Chapter Text
Chapter 1
(In which Kazuma silently wedges his way back into his apprenticeship and finagles a gun for some fun, oblique threatening.)
"Are you sure?" Susato asks. "Truly?"
"There's still time," Ryunosuke adds. "You could come with us."
As if they aren't already standing on the docks, the ship preparing to steam out of the harbor. As if Kazuma hasn't already made his choice. As if there's still a chance to change it.
Kazuma's smile feels plastic, stretched out in all the wrong places, but it's better than nothing. "It might be hard to get a ticket now. I'm sure the cabins are all filled."
"You could stow away!" Ryunosuke's face lights up as if he has just been struck with a blinding flash of inspiration. "The wardrobe is a little tight, but it's doable. You have to try it once to get the whole transatlantic voyage experience!"
Kazuma laughs despite himself. "Thanks, but I'll pass. I can't stomach the thought of getting back on a boat so soon. I don't seem to have much luck with them."
Ryunosuke and Susato exchange looks. They know it's not a real answer.
"What will you do, then?" Susato asks quietly. "If you're staying."
That's an excellent question. One Kazuma has been asking himself almost from the second the trial concluded. He barely knows who he is anymore, much less what he wants to do with himself.
"I'm continuing my apprenticeship," he says after a loaded pause. "I can count on you two to be the defense team Japan needs. I will become a prosecutor instead."
Susato's eyebrows fly up her forehead in an uncommon lack of self-restraint, although she's too polite to say what she's thinking. Ryunosuke says it for her.
"Your apprenticeship?" he repeats. "With Lord van Zieks? Has he agreed to keep you on, even after…?"
Kazuma hesitates for only the barest fraction of a second. "Yes."
This is not entirely truthful, but he is nothing if not a liar. Truthfully, he has neither seen nor spoken to van Zieks since their brief exchange after the trial. There is no guarantee that van Zieks will agree to remain his mentor. In fact, there is every reason for him to refuse. It would be foolish of him to welcome Kazuma back with open arms.
Kazuma isn't sure what he'll do if van Zieks shuts the door in his face. Beg some of the other prosecutors, maybe? But he can't stomach begging, and he has had no meaningful contact with the rest of the judiciary outside of van Zieks and Stronghart. He was banned from speaking to anyone else, after all. He is afraid that his performance in van Zieks's trial has not reflected well on him. There is a good chance that everyone regards him warily now, and no one will want to take on a liability.
It would be easier to return to Japan with his friends. He already has a place at the university that he could slip back into. Even if the exchange program is a failure, he could pick up where he left off and pretend the past year never happened.
He doesn't know why he feels so strongly that he must stay, but he does. He has proven his father innocent—mostly innocent, perhaps, but his mind shies away from that thought and its implications—and exposed the men responsible for his death. He has achieved what he set out to do.
And yet, he does not feel finished. He isn't ready to go home. Not until he figures out what else he needs to do here. Not until he can come to terms with what he has already done.
It's a bad idea to stay, but he has been full of nothing but bad ideas lately.
"Oh," Ryunosuke says. "Well… I hope it goes well."
I hope you know what you're doing goes unsaid. Kazuma has no idea what he's doing, but he only clamps his jaws shut and nods.
"I'm sorry we're leaving so soon," Susato says. "I wish you weren't staying alone."
The regret in her eyes is genuine. So is the relief. For all she wants to know Kazuma will be alright, it is easier to walk away and let him figure this out himself. He has lied to her and used her for his own ends, and then avoided her like a coward afterwards instead of facing what he's done. Kazuma cannot blame her and Ryunosuke for needing some space from him. It's generous enough that they still worry about him regardless.
Kazuma's gaze slides away. He holds his chin high, but his eyes focus off to the side, not quite meeting his friends'.
"I'll be fine," he says.
"Even with Lord van Zieks? Are you sure that's a good idea?"
Kazuma smiles mirthlessly. "I don't have a better one."
He glances at Mikotoba watching their exchange from farther down the dock. They already said their goodbyes, which were just as stiff and awkward and lacking in substance as these. It's Kazuma's doing. Mikotoba is nothing if not gentle, subdued understanding lighting his eyes and disappointment carefully hidden away until no glimmer shows through, and somehow that makes everything worse.
It should feel good to be seen and not judged, but instead, it seems to peel back his skin and expose all the ugliness lurking beneath. He doesn't think he wants to be understood. He barely understands himself anymore, and each thing he learns is worse than the last.
Maybe you should judge me, he thinks savagely in Mikotoba's direction. Maybe some things deserve to be judged.
His gaze skitters away from his adoptive father. Away from his adoptive sister and his friend. Even now, he doesn't want them to look too closely and see inside him to all the ugly pieces he's tried to hide. He doesn't want to see them looking. It's better, he thinks, if they go their separate ways until he can face them properly again.
"Here," he says abruptly, unbuckling Karuma's scabbard from his hip and thrusting it at Ryunosuke. "Hang on to this for me, will you? Please take care of it until I'm ready to take it back."
He can spin a fine story about wanting to regain his honor and becoming worthy to take up his father's blade again. It's even true.
But as Ryunosuke hesitantly accepts the sword, Kazuma knows the real reason is that he doesn't want to risk running van Zieks through on sight the next time they meet. He knows better than to trust himself these days, and he trusts himself least of all with Karuma in his hands, the blade steeped in his bloodlust and single-minded determination.
After the ship departs, Kazuma retreats to his rented flat and barely ventures a toe outside for the next two days. He needs to come up with a plan, or that's what he tells himself. Should he beg van Zieks to take him back or change tack entirely? If he's going to throw himself on his mentor's notoriously nonexistent mercy, what should he say to convince the man?
But in truth, while these concerns occupy a considerable amount of his attention, he spends half the time thinking nothing at all. His brain alternates between frenetic racing and stupefied blankness. Perhaps he is just tired, worn out from all the grief and fury and scheming since the recovery of his memories. It's not hiding, exactly. He merely needs a break.
But the world doesn't stop turning for any man, certainly not for such a banal reason as being tired.
When he goes to the office, he has no real plan in mind besides winning the reinstatement of his apprenticeship through sheer, stubborn willpower. He pauses outside the door, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, and then pushes inside without knocking.
Van Zieks sits at his desk, buried in paperwork. It's an almost quaint tableau, jarring in its normalcy. It's exactly the same as a dozen other mornings when Kazuma arrived to find his mentor already seated in this exact position, hard at work. It is strange to think that they could recover any kind of normal after the terrible rift torn between them.
Van Zieks glances up, the scratching of his pen stilling. His eyes are cold and guarded and layered with shadow. Kazuma fights the urge to rake his nails down the man's face in bloody gouges. He bites down on the urge to stammer out an apology and beg forgiveness. He hates van Zieks for the part he's played in this, and he hates himself more. He knows van Zieks is as much a victim as an aggressor, knows he acted out of grief and ignorance and a desire for righteous retribution rather than out of cruelty and cunning and treachery.
Even still… Kazuma cannot find it in his heart to forgive him.
He cannot—will not—beg van Zieks for anything like some vagrant pleading for scraps. He cannot bring himself to ask for absolution when he is not willing to offer the same in return. And frankly, he can barely stand to look at van Zieks, much less speak to him.
Kazuma tears his gaze away and strides across the room without a word, dropping to the floor to sit seiza-style in front of his low desk. He fights not to hunch his shoulders under the heavy, smothering tension thickening the air. There is nothing of substance on his desk, but he shuffles a few loose papers around and pretends to read.
He can feel van Zieks's gaze boring into his back, considering him with cold calculation, and readies himself for a fight. But in the end, van Zieks says nothing. Across the room, his pen begins to scratch across the page once more.
Kazuma waits, holding his breath. He can't concentrate, sure van Zieks will strike at any moment, and he has nothing to work on anyway. He doodles in the margins of the papers he can find, pretending to make notes, but he is still coiled tight and hyperaware of every small noise from the other side of the room.
The minutes tick by, and still nothing happens. Is this some game? Perhaps van Zieks is just determined to outlast Kazuma, waiting until he breaks the silence first. Or maybe he is ignoring Kazuma entirely, not accepting his presence so much as preparing to deliver the ultimate humiliation by refusing to acknowledge him at all.
The thought brings anger simmering close to the surface, but Kazuma holds it in check. As much as he'd love to snarl and snap his teeth, he is in no position to make waves until he knows where he stands.
Finally, a knock on the door breaks the silence, and a young man scurries across the room to hand van Zieks a note. Van Zieks glances it over and sighs.
"When did the inspector give you this?"
The aide shifts from foot to foot, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here. "About twenty minutes ago, I reckon. He said you'd want to look at the scene again right away, so…"
"Quite right. Thank you."
Van Zieks stands and starts for the door. His gaze slides over Kazuma without stopping, but he gestures curtly in his apprentice's direction in an invitation to follow. He does not wait to see if Kazuma is coming or look back as he leaves the room.
Kazuma briefly considers staying put out of spite. He's no dog to be summoned at will, trotting obediently after his master. How presumptuous of van Zieks to assume Kazuma would be interested in his errands.
But while resentment might cloud his judgment, Kazuma is not entirely a fool. It's a stroke of luck that van Zieks is allowing him to tag along for casework again. A good sign that he's falling back into old, well-worn patterns instead of kicking his wayward apprentice out the door. It's not quite an olive branch, but it's not a rejection either. Kazuma would be wise to take advantage of the opportunity laid before him.
So he scrambles to his feet and hurries after his mentor at an undignified trot, seething at the humiliation of having to chase after him. He slows to match van Zieks's pace once he catches up, follows him into a carriage, and shoulders his way into the crime scene on his coattails. Not once do they speak or even look at each other.
The detective raises his eyebrows when Kazuma slinks into the room, but he is too polite to ask and van Zieks does not offer any explanation.
This is clearly an ongoing investigation. Van Zieks jumps straight into rapid-fire questioning as he examines the room, referencing details and events Kazuma knows nothing about and drawing conclusions Kazuma can't see the justification for.
Kazuma feels lost and ill at ease. He lingers in the corner, keeping out of his mentor's way, and pieces together what he can from what he overhears.
When van Zieks is satisfied, he thanks the detective and turns on his heel. Kazuma follows. This carriage ride is just as quiet and tense as the last, van Zieks staring fixedly out the window and Kazuma biting his tongue to keep from cracking and breaking the silence first.
Kazuma is starting to think this is to be the new normal—a silent mentor for a once-silent apprentice, both their voices lost now—but when they walk back into their office, van Zieks retrieves a file from his desk and proffers it.
"Here." It's the first word he's spoken to Kazuma all day, the first word they've exchanged since the trial, and even though his voice is as smooth and polished as ever, it feels tangibly rusty with disuse. "Review this. We go to trial the day after tomorrow."
"We?" Kazuma bites out before thinking better of it.
Something about this grates at him. The thought of being lumped in with van Zieks, perhaps, as if they are allies on the same side. As if they are a team. Maybe they do have to be grudging allies in order to work together through this apprenticeship, but Kazuma doesn't like the way van Zieks assumes it so casually.
"Yes," van Zieks says with a flicker of impatience, as if he doesn't understand what there is to fuss about.
"What makes you think I'll help you with your case?" Kazuma asks belligerently. It's foolish to challenge this point when his renewed apprenticeship is still so new and fragile, but he can't help it. "Bold of you to assume we're working together."
Van Zieks exhales through his nose and turns away. "You can keep doodling aimlessly in the margins of old essays if you prefer."
Kazuma glowers at his mentor's back, hating him. His face feels hot, burning with the shame of having his pretense observed and called out.
He slaps the file down on his desk, his eyes jittering across the page. As much as he hates to admit it, he needs this opportunity to begin establishing himself in his role here once more.
They don't speak for the rest of the day. Kazuma wants to know the progress of the investigation and what exactly they are supposed to be working on now, but he is too spiteful to ask and van Zieks doesn't offer. He gleans what he can from the case files—piecing together the course of the investigation, guessing what van Zieks has already done and might be working on now, and surmising what he might be able to assist with, given his paltry familiarity with the case.
At the end of the day, he rises and leaves the office. Van Zieks does not even glance up from his work.
Kazuma wanders back to that borrowed flat he can't bring himself to call home and seethes with dissatisfaction over how the day has gone. He seems to have been accepted back into the fold, however grudgingly. For now, at least. He wouldn't be surprised if van Zieks were to change his mind at any moment and send him away.
It should be a good thing, but he wonders if this is what their partnership will be now: a silent, antagonistic rubbing of shoulders, working in parallel without ever quite intersecting, simmering in all the terrible things left unsaid between them.
He wishes he'd just gotten on the damn boat.
The next morning, he seriously considers abandoning this whole scheme and skipping the office. But he has no other goal or purpose now. He isn't used to that. Proving his father's innocence and destroying the prosecutor who falsely convicted him have been his guiding light for years, spurring him forward and hardening his resolve. He has always known who he is and what he needs to do, and he has done whatever it takes—sometimes bleak, terrible things—to get there.
Aimless is new to him. Adrift, purposeless, unfocused are unfamiliar feelings. That is the purview of hollow, empty-headed amnesiacs, and he is no longer one of those. He needs a goal, and right now, this is the only one he has.
So he returns to the office, resigned to fumbling through the silence to build his own place. Maybe van Zieks isn't interested in guiding him anymore, but Kazuma can make his own way. He will shoulder his way into his mentor's cases and fight for his right to participate if he needs to.
He is radiating brittle determination when he walks into the room, his teeth aching from how hard he clenches and grinds them together amid the increasingly furious confrontations he imagines, but van Zieks doesn't seem to notice any of it.
As before, van Zieks is seated in his usual place, working through the usual paperwork. He looks up at Kazuma's arrival, and his gaze freezes his apprentice in the doorway. They stare at each other for a long, frangible moment, looking at each other head-on in silent acknowledgment of the tension winding tight between them.
Kazuma can't tell if van Zieks is surprised or disappointed that he has come back. His mentor's features are as expressionless as ever, his eyes cold and blank. But Kazuma could swear he sees, right in the moment before their gazes break away, a flicker of resignation in van Zieks's eyes. If that's not quite acceptance, it's close enough.
"The case goes to trial tomorrow," van Zieks says by way of greeting. "I have reevaluated the arguments in light of yesterday's revelations. Review them and advise if you have any further recommendations. There is an updated witness statement for you to review as well, and you may assist with submitting the evidence and paperwork to the court. I have a list here. If you have any questions about the investigation, you may ask."
Strangely, now that van Zieks has found his voice again, Kazuma feels less inclined than ever to say anything at all. He shivers at this facsimile of domesticity, the feigning of normalcy where none remains, but he swallows down his arguments, takes the proffered files, and gets to work.
Now that he has more direction, Kazuma finds it easier to bury himself in his work, and the deeper he buries himself, the easier it is to ignore van Zieks. Van Zieks is quiet too, but in the way he always prefers quiet while he works. He comments on the case and assigns additional tasks when appropriate, and if Kazuma's dead silence bothers him, he doesn't give any sign of it.
The following day, when they meet in the prosecutor's antechamber, van Zieks makes it clear that Kazuma is permitted to observe from the bench but is expected to hold his tongue and not interfere with the proceedings in any way. That is enough to shake Kazuma out of his sulky silence.
"I'm perfectly competent!" he says hotly. "If I have something to say, I'll say it. If you think I'll just keep my mouth shut because you–"
"You missed half the investigation and preparation for this case," van Zieks says, unmoved, as he scans a sheaf of papers in his hand. "You lack the necessary understanding of its intricacies."
"Whose fault is that?" Kazuma spits back.
Van Zieks is supposed to be his mentor and guide, so if there's something Kazuma doesn't understand, the blame can be laid at his feet. Van Zieks glances up from his perusal to fix Kazuma with a flat look. He does not say that Kazuma's stubborn silence and refusal to ask questions is to blame, or point out that his apprentice missed half the investigation thanks to his unapproved absence after the Reaper trial.
"I will ensure you are included in our next case start to finish," he says instead. "I don't expect you will lead the prosecution, but your insight will be more valuable. That said, it's appropriate to defer to the lead prosecutor. The expectation is that you will relay your commentary to me directly rather than to the court, and I will determine how best to address it."
"When have I ever spoken out of turn in court? Why reprimand me for something I've never even done?"
Van Zieks arches one eyebrow in an infuriating fashion. "It's not a reprimand. It's setting expectations. Now that you've gotten your voice back, you'd do well to learn the best way to use it."
Kazuma scowls. Despite his protestations, he can understand why van Zieks might want to preemptively reign in his hotheaded apprentice. Kazuma probably would interrupt proceedings sooner or later if he felt strongly about something or didn't agree with van Zieks. With his respect for his mentor at an all-time low, he's not concerned with how overstepping his bounds might reflect on the man. Still, it doesn't seem fair to be taken to task for something he hasn't even done yet, and he doesn't like that van Zieks has so quickly read the shifts in his personality to infer his behavior.
He does stay obediently quiet throughout the trial, hovering at his mentor's shoulder in pointed silence that van Zieks doesn't deign to acknowledge. He keeps up his silent protest through the recess and the second half of the trial, through the brief consultation with the detectives after the day's proceedings wrap up, and through the journey back to the office.
Van Zieks's silence is not the sulky silent treatment sort. It is the composed, self-assured silence of someone who is comfortable with the mutual muteness, unconcerned with what anyone else might think and not looking to make a point. It only aggravates Kazuma more that his mentor is so unbothered.
When they get back to the office, van Zieks rattles off a list of documents for Kazuma to prepare, unfazed by the lack of response, and that's that.
The next day, Kazuma abandons his sullen silence. It's a tactic that will never work against van Zieks, and anyway, Kazuma has had his voice silenced for too long. He has things to say. Lots of things. He's not that meek, obedient apprentice without a name or history anymore. He doesn't want to go back to that. He has opinions and feelings. He is made up of brash conviction, fanatical resolve, and sharp edges. Van Zieks is just going to have to deal with that. And if he can't, he'll have to sever this partnership himself. Kazuma isn't afraid of being reprimanded or hated or even sent away.
I dare you, he thinks, glowering at his mentor through blazing eyes. What are you going to do about it?
Nothing, seems to be the answer.
Kazuma adds sly commentary at every opportunity, poking at van Zieks's patience. They're small barbs, but not gentle ones. Van Zieks ignores them all. He notices every one, of course. Sometimes he pretends not to and keeps right on talking. Sometimes he pauses to fix Kazuma with a look before continuing on. Sometimes he offers a dry but genuine response, as if the jibe is a perfectly neutral statement and he is just carrying on the conversation.
But he never rises to the bait, and that only incenses Kazuma more and makes him want to push harder and harder until he can make something snap. He wants, more than anything, to provoke a reaction. He doesn't want to be the ugliest, meanest man in the room. That's supposed to be van Zieks.
He confines the worst of his antagonism to their office, settling for cold stares and the occasional under-the-breath commentary while they poke around the scene of their new case. It's possible that van Zieks's temper will be more easily roused if his apprentice challenges him in front of their colleagues, and while that is exactly what Kazuma is trying to do, he would rather weather the brewing confrontation in privacy for now.
"We'll need a motive if we want it to stick," Kazuma says as they troop into the carriage bound for the office. "You're famously brilliant and definitely not prone to jumping to the wrong conclusions. What's it going to be?"
"Crime of passion," van Zieks replies, letting the slight roll off him like oil off water. He stares out the window, gloved hands folded neatly in his lap.
"Passion?" Kazuma repeats, his eyebrows jumping up his forehead.
"They were close friends for over two decades, by all accounts. There were over a dozen stab wounds. This was not some premeditated, dispassionate crime of convenience or necessity. Something happened to violently fracture the relationship. Some betrayal or jealousy or hurt. If we can determine the cause of their falling-out, we'll have our motive."
"I wonder what could cause someone to turn on their friend so viciously and betray them," Kazuma says sharply, his words crunching between his teeth like broken glass. "What kind of sick, depraved individual would send his friend off to a bloody death?"
Van Zieks does not answer immediately. His ghostly reflection in the window shows only a pale, drawn face and empty, distant eyes.
"Friends make the most dangerous enemies," he says at last. "They know each other's weaknesses. They know how to twist the knife. There is nothing in this world more dangerous than a person who feels wronged and betrayed by someone they loved."
Kazuma sneers at him openly, although van Zieks's gaze is still too unfocused to see. "Are you sure we even have the right man? Maybe our perpetrator is being wrongly accused. Maybe he didn't even do it."
"…There's enough evidence pointing to him beyond a reasonable doubt, and it's our job to construct that narrative. If we uncover any evidence to the contrary, we will take that into consideration and proceed accordingly."
"And you feel like you'll be able to do that?" Kazuma asks skeptically. "Objectively?"
A muscle feathers in van Zieks's jaw, but he only says, "As well as any other man, I'd hope. It's my job, after all."
Kazuma scoffs. "Well, aren't we lucky you're such an impartial bastion of justice? Maybe you're looking in the wrong place. For the motive."
"Oh?"
"Maybe the victim didn't do anything at all to wrong the accused and push him into a murderous rage. Maybe the perpetrator made up that narrative all on his own."
"Maybe."
"Or maybe there was just something wrong with him all along. Maybe he was always a bad person, an angry person, just waiting for something to push him over the edge. Maybe he spent years looking for any excuse to–"
"Are we still talking about me?" van Zieks asks. There is no discernible change or emotion in his tone, but his flat eyes slide to meet Kazuma's in the glass. "Or you?"
This hits Kazuma like a quick punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him. He's too shocked to do anything but blink at his mentor for a long moment, but then the anger crashes over him.
How dare van Zieks make such terrible assumptions? How dare he try to deflect the focus away from himself and onto Kazuma instead? How dare he put them on the same level, as if they share this horrible thing in common?
And how dare he be so damn insightful? What right does he have to dig his fingers into Kazuma's mind and pry it open, studying it with those infuriating cold eyes and speaking his observations like truths?
It isn't fair that he notices these things before Kazuma himself does. Kazuma isn't ready to face all the hard truths about himself yet. He never even noticed when he blurred the line between himself and his mentor, confusing the issue into a hopelessly tangled mess. He hates that van Zieks, with all his clinical, ruthless insight, has noticed immediately.
Kazuma isn't ready to look in the mirror just yet, so he thrusts the observation away and focuses back on his quarry. Van Zieks is the only one he wants to dismantle right now.
"I never said anything about you," he snarls. "And certainly not about me. If it's hitting too close to home, then maybe you just–"
"I think it would be best if you didn't participate in this case."
"What?" Kazuma asks, caught off guard.
In the glass, van Zieks's gaze slides away, lingering on something Kazuma can't see. "Your feelings are clouding your judgment already. You are not ready for a case that preys on your emotions. Not yet. Perhaps the next one will suit you better."
"That's rich, coming from you. Isn't that exactly what you did when you prosecuted my father?"
Van Zieks sighs through his nose. "I have come to believe that neither of us should have prosecuted the cases we did. We were too close to them to be impartial, and it led to disastrous mistakes."
Kazuma sneers. Van Zieks is the one who made the most disastrous mistakes and let his emotions blind him to the truth. He's bold to lump Kazuma in with him.
Anyway, Kazuma can't imagine not having prosecuted van Zieks, even if it turned out he was wrong in the end.
"I did what I had to in order to uncover the truth and avenge my father. That's not any worse than what you did. Of course I had to be the one to make sure justice was done."
"It's exactly the same as what I did," van Zieks agrees. "But the courts aren't the right forum for exacting vengeance. That isn't their purpose."
"It's still justice."
"…I think it's very easy to blur the line. Perhaps when you are too close to the case, it's hard to tell the difference anymore."
"That's not–"
"Regardless, you will be sitting this one out. I think it unwise for you to continue."
"You can't just kick me off the case!"
But no matter how Kazuma rants and rails, van Zieks doesn't budge an inch. There is nothing more infuriating than his long-suffering patience.
The most he will do is issue a challenge: "Prove to me that you can handle yourself, and perhaps I'll reconsider."
Kazuma guesses that his insults and provocations and volatile outrage are not proving anything of the sort, but it feels better to fight a problem tooth and nail than to sit back and do nothing, even if he is only a wave crashing harmlessly against an immovable cliff. He is denied even the base pleasure of seeing the blood well up in the gashes he tears—van Zieks doesn't acknowledge the commentary's sharp edges again.
Finally, Kazuma gives up on hissing and spitting and returns to sulky silences peppered with the occasional snarky remark. Van Zieks, in his gracious magnanimity, allows Kazuma to assist with small clerical tasks. Kazuma can build the diorama of the crime scene, read reports, and file paperwork. Van Zieks does not hide anything about the case or try to keep his apprentice from learning the details, but neither does he ask for Kazuma's opinion or allow him to assist in any meaningful way to write the arguments and build the case.
Kazuma is permitted to observe the trial, but only from the gallery. This feels like a very pointed, deliberate snub, banning him from his rightful place behind the bench, but van Zieks only calls it removing the temptation of interrupting proceedings with ill-timed commentary. Apparently, Kazuma is not even trusted to keep his mouth shut anymore.
He seethes in the gallery, his thoughts racing in ever more murderous circles. He resents being sent to timeout like a misbehaving child, and he imagines he feels sidelong looks from the other prosecutors as they revel in his downfall or wonder what he did to earn banishment.
If you weren't going to bother mentoring me, you should have just turned me away at the door instead of continuing this farce, he thinks viciously in van Zieks's direction.
Kazuma isn't fooled by van Zieks's apparent generosity in allowing his apprentice to stay in his office. Van Zieks is either waiting for an excuse to kick Kazuma out or is intending to follow this pattern of excluding him from anything of value. Either way, this apprenticeship is dead in the water, but van Zieks will look gracious and merciful even so. Anyone would think he must be quite benevolent to keep on the apprentice who tried to have him hanged. How forgiving of him, how kind. It's good publicity for a man who needs to salvage a bad reputation.
Kazuma especially detests this clever kind of scheming, this underhanded finagling of public opinion, this dusting of sugar over unpalatable motives. It's deceitful and full of guile, and he holds van Zieks in contempt for stooping to such lows.
"Congratulations," he says in an outward show of reconciliation when he meets van Zieks after the trial. But he has never been good at curbing his tongue or feigning niceties, and he can't help adding, "He deserved it. Anyone who could murder a friend deserves to face justice for it."
Like you goes unsaid but hangs in the air.
"Everyone deserves justice," van Zieks murmurs.
Kazuma thinks he might say something else, launch into one of his moralistic lectures on the importance of their job and the legal system in ensuring everyone abides by the same laws, but he doesn't. On closer inspection, Kazuma thinks van Zieks looks very tired. He almost feels bad for taking another dig and wonders, not for the first time, if he's being unfair. Almost.
After a moment, he shakes off that little pang of guilt. He knows that his father's death is not entirely van Zieks's fault, but some days it's hard for him to make that distinction. It's easier to have a target within his reach, someone it's easy to hate without having to worry about complicated circumstances or messy mixed emotions.
He isn't entirely unaware of his biases, but they aren't something he has the inclination to change just yet. Van Zieks deserves to bear them, anyway. He might not deserve to be hanged, but he's done enough wrong to deserve Kazuma's resentment.
Still, Kazuma lets it go for now. Van Zieks seems distracted anyway, lost in his own thoughts. Kazuma graciously lets him brood without interruption. He does his share of the paperwork with minimal complaint, and over the next couple of days, he looks over old case files, writes reports, and listens impatiently to the lessons van Zieks deigns to give between his own projects.
The relative peace lasts until a judicial aide walks in one morning to offer them a case.
"The Lord Chief Justice thought you might like a crack at the Marlowe case," he says, offering the file.
"Yes, that's…" Van Zieks trails off, frowning down at the page. "Mr. Preston has been arrested for the murder?"
"Yes, sir. They as good as caught him red-handed."
Van Zieks shakes his head and hands the folder back. "I'm afraid I must decline. Perhaps Lord Norrington would be interested."
The aide blinks at him in consternation. "You don't want the case?"
"No, I do not."
"But–"
"If it will be an issue, I will speak to the Lord Chief Justice myself. There are plenty of other cases I can take on besides this one."
"It's not an issue," the aide says quickly, although the questions are written all over his face. It must be one of those high-stakes, high-profile cases that van Zieks usually snatches up. "Sorry to trouble you."
Kazuma waits until the man is gone to ask van Zieks why he turned down the case.
Van Zieks only shrugs. "It's not a case I'm interested in. We have plenty of choices. I'll find another that might work for us both."
"You can't just turn down important cases because they aren't interesting enough for you."
"I most certainly can. Unless officially ordered by the Lord Chief Justice, I have significant leeway to handle my affairs as I see fit. This is my office, and we will do things my way."
Kazuma thinks this is selfish, childish, and heavy-handed, but no matter how he gripes about it, van Zieks is unmoved. They do get another case, complete with rich nobles stabbing each other in the back—literally—over shady business deals gone awry, but Kazuma still puzzles over the one van Zieks rejected. It isn't like his mentor to turn down cases in his purview, and his stated reasoning is weak.
Something about the case rattled van Zieks, and Kazuma is determined to discover what it is. He hangs around in the halls when the other prosecutors gather in clumps to gossip, first furtively eavesdropping and then finally making discreet inquiries into the matter.
What he learns is that the dead man was a longtime business partner and personal friend of his accused killer. In fact, he mentored the younger man for several years and is still held in high regard, at least according to the accused.
Kazuma almost laughs, although he thankfully catches himself in time. That would certainly make his colleagues look at him askance.
No wonder van Zieks passed up this opportunity—he doesn't want to give Kazuma ideas.
"How was Mr. Marlowe killed?" Kazuma asks.
"The poor fellow had two bullets in him," the older prosecutor says, shaking his head. "It's a real shame. I can only imagine what bad blood must have been between them. He and Preston always seemed so close."
Kazuma returns to his office and innocently asks van Zieks if he could be issued a gun.
Van Zieks blinks at him, taken aback. "Whatever for?"
"In case I need to shoot someone," Kazuma says flippantly. Van Zieks's eyes narrow, and Kazuma adds, "What do you think I'd need it for? Self-defense. We were attacked again just last week. It would be smart to carry a gun just in case."
Van Zieks stares at him for a long moment, and Kazuma wonders cheerfully if he's thinking of Marlowe shot by his one-time apprentice.
"It isn't up to me," van Zieks says finally. "I doubt you'll be issued a firearm in light of your previous behavior. It would be foolish to hand a gun to an aspiring assassin."
Kazuma scowls. "How about an aspiring assassin who has to fight off other assassins from murdering his mentor every few weeks?"
"…You aren't obligated to put yourself in harm's way for my sake. It's good for you to have a means of self-defense when you get caught up in my skirmishes, but you're competent enough with a sword. A gun seems unnecessary."
"Just because you aren't smart enough to carry one around doesn't mean I can't have one for safety."
Van Zieks considers this in silence and then sighs. "I'll ask, but I can't make any promises. Truly, I don't think the request will be approved."
Kazuma doesn't either, not really. There's precedent for furnishing foreign exchange students with the same firearms issued to the rest of the English judiciary, but those students weren't caught red-handed in the middle of an apparent assassination scheme.
Truthfully, he doesn't care. He's never met a fight his blade couldn't handle. Whether or not he gets the gun isn't important. What matters is that van Zieks knows he wants it, knows he's interested. Kazuma has the satisfaction of seeing the man's pause, of knowing he's planted the doubt in his mentor's mind. There's a thought that will be living rent-free in van Zieks's head for weeks to come.
Then Kazuma moves on to focus on their case, gets distracted by the sly, everyday sniping he levels at van Zieks, and more or less forgets about the matter.
Two and a half weeks later, van Zieks beckons Kazuma over to his desk and holds out a revolver. Kazuma stares at it in disbelief.
"They approved the request?"
"No, of course not," van Zieks says in a tone like he can't believe Kazuma might think something so foolish. "But they reissued mine. You may carry it for now if it will bring you peace of mind. Just keep it concealed. You don't technically have permission to keep it."
"You're bending the rules?" Kazuma asks, even more flabbergasted than before.
Van Zieks is nothing if not a prudish stickler for the rules in most matters. It's beyond belief that he would relax his ethics just to give Kazuma a ready-made means of murdering him.
Van Zieks sighs. "Your safety is a matter of some concern and takes precedence."
"Really?" Kazuma asks skeptically. And then, "Aren't you worried I might shoot someone? You, even?"
"No. If you decide to pursue your aspirations of assassination once more, I expect you'll rely on your sword. If I thought you'd wander around shooting people, I wouldn't be handing you a gun."
Kazuma thinks he should feel angry about that, but he doesn't. A nauseous feeling curls in his stomach and his muscles tremor, his fingers spasming towards fists. He does not reach for the gun.
"But we've already established that you're a terrible judge of character," he says, his voice sounding reedy and wavering in his ears.
Van Zieks's nostrils flare, his fraying patience reaching its limits. "Do you want it or not?"
Kazuma stands frozen, his heartbeat thundering in his ears, and then shakes his head and takes a step backwards. "No," he says, his fingers strangling themselves into fists at his sides. "I've changed my mind."
He thinks van Zieks is wrong not to worry about what use he might make of the gun. He can almost feel the weight of it in his hand, the smooth glide of the trigger as he pulls it back. It would be so easy to shoot a gun. Oh, he might miss. He has little experience firing guns. But at close range, how hard could it be?
With a sword, there has to be a conscious effort to draw the blade, get in close to make a cut, fend off an opponent with a fighting chance. With a gun, it would take little to no effort to kill a man. He could do it from afar, so quickly that his victim doesn't have a chance to defend himself. It doesn't seem honorable. More than that, it would be a simple matter to lose his temper and press the trigger. It's too easy to kill someone with a gun.
It would be much too easy to shoot van Zieks in a fit of rage.
And frankly, Kazuma is afraid he might actually do it. Van Zieks is naïve not to worry.
Van Zieks scowls and mutters something about fickle apprentices and wasted effort. "Well, if you change your mind again, it will be here."
Kazuma's eyes unwittingly follow the gun as it disappears into a drawer. He tears his gaze away, but it's too late. He knows where it is, and he wishes he didn't.
"Are you almost finished with your report?" van Zieks asks, oblivious or unconcerned.
"Oh, um… Yes. Yes, it's ready."
Kazuma silently curses himself for stumbling over his words. He doesn't want van Zieks to know he's rattled. He fetches his report and hands it over.
"I could teach you to shoot," van Zieks adds offhandedly as his gaze flicks back and forth across his apprentice's work. "If that's what you're worried about. A gun would be more useful if you knew how to wield it properly. We wouldn't want you to miss your shot."
Kazuma's stomach twists back into knots again, his throat tightening. He can't tell if van Zieks is truly that unconcerned or if this is a challenge, calling Kazuma's bluff and daring him to make good on his implicit threat. Or perhaps he just doesn't care either way. Perhaps he wants to ensure the bullet with his name on it will hit the mark.
The dark bent of his thoughts takes Kazuma by surprise, and he shudders.
"Maybe later," he rasps, hating the idea.
"Once you decide who's worth shooting," van Zieks says casually, knowingly.
Kazuma's body tenses in preparation for fight or flight, and he holds his breath. Van Zieks doesn't seem to notice. He's finished speculating on his apprentice's criminal tendencies for now.
"Are you missing a page?" he asks instead. "I'm certain there must be something missing here to explain this wild leap of logic."