only your side. The murder of Richard VI is grave. Until new evidence appears, the defendant remains under watch.”

Adelaide’s mouth curved, satisfaction blooming like a hidden flower.

So. You’re one of them.

In this world, hearts are labyrinths and ties are knotted vines; even Adelaide, always watching, couldn’t see all ends. But interests don’t lie. A man can throw all the smoke he wants, yet his harvest shows his aim.

Compared to the script, those men in black struck early. The most crucial change was this: Skela was caught on the spot.

They want her confined. That much stands like a stone in a clear stream.

Even now, with his arguments rotting like damp pillars, Rockridge kept insisting Skela must be watched. That drumbeat confirmed Adelaide’s guess.

The Black-clad Organization and Rockridge were bound by a thread, hidden like wire under the floorboards.

Was it a grasp for the throne, or some other shadowed reason?

Her temples tightened first, storm pressure rolling in. She’d weighed many possibilities, but Rockridge’s stance made the present a headache.

He was about to be Regent. If he truly moved against Skela, even Samir and Neprah together might not hold that tide.

Besides, power sat in his palm like a heavy scepter. The Tribunal’s scales would likely tip his way.

Clack—

As Adelaide thought that, the golden gavel struck again, and the Chief Justice read the final verdict.

“Dismissed. Testimony and material evidence are in place, sufficient to prove her innocence. As of today, Skela Trinity Purdo regains her freedom—verdict: not guilty.”

The result landed off-beat. Adelaide glanced aside, surprised, while the defendants burst into cheers like popping sparks.

Skela slapped palms with Neprah, then turned and hugged Hazel tight.

“We did it, Hazel!”

“Mm.”

Skela nuzzled her, cheek to cheek, playful as a familiar puppy.

“Heh-heh. How about it, I did pretty well today, right?”

“Barely. I heard you skip two lines.”

“I tried! You wrote such a long script—I spent ages memorizing it!”

Adelaide’s heart nodded, a small lantern lighting. So that’s why Skela sounded so mature; those words weren’t hers. No—when did they get that close?

She turned the thought over, but couldn’t stitch the lab’s vivisection maniac to leading-lady Skela. She let it go and looked to the bench.

Sure enough, Rockridge wore a storm-dark face, a warning aimed at Chief Justice Padini.

It didn’t last long, because the gavel fell again.

“Based on the defendant party’s account, the people of Dalahaman knowingly still support Hakadi—meaning Dalahaman has rebelled.”

The celebrating crowd froze, and Adelaide caught satisfaction flicker across Rockridge’s face, thin as frost.

Skela reacted first, trying to cut off the Chief Justice’s next words.

“No, they weren’t all informed, and they don’t know exactly what Hakadi did—”

She shouted, urgent, but her voice vanished, drowned in a boiling roar.

Chief Justice Padini had already given the final word.

“As Chief Justice, I approve the Mobilization Order.”