The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.
I sat frozen, the weight of Alexis's words pressing against my chest like a vice.
Not just any trial—a trial against the entire Masked Syndicate.
My mind raced. I knew my tangled web of identities would eventually cause legal trouble, but not this. Not now. The governments of the world were already under pressure—forced to assist in my landing, forced to acknowledge my survival, forced to play along with a narrative they didn't control.
And now, they were trying to tip the scales back in their favor.
They needed to reclaim control.
I exhaled sharply, fingers curling into the thin blanket draped over my lap.
This wasn't just about Mr. Angel, Mr. Dust, or Mr. Fox. It was about power.
They wanted to prove that the system still worked. That people like me—people who defied categorization, who slipped through the cracks of their carefully organized structures—could be caught.
That they could make an example out of me.
I had two months to prepare for something I didn't even know how to begin dealing with. I wasn't a lawyer. I had never studied law. I had spent my life navigating through shifting identities, not defending them in a court of law.
For a rare moment, I felt stuck.
A familiar sensation crept into the edges of my mind.
Strategist (Lv. 4) Skill Activated.
A moment of clarity. The weight of uncertainty lifted—just slightly.
The skill was working, piecing together information, sorting through variables, finding weaknesses, gaps, opportunities.
I focused, breathing through the surge of insight.
A sharp pulse ran through my skull.
Strategist (Lv. 5) Acquired.
My strategist skill had finally leveled up and in that instant, I saw it.
I looked up, meeting Alexis's sharp blue eyes.
"Pretend to be Mr. Angel."
The words hung in the air, and for the first time since I had woken up, Alexis actually looked surprised.
Her confident smirk flickered. "I'm sorry, what?"
I leaned forward slightly, forcing my weakened body to sit straighter.
"I'm going to need representatives," I explained. "Mr. Angel, Mr. Fox, and Mr. Dust—all three are being summoned to this trial. That means they expect three separate individuals to be in attendance."
Alexis's brows furrowed slightly as she processed my words.
"You're saying... you want me to pretend to be one of your identities?"
I nodded. "Yes. You'll take my place as Mr. Angel. Camille will handle Mr. Dust, and Sienna will take Mr. Fox."
She let out a sharp laugh. "And how, exactly, do you expect that to work? You do realize we can't talk, right? Someone's going to notice if none of us speak."
I allowed a small smirk.
"I never said you were going to argue in court," I replied smoothly.
I watched as realization flickered in her expression.
"...You're planning to be your own lawyer."
I nodded. "I still have a Job Select left. I'm going to become an attorney. I'll handle the defense while the three of you sit in as my masked counterparts."
The room fell silent.
Alexis studied me for a moment, her expression unreadable.
Then she exhaled, shaking her head with an almost amused disbelief. "You're actually insane."
She clicked her tongue. "And what makes you think I would accept this insane plan of yours?"
I leaned back, watching her carefully.
"I can think of two very good reasons."
She raised a brow. "Oh? Do tell."
I held up one finger.
"One—if my identities are exposed, the government will pressure you. They won't care about confidentiality agreements. You'll be interrogated, monitored, and harassed endlessly. They'll bury you in legal loopholes, making your life a bureaucratic nightmare. Even if you refuse to talk, they'll make sure you regret it."
Alexis's jaw tensed slightly.
I lifted a second finger.
"Two—you're intrigued by me."
Her blue eyes flickered slightly, but she said nothing.
"You're a scientist at heart, Alexis. You see me as something more than just a patient. I'm an anomaly. And you don't want that anomaly locked away where you can't study it."
Alexis drummed her fingers against her arm, eyes narrowing.
"I don't know, Angel. If we screw this up, it's not just you going to prison—it's all of us."
"Which is exactly why we can't screw up," I countered.
She let out a slow breath. Then, after a beat—
A slow grin spread across her lips.
"...You really are interesting....Fine, but if this goes sideways, I'm blaming you."
I didn't respond. I just watched as she leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms in thought.
There was something almost dangerous about the way her eyes gleamed.
Finally, she sighed, shaking her head.
"Alright," she said, amusement lacing her voice. "I'll play your Mr. Angel."
Her smirk faded just a fraction.
"You're really trusting me with this?"
I met her gaze. "I don't trust easily. But I trust you."
She clicked her tongue, shaking her head. "Damn. That almost sounded sincere."
She chuckled, pulling out her phone. "I'll message your black-haired girl. She'll need time to make a new mask anyway."
I nodded. "Tell her the plan. We have two months to make this work."
She tapped her screen a few times before glancing at me.
"Well, you have two months to prepare. And considering the state of your body?"
"You're going to have a hell of a time walking into that courtroom without looking like a newborn deer."
I tensed slightly. She wasn't wrong.
My body—weak, unsteady, barely adjusted to Earth's gravity—would be the biggest giveaway. If I showed up wobbling like I could barely stand, the whole plan would fall apart.
I needed to fix it. Fast.
Alexis pushed off the counter, stretching slightly. "Lucky for you, I've already got a solution."
I narrowed my eyes slightly. "You say that as if I should be worried."
She gave me a slow, mischievous smile.
I frowned. "What exactly are you planning?"
"You're my favorite test subject, after all."
I didn't like the sound of that.
But before I could argue, she grabbed my IV stand and started adjusting the settings.
"Don't worry," she said casually. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be walking into that courtroom looking like you just stepped out of heaven."
I exhaled slowly, already regretting whatever the hell she had planned.