The main courtroom of the Crownfall City High Court was filled with a tension that was almost tangible. The air felt heavy, as if everyone inside was waiting for a single mistake, one small misstep that could change everything. The gallery was packed with journalists, legal observers, and men in tailored suits who were far more accustomed to sitting behind desks of power than on public benches.
"This is the decisive hearing," a senior reporter whispered, never taking his eyes off the judge's bench.
"If he walks free," his colleague murmured back, "half the city will pretend nothing ever happened."
This case was far too large to be called an ordinary legal dispute. The charges money laundering and embezzlement of state funds had ensnared a high ranking official and exposed fractures across multiple layers of influence. Every sentence spoken in this room would echo far beyond the courthouse walls.
At the defendant's table, the middle-aged man sat stiffly. His fingers tapped against the desk without rhythm, as if the faint sound might somehow ease his anxiety.
"Tell me we still have a chance," he whispered to the lawyer beside him.
The lawyer swallowed before answering.
"As long as Arkana is in control… there's always a chance."
On the left side of the courtroom, Arkana stood calmly. His black suit was simple, devoid of flashy details or expensive accessories. There were no towering stacks of documents on his desk, only a thin folder and a tablet. He didn't look like a man gambling with his client's fate. He looked like someone who already knew where this trial would end.
A court clerk leaned toward his colleague and whispered, "He hasn't opened a single note."
The other let out a quiet breath. "Because he doesn't need to."
The presiding judge struck the gavel once.
"Court is back in session," he said firmly. "Defense counsel, you may deliver your closing statement."
The prosecutor stood first, clearing his throat to steady his voice. "Your Honor, despite the discrepancy in the document timestamps, we believe….."
"We will hear from the defense first," the judge interrupted flatly.
Arkana stepped forward.
"Thank you, Your Honor," he said evenly. "Before the court reaches its decision, I would like to clarify one matter."
He turned toward the key witness.
"You swear that this transaction document was signed by my client on March twelfth?"
The witness nodded quickly. "Yes."
"And you are certain my client was in Crownfall City at that time?"
"Y-yes."
Arkana raised his tablet and tapped the screen a few times.
"In that case," he said, rotating the tablet toward the judge, "flight records show that my client landed in Crownfall City two hours after this document was officially registered in the national notary system."
A low murmur rippled through the courtroom.
"That time gap is fatal," someone whispered.
"You can't explain that away with assumptions," another replied.
The prosecutor rose abruptly.
"Your Honor, the discrepancy could have been caused by a delayed data entry….."
"Does the prosecution have evidence of such a delay?" the judge asked, his tone emotionless.
The prosecutor hesitated. "We… do not."
Arkana continued, his voice steady.
"Additionally, airport surveillance, immigration records, and security logs all confirm that my client was still in the air at that time. There is no physical possibility that he signed the document."
The witness lowered his head.
"I only submitted the documents that were given to me," he said weakly.
"By whom?" Arkana asked.
The witness did not answer.
The judge leaned back in his chair, fingers interlaced before his chest. His gaze swept across the courtroom, paused briefly on the prosecutor's table, then returned to Arkana.
"The court has noted serious inconsistencies in the prosecution's evidence and witness testimony," he said slowly. "However, given the complexity of this case and its broader implications, the reading of the verdict will be postponed."
The room immediately filled with restrained whispers.
"Court is adjourned," the judge continued. "The verdict will be delivered at a later date."
The gavel struck.
Several days later, the same courtroom was filled once more. This time, there were no arguments, no objections. The tension that remained was quieter, heavier as though everyone already understood the inevitable conclusion.
The judge entered. Everyone rose.
"Court is now in session for the reading of the verdict," he announced.
He read through the court's legal considerations in a flat, measured tone, citing the timeline discrepancies, the lack of supporting evidence, and the irreconcilable doubts within the prosecution's case. Each sentence sounded less like deliberation and more like a conclusion long since reached.
At last, the judge lifted his gavel.
"Based on the facts presented and the admissible evidence, this court finds the defendant not guilty. All charges are hereby dismissed."
The gavel struck.
The client collapsed back into his chair.
"This… it's real?" he whispered.
Arkana gave a short nod. "As it should be."
Outside the courtroom, reporters immediately swarmed.
"Mr. Arkana, did you predict this outcome?"
"Was there any political pressure involved?"
Arkana paused briefly.
"There was no pressure," he said flatly. "Only the consequence of facts."
Inside the black sedan carrying him away from the courthouse, his assistant finally spoke.
"They never had a way out."
"Because the law leaves no room for careless lies," Arkana replied.
Crownfall City stretched beyond the window, a city built on money, influence, and silent decisions.
His phone vibrated. A new message appeared. "New case. Priority client."
Arkana looked ahead. "Power doesn't need to shout," he said quietly. "It only decides outcomes."
The car merged into the city traffic.
The game had only just begun.
The city lights blurred as the car sped forward.
Arkana closed his eyes for a moment until his phone vibrated again.
This time, it wasn't a client. It was a single encrypted message, sent from a number he hadn't seen in years.
"You won this round. But Crownfall never forgets its debts."
Attached was a photo. A hospital corridor. White walls. Harsh lights. And standing beside the entrance, his younger sister.
Arkana's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"So," he murmured, his voice colder than before, "they've decided to change the battlefield."
The car disappeared into the night.
In Crownfall City, victories never came without a price.