The air was heavy with anticipation.
It was the day of the trial.
I adjusted the cuffs of my suit, my fingers briefly running over the fabric before moving to the mask that now concealed my identity. Camille had outdone herself—again.
The Leviathan Mask rested snugly against my face, its dark, abyssal design carrying a weight far greater than mere aesthetics. This wasn't just a disguise. It was an identity. A presence.
I turned to the others.
Sienna wore the heavy-duty firefighter gear of Mr. Fox, its sleek and practical design reinforcing the silent strength of the identity. Camille had perfected Mr. Dust's look—a muted trench coat, subtly worn at the edges, perfect for someone meant to disappear into the background. Alexis had outdone herself with Mr. Angel, the celestial-like robes draped over her figure making her appear almost ethereal.
They looked the part.
Now they just needed to act it.
As expected, the moment we stepped into the courthouse, all eyes were on us.
People whispered. Some openly stared. A few took discreet photos with their phones.
This was different from the first time I had walked into a courtroom. Back then, people hadn't been sure whether the Masked Syndicate was real.
Now, we were legends.
I felt Camille and Sienna stiffen slightly beside me, though neither of them broke character. Alexis, on the other hand—
"Think they like the outfits?" she murmured under her breath, amusement lacing her tone.
Sienna snorted. Camille let out a quiet chuckle.
I immediately deepened my voice.
"Do not talk," I rumbled.
They all let out another snicker, low enough that no one else could hear—but Evelyn, who was already waiting for us near the evaluation station, absolutely did.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling sharply.
"You're all going to get yourselves caught," she muttered.
"We're fine," I assured her, keeping my voice low.
Evelyn gave me a sharp look before gesturing toward the private evaluation room.
The four of us entered the room without a word.
Inside, the evaluation orb hummed softly, its glow casting faint blue reflections against the walls.
Evelyn turned to us, her gaze flickering between the girls.
"One at a time," she said briskly.
Sienna was the first to step forward.
I felt my jaw tighten as the orb scanned her.
Her ID should have listed her as Mr. Fox, A-Rank Firefighter. But what the system detected was Sienna Locke, A-Rank Construction Worker.
The orb pulsed. Data loaded onto the monitor.
A long silence stretched as Evelyn stared at the results.
Then—without hesitation—she confirmed it.
One by one, Camille, then Alexis, stepped forward. Each time, the orb displayed clear discrepancies. Each time, Evelyn lied without so much as a flicker of doubt.
I stepped forward, hands relaxed at my sides. The orb scanned me, reading through my ID card, my official registration.
New Identity Created: Mr. Leviathan
A profile materialized on the screen.
Evelyn's expression didn't change, but I caught the subtle way her eyes flicked over my list of skills.
She didn't say what she saw.
But I could tell she was impressed.
"You're set," she said simply.
We left the room without a word, moving down the hall as if nothing had happened. As if we hadn't just committed blatant identity fraud under the direct supervision of an A-Rank Evaluator.
Evelyn had lied flawlessly.
And now, I owed her twice.
I didn't have time to dwell on it.
Because the moment we stepped into the main corridor—
A familiar voice cut through the air.
"Tch. Look at this. Trash walking through the halls of real professionals."
I didn't even need to turn around.
I already knew who it was.
The man approached us with long, purposeful strides, his polished shoes clicking sharply against the marble floors. His tailored black suit was pristine, his presence sharp and commanding.
His gaze, however, was filled with nothing but contempt.
He stopped directly in front of us, his expression twisted into a sneer as he looked us over.
"Let me guess," he drawled, adjusting his cuffs. "You four are the criminals they dragged in to play dress-up?"
Sienna shifted beside me. I could feel the irritation radiating off her.
Camille remained still, unreadable.
Alexis looked way too amused.
I kept my voice low. Controlled.
"Is there something you need?"
Damian scoffed, his eyes narrowing as he locked onto me specifically.
"You," he spat. "You're the one they call Mr. Leviathan, right?"
I tilted my head slightly. "That's what they say."
A muscle in his jaw tightened.
"A D-Rank lawyer," he said coldly. "Pathetic."
Ah. So that's what this was about.
He wasn't just here to insult us.
He was here to belittle me specifically.
He wanted to make sure I understood how far beneath him I supposedly was.
I let the insult roll off me.
"If that's all you wanted to say," I murmured, stepping forward, "then we're done here."
Or at least, I tried to.
Because the moment I walked by—
Damian grabbed my arm.
I felt the tension snap through the air.
Sienna stiffened. Camille's fingers tensed. Alexis' amusement disappeared instantly.
I slowly turned my head toward him.
His grip on my sleeve tightened.
"You stole from her," he said, his voice a low snarl.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Do you think this is funny?" he hissed. "Do you think I don't see what's going on here? You stole from her. You're using her work. Wearing it like some cheap costume."
His voice sharpened, each word cutting.
"You stole from my sister."
The realization hit me like a crashing wave.
I turned my head slightly, glancing toward Camille.
Her expression was unreadable.
But I saw it—the way her fingers clenched ever so slightly against her coat.
Damian had no idea she was standing right there.
No idea that the person he worshipped—the sister he saw as untouchable—was the same woman he had just insulted by association.
And for the first time—
The way Camille's lips curled up, just slightly.
But in something else entirely.
Because she was enjoying this.
She was watching him crumble under a lie.
A slow, dangerous smirk tugged at the corner of my lips.
"You have no idea," I murmured, "how wrong you are."
Damian's grip tightened.
The tension was suffocating.
But before anything else could happen—
The doors to the courtroom opened.
A bailiff stepped out.
"The trial is about to begin," they announced. "All legal representatives, please proceed inside."
Damian's glare lingered for a moment longer.
Then, with a slow breath, he let go of my sleeve.
He adjusted his tie, stepping back.
"This isn't over," he muttered.
I smiled beneath my mask.
"Oh," I murmured. "I know."
I walked into the courtroom.