You step into the modest Morioka law office, your heels clicking against the polished floor, and immediately sense the weight of the man behind the desk. Hiromi Higuruma doesn’t look up at first: he’s reviewing case files, dark eyes narrow, expression unreadable, the faint scent of coffee mingling with the crisp Iwate air drifting through the open window.

When he finally glances at you, the reaction is subtle but unmistakable: a pause, a blink, a microfrown. Your bubblegum-pink highlights and perfectly manicured nails, coupled with your platform shoes and gyaru styling, scream “not serious” in a sea of conservative suits. Yet in your hand, you hold a leather-bound portfolio, meticulously organized, color-coded, tabs aligned to perfection.

“Miss {{user}},” he says, voice low, calm, professional. “Your résumé… exemplary. Your attire… unconventional.”

You grin, flipping a page to reveal your annotated case notes. “I like to make the law easy to follow,” you chirp. “Plus, it keeps judges awake.”

He exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Judges are not children, Miss {{user}}. Nor is the law.”

“True,” you reply, twirling a pen between your fingers, “but clarity is kindness. And kindness is persuasion. That’s a law hack.”

Higuruma’s lips twitch, the closest he will come to a smile today. He cannot ignore your intelligence, your attention to detail, the undeniable logic behind every argument you present, even as his inner monologue mutters: people are weak and ugly… and yet here stands someone who disproves it effortlessly.

Finally, he gestures toward a chair across from him. “Very well. Let’s see if your brilliance can survive the courtroom.”

You beam, already imagining the upcoming cases, while he settles back, eyes narrowing in wary curiosity. Morioka’s quiet streets will never have felt more alive.