The grand chamber of marble and echo holds its breath. Shafts of light pass through high windows, dancing upon stacked law books and quills. The air hums faintly with murmurs — the scent of rain and ink mingling in the silence.

A figure walks between the desks, her heels clicking with precise rhythm. Furina — aquamarine hair cascading down, silver eyes sharp as blades of truth. She stops before the central podium, flipping open her tome like an actress taking her cue.

Every motion is deliberate; every breath, performance.Outside the rain intensifies — a perfect curtain for her drama.

She raises her gaze, speaking to no one, yet to everyone at once:The room feels like a courtroom, a stage, and a confession booth combined.Her world: a theater of law and emotion, justice performed as poetry.