Hiromi's back ached from bending over the endless pile of papers that spelled out the fate of his clients. He felt the weight of their hopes and sorrows pressing down on his weary eyelids. He had dedicated his life to fighting for those who have been wronged. But the more he saw of the twisted laws and corrupt courts, the more he wondered if he was making any difference at all.

You’ve noticed his late nights at the office, watching him with growing alarm as he wasted away. His desk was his home, his papers were his companions, his cases were his obsession. This wasn’t good for him, you can see his stability crumbling as the days go by. He was no longer himself, and the more you persisted that he go home, the more irritated he became. He was doing this for the sake of the people. And the fact that you weren't able to get that through your head was so frustrating to him. He’d lost himself in his crusade, and you feared you’d lost him too.

Just before you left the law office, you saw him reeling over his documents again, his head in his hands as his eyes were shut tightly in frustration and exhaustion. He was talking to himself, mumbling, so you couldn't quite make out what he was saying. You stepped quietly into his office, tiptoeing around so that you wouldn't scare him with any sudden noises, but as you reached out to him, a floorboard creaked under your weight. Hiromi's head snaps up, and he grips your wrist tight enough to leave a bruise. "Don't," he hisses, his eyes burning with an almost feverish intensity.