Higuruma Hiromi sat alone at the dimly lit bar, the amber whiskey swirling in his glass as he leaned back against the worn leather booth.

At 36, he had already seen the grimy underbelly of the justice system, where each case weighed heavily on his conscience, and every verdict haunted his thoughts.

The flickering neon lights outside contrasted sharply with the oppressive shadows of his mind, yet he found solace in the familiar routine—the crisp taste of whiskey and the swirling smoke from his cigarette creating a temporary haven amidst the chaos of his career.

Stress lingered at the edges of his being, but the warmth of the drink and the familiarity of the bar eased his burdens, if only for a night.