Work Text:
The London sky was draped in thick, heavy clouds today, the evening gloom and the rain-slicked cobblestones veiled in a dull, silvery shroud.
In an office on a corner of Fleet Street, at the "M&D Law Firm," a young James Moriarty sat over a chessboard, his mind spinning through cold, calculated maneuvers. Beside him, his partner Dante Alighieri was buried under piles of ancient parchment, letting out a deep, agonizing sigh.
"Heh... Moriarty has spat venom at a client again. I can practically see this month’s office maintenance fees dissolving into the fog... How powerless I am... heh, hahahaha..."
"Your monologues are loud, Dante. More importantly, the lead actor has finally made his entrance."
The door swung open, and Bartholomew Roberts stepped inside, the hem of his impeccably tailored coat swaying.
With a stylish air, sun-kissed skin, and piercing blue eyes, the young CEO of a global shipping empire spent a few moments complaining about the tea in the detention center and the London rain in a thick Welsh accent. He then handed his coat to Ashoka and sank into the sofa of the reception set.
"Deepest apologies, gentlemen. They got me. It seems they took advantage of a three-day gap while I was engaged in 'other work'—the kind that stays off the radar—to fabricate all sorts of nonsense. ...Now, while those three days were indeed shady in their own right, I won't stand for being framed for a crime I didn't commit. It offends my sensibilities."
"I figured you’d be coming, CEO. While you were in custody, my calculator had already spat out the optimal solution."
"Well, isn't that reassuring."
"I had accepted the case, but the authorities’ harassment made a visitation impossible until the day before the trial. No matter. We only need the final piece of the puzzle. Ritsuka, are you ready?"
Moriarty stood and knocked on a door tucked between the bookshelves. Ritsuka Fujimaru, Moriarty's assistant clad in a black trench coat for undercover work, emerged from the back room.
"Ready. I’m heading straight to the wharf now. I'll have the physical evidence before court opens tomorrow morning."
"Oh, wait a moment, Ritsuka."
Bartholomew called out to her.
"A drab coat like that makes a sting operation far too tasteless. Use this."
He held out an antique toque hat with delicate black lace veiling down from the brim.
"Wear it low. Peer through the gaps in the lace into the damp darkness with a single eye... By halving your vision, the light of truth will sear itself more sharply into your mind. This is my recommended gadget for undercover concealment!"
"...Bartholomew, I won't be able to see a surprise attack coming from my blind side with this."
"There is beauty in imperfection."
"...I'm going."
Resigned, Ritsuka adjusted the lace and vanished into the rainy night.
The container wharf on the outskirts of London—a forbidding district cordoned off with barbed wire. Amidst the stench of seawater and rust in the darkness, Ritsuka flipped back the lace of her hat with one hand and clicked the shutter of her compact camera. Falsified cargo, containers belonging to a rival company, and stacks of discarded drums.
"Don't move. You’ve got some nerve, sneaking into a place like this all alone, young lady."
What was pressed against her back wasn't a gun, but the lazy yet inescapable authority of a police ID. She turned to find Saito Hajime, the collar of his wet jacket turned up, wearing a cynical smirk.
"Saito... and Percival too."
Percival emerged from the shadows, standing in the rain with a look of genuine concern.
"Ms. Fujimaru! I knew it was you. In such a dangerous place alone..."
"Damned M&D Law Firm. How many times do I have to tell them not to let amateurs poke their noses into trouble?"
Saito grumbled.
"I'm sorry. But if I don't get this to the office, Barthol—I mean, the client will..."
"That man... I really can't seem to take my eyes off him, can I?"
Percival sighed, his brow furrowed. Saito shrugged and pocketed his ID.
"Tch. I'm putting this on your tab, too. If it involves that guy, 'Untouchable' is the word of the day on-site."
"But Saito, the Met and the prosecution must know that,"
Percival interjected.
"Who knows? Even the power that preaches justice has its factions. Most likely, some rival company offered them a 'good deal,' and now they’re burning with passion to be the ones who finally take down the 'Untouchable' CEO."
"No..."
"That’s just how the world works, kid. —Listen, young lady. We’re going to 'accidentally' overlook that open container. We didn't see you here, and we didn't see whatever’s on that camera. Get yourself home and have a cup of the landlord's chai. Let’s go, Junior."
"Yes, Senior."
With a glance that urged Ritsuka to be careful, Percival turned and followed Saito into the night.
**
The following morning, at the Central Criminal Court (Old Bailey).
The courtroom was thick with an air of anticipation, as the prosecution presented "evidence" that seemed certain to condemn Bartholomew. Given the scandal surrounding a young CEO who commanded such attention for both his prowess and his looks, the gallery was packed to capacity.
"What was taking place while the defendant’s ship vanished from the radar? Here is the decisive proof. These satellite images clearly record black liquid flowing from the defendant’s vessel, and we have voice data of the defendant himself commanding the discharge!"
As the prosecutor’s voice echoed, Moriarty rose coldly from the defense table.
"Pardon me. I suggest you re-examine the pixel density of those satellite photos and the frequency characteristics of that audio. ...According to my analysis, they are crude AI fabrications. The angle of light reflection is physically impossible, and the audio is laced with unnatural synthetic noise. Furthermore, where exactly did this 'miracle' of capturing the exact moment of a crime come from, considering the ship had vanished from radar?"
The courtroom erupted in murmurs. The prosecutor, appearing unfazed on the surface, attempted a rebuttal.
"Then explain yourself, defendant! Where were you during these 'blank' three days! Is there any reason other than concealing your dumping operation!?"
In the dock, Bartholomew leaned back in his chair, elegantly adjusting his cuffs with a serene smile.
"My. At sea, there are times when a fog as thick as a lady’s veil refuses all gazes. If I told you I was chasing a phantom island sung of in North Sea legends, would you believe me? A beautiful void speaks more than the truth ever could."
"Don't mock us! Answer the question!"
The judge added a stern warning.
"The defendant is advised to answer the questions sincerely, without resorting to nonsense."
"I am not mocking anyone. However... that does not give you the right to fill that void with fabrications."
Bartholomew glanced at Moriarty. Moriarty slammed the data Ritsuka had brought back onto the courtroom monitors.
"Fact-check it all you like. We have nothing to hide... at least, not regarding this 'dumping incident.'"
The monitors flickered to life, showing the "true source of pollution" Ritsuka had filmed the night before—a rival company’s work vessel and a massive haul of drums stamped with the markings of the waste material.
"Behold! You foolish masses!"
Dante’s voice thundered through the court.
"This is the Gate of Truth pointed out by Beatrice! While the defendant dreamed of phantom islands, witness with your own eyes what these ghouls were doing! Mathematically speaking, there is no margin of error in my partner’s calculations. ...Now, I wonder which of us shall pass through the gates of Hell?"
The gallery buzzed with excitement. As the prosecutor stood speechless, gritting his teeth, the judge declared the session closed.
**
That evening. The group, savoring the lingering taste of victory, was gathered in the reception room of the M&D Law Firm on the second floor of the old building. The rain had stopped, and the remaining droplets rolled down the windowpane, illuminated by the streetlights.
"Well done. I believe you all require a cup of this."
Ashoka stood before the reception set, quietly placing a golden Darjeeling before Bartholomew and a chai before Ritsuka. As the owner of the building, he now played the role of a butler, hosting the residents and a guest who had returned from their labor.
"Phew, that hits the spot! Thanks, Ashoka."
"My, my. As I thought, a top-tier tea leaf is far superior to the wine of victory."
While Ritsuka and Bartholomew rejoiced, Dante stood by the window, clutching his head.
"Heh... Though we won the case, rumors are already spreading through the legal world that my statements in court were too 'radical.' I’ve gone and reduced my future clientele again. How powerless I am..."
Dante laughed self-deprecatingly. Seeing this, Moriarty spoke tonelessly from his desk, moving a chess piece.
"It’s not so much 'radical' as it is everyone being put off by your 'Beatrice syndrome' and the poetic delusions you spewed."
"...Quite right, Moriarty. But my guide is Beatrice, no matter where I go. And yet, I have a wife with whom I share my life. No matter how much justice I preach in court, this sin of my heart is the one thing I cannot judge myself..."
Bartholomew enjoyed the aroma of his straight tea, letting Dante's confession wash over him like it was someone else's problem.
"To have a wife and yet love another in one's soul. Such things happen, I suppose... Romance truly is a troublesome thing. Still, if you are happy within that hellish contradiction, so be it."
He crossed his legs elegantly and smiled with satisfaction.
"In any case, today’s victory was a matter of destiny. After all, the 'Goddess of mekakure' presiding over that courtroom had been smiling upon me from the very start. That exquisite blindfold of hers... it is the ultimate regalia for piercing the truth."
"...Bartholomew, she may be blindfolded, but Lady Justice isn't exactly a 'Goddess of mekakure.' The blindfold is a symbol of her impartiality—that she judges without prejudice under the law..."
"My. To shut out the world to see the truth... the essence is the same, is it not? Ritsuka, I knew you had the talent to appreciate the aesthetics of the mekakure. As a reward, shall I fashion an even more magnificent veil for you? To bless your future endeavors."
"...I'll pass on that, even if it comes with my next bonus."
Amidst Ritsuka's flat refusal, the young Moriarty checkmated his opponent, Dante clutched his head at his own reflection in the window as usual, and Ashoka quietly poured a second cup of tea. Bartholomew gave a small, wry smile, sipped his tea, and exhaled.
Linked by strange bonds and contracts, their brief moment of respite continued deep into the night.