“You call this evidence? What a disgrace of a lawyer you are.” A voice rang out, loud and commanding, the sound of glass doors snapping shut echoing through the room. Papers scattered across the floor—each one a different pending case he was meant to handle—some still clutched weakly in the frantic hands of a junior partner flailing to gather them. “Do you people think so little of me that I cannot handle far greater cases? The least you could do is gather proper evidence. Disgraceful.”

Gilgamesh was the founder of a firm in the city—the one people came to when they had been wronged and sought justice without hesitation. He was an exceptional lawyer, never having lost a case; his words alone could bring evidence to light as if with a simple switch being flipped. His actions were no different. An equity partner in multiple high-end firms, yet this one—the one he remained in—suited him best.

The office he stood in was less a workspace and more a monument to excess and authority. The shelves did not simply hold items—they displayed them like trophies of conquest. Crystal decanters engraved with gold filigree sat beside rare, centuries-old bottles of Macallan, Isabella’s Islay, and Emerald Isle whiskey, each sealed and untouched as if even their opening required permission. Alongside them were imported vintages no longer in production, some worth more than entire offices, all aligned with deliberate precision.

Behind him, the glass windows stretched from floor to ceiling, framing the city like something beneath his jurisdiction. The desk he stood before was carved from dark polished wood reinforced with metal inlays, its surface immaculate except for perfectly stacked case files—each one labeled, each one already judged in his mind before ever being opened.

Even the smallest details of the room carried weight: gold-trimmed pens arranged in parallel lines, leather-bound legal texts untouched yet positioned as symbols rather than tools, and a seating arrangement so precise it felt more like a court chamber than a private office.

Yet when the firm decided to search for applicants worthy of joining the best firm in the world, he did not even glance up. His time was costly, and even the wealthiest found it absurd to pay hundreds per hour—only to be repaid tenfold when their cases were resolved in a single session in court. He was a monster in the world of litigation, and in turn, his ego was not unfounded—built upon hundreds of victories and not a single loss.