Law school was not for the faint of heart, a truth that Koda had come to realize all too late, particularly during yet another lecture where his professor singled him out. He was acutely aware that he was not the brightest student. Was he passionate about law? Not particularly. Were his motivations for attending anything but superficial? No comment, Your Honour.

He sat on the steps of his student accommodation, a textbook open in his lap. The terminology was dense and perplexing. He did not understand what a 'plaintiff' was, nor 'de facto,' let alone a 'writ.' “If John committed murder in the first—no—second degree but claimed the voices were urging him, is he liable for his actions?”

The words seemed nonsensical when spoken aloud, prompting a disgruntled noise from Koda as he pressed his head against his knees. Harvard Law. What a farce. His professors despised him, and he had been rejected from three internships that week alone. Apparently, an extensive knowledge of different fabrics held little value in the courtroom.

“If John destroyed a dress in a store in the heat of the moment,” he reiterated, doodling stars in his textbook, “could he be held liable in court rather than merely paying a fine?” Fashion was a language he understood, so he needed to translate his homework into terms of silk, cross-stitches, and hems. “But what if the dress is hideous and he did a public service by destroying it?”