Tokyo: Are you even a proper lawyer?

"The agency agreement is on that table over there. Fill it out yourself."

Masashi Akiyama pointed in the direction of the reception area.

The sound of rain outside the window gradually subsided, but the sky remained overcast, and the dim light inside blurred the outline of his profile.

"After you finish filling out the form, leave the case information. Name, contact information, case file number, a copy of the first-instance judgment, a list of evidence—all relevant documents, not a single one missing."

He paused, then added.

"I need to meet with the client in three days. You'll be in charge of arranging it."

"Okay, okay! Thank you, Mr. Akiyama!"

Rio Arimura practically skipped and hopped towards the reception area, her steps as light as if she had unloaded a heavy burden.

She took a dark blue fountain pen from the off-white canvas tote bag; it was an expensive German-made one.

Rio Arimura opened the agency contract and quickly filled in the blank space.

Masashi Akiyama's gaze lingered on the pen for a moment before shifting away.

He leaned back in his chair and began tapping his fingers on the table again, at a slow and steady pace, as if he were deep in thought.

"Did you pay for this yourself?"

He suddenly spoke up. "That client—does he have the money to pay you back?"

Rio Arimura paused in her act of filling out the contract. She didn't turn around, but simply shook her head slightly.

"That doesn't matter. I promised him I would help him. Now... he can only rely on me."

The pen tip scratched across the paper again, and the scratching sound resumed.

Masashi Akiyama did not ask any further questions.

He picked up the dark blue savings card, twirled it between his fingers, then opened the drawer and put it inside.

The metal slide rails emitted a slight scraping sound, which was particularly clear in the silence after the rain.

Three days later, at the Tokyo Detention Center, in the meeting room.

The air was filled with an unpleasant smell of disinfectant mixed with the stench of old buildings.

The fluorescent lights overhead emitted a soft hum, illuminating everything in a stark white light.

Separated by a thick pane of glass, Masaji Fukuyama sat quietly opposite him.

He looked even more haggard than in the photos, with dark circles under his eyes and sunken cheeks. Only his eyes remained calm, almost numbly calm.

"The store manager often calls a group of us together to help clean the warehouse behind the convenience store."

"Sometimes... we even have hot pot parties there. I occasionally help out or something."

"So," Rio Arimura leaned forward, placing her hands on the table, "it's perfectly normal for your fingerprints to be on the knife, isn't it?"

"Yes." Masaji Fukuyama nodded, with a very small gesture.

"That police officer used violence against you during the interrogation, didn't he?" Rio Arimura continued to press.

Masaji Fukuyama nodded again.

Did the other party threaten or intimidate you?

This time, without him needing to answer, Rio Arimura already knew the answer from the flawed interrogation record.

She turned her head sharply to look at Masashi Akiyama sitting beside her, who was looking down at the files. Her voice trembled slightly with excitement.

"These police officers all have the same story—they all deny it! Has the Metropolitan Police Department become this corrupt?!"

Masashi Akiyama did not look up. His gaze remained fixed on a certain page of the file.

It was a site investigation report describing the distribution of bloodstains on the warehouse floor.

"Mr. Akiyama!" Rio Arimura patted his shoulder hard, clearly frustrated. "Are you even listening?"

"Mr. Akiyama?"

Masashi Akiyama finally raised his head.

He pushed up his glasses, his gaze calmly sweeping over Rio Arimura's flushed cheeks before turning to Masaji Fukuyama across the glass.

"You were just spacing out, weren't you?" Rio Arimura's eyes widened in disbelief. "You were spacing out, weren't you? I was reviewing the case for you! At such a crucial moment, you actually—"

"Ms. Arimura," Masashi Akiyama interrupted her, "please be quiet."

Rio Arimura opened her mouth, but ultimately closed it reluctantly, though the dissatisfaction in her eyes was almost overflowing.

Masashi Akiyama leaned forward slightly, his gaze falling on Masashi Fukuyama's face.

"Tell me—where were you at the time of the incident? What were you doing?"

"At that time..." Masaji Fukuyama paused, as if trying to recall, "at Higashiyama Park."

"Higashiyama Park, is that right?" Rio Arimura couldn't help but chime in, speaking quickly, "If we can prove he was there, his alibi will be valid! Unfortunately... there are no witnesses."

Masashi Akiyama ignored her and continued asking:

"What were you doing in the park?"

"He likes photography and landscapes," Rio Arimura interjected again, "so he spent the whole day in the park looking at plants, drinking coffee while admiring the flowers and grass—"

"Ms. Arimura."

Masashi Akiyama turned his head and looked at her.

He sighed, a hint of helplessness in his voice:

"I'm asking him. Please—stop talking."

"Okay, alright..." Rio Arimura lowered her head, her fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of her clothes.

She realized she was being too hasty—the anxiety of desperately wanting to prove the client's innocence was almost overwhelming her reason.

Masashi Akiyama turned his gaze back to Masashi Fukuyama:

"You were drinking coffee then, weren't you? Did anyone see you?"

"Yes, there is." Masashi Fukuyama nodded, this time with a more exaggerated gesture. "There's a small shop over there... I bought my coffee there."

"A receipt would be more convincing!" Rio Arimura couldn't help but chime in again, hurriedly covering her mouth under Masashi Akiyama's gaze, while making a zipper gesture with her other hand near her mouth.

Masashi Akiyama looked at her for two seconds, then stood up and straightened the hem of his suit jacket.

"Alright." Masashi Akiyama looked at Masashi Fukuyama. "Mr. Mizutani, please enjoy your remaining time in the detention center."

After he finished speaking, he turned and walked towards the door.

Rio Arimura paused for two seconds before hurriedly getting up, nodding vigorously at Masashi Fukuyama, mouthing "Wait for me," and then jogging to catch up with Masashi Akiyama.

When I walked out of the detention center, the afternoon sun was so bright that I couldn't open my eyes.

The air in Tokyo after the rain was almost too fresh, the sky was a clear, deep blue, and the clouds drifted lazily like fluffy cotton.

In stark contrast to the oppressive and stagnant atmosphere inside the detention center, the outside world is vibrant and bustling, with the sounds of traffic, people, and the distant rumble of trams forming the city's never-ending background noise.

Rio Arimura could hardly believe what had just happened.

She quickly caught up with Masashi Akiyama and walked alongside him on the sidewalk, her voice filled with confusion and unease.

"Mr. Akiyama?" She turned her head to look at him.

"Are you really sure? I've looked left and right, but I can't see anything... What progress has been made?"