Chapter 10: The Weight of Truth

The interrogation room was colder now, the air thick with anticipation. Zhu Yuan sat across from Itsumi, her eyes gentle but unwavering. The boy—no, the weapon—sat with his wrists cuffed, his gaze fixed on the table.

"Are you ready?" Zhu asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Itsumi nodded. "I'll tell you everything."

And he did. For hours, he spoke in a flat, hollow voice, reciting names, locations, passwords, codes. He described the hidden bases—safehouses in the slums, bunkers beneath abandoned factories, the main headquarters buried beneath the city's oldest district. He gave them everything: the structure of the Organization, Axios's routines, the names of handlers, the locations of armories, the encrypted channels they used.

Zhu listened, taking notes, recording every word. Sometimes she would pause, her pen trembling, as the sheer scale of the horror unfolded. But she never interrupted. She never looked away.

When he finished, Itsumi slumped in his chair, exhausted. Zhu closed her notebook and looked at him for a long moment.

"You've done the right thing," she said quietly.

Itsumi didn't answer. He stared at his hands, as if seeing the blood that would never wash away.

The day of the trial arrived.

Itsumi was led through the corridors of the courthouse, flanked by armed guards. He kept his head down, expecting jeers, hatred, the roar of a furious crowd. He braced himself for the venom, for the judgment, for the death sentence he believed he deserved.

But when the doors opened and he stepped into the courtroom, silence greeted him.

Rows of people stared—not with anger, but with something else. Worry. Pity. Shock. Some averted their eyes. Others whispered, their voices trembling.

Is that really him?

He's just a kid…

How could a child…?

Itsumi's heart pounded. He felt exposed, naked beneath their gaze. He wanted to scream, to beg them to hate him, to punish him. But no one did.

The judges entered, their robes immaculate, their faces grave. The chief judge spoke first, his voice calm and measured.

"This court is now in session. The case of Itsumi Kahaderi Matzuri, also known as 'Ghost,' will be heard."

Itsumi stood, hands trembling.

The charges were read aloud—murder, conspiracy, terrorism, crimes against humanity. Each word echoed in the chamber like a bell tolling for the dead.

The chief judge looked at him. "Do you deny these charges?"

Itsumi shook his head slowly. "No. I did everything they say. I… I don't deserve forgiveness."

A murmur rippled through the room. Zhu, sitting among the witnesses, clenched her fists, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

The prosecutor stood. "The defendant has confessed to all charges. The evidence is overwhelming. But… we must also consider the circumstances. This boy was taken, tortured, broken. He was made into a weapon."

The defense attorney, a woman with kind eyes, rose to speak. "Your honors, Itsumi Kahaderi is not a monster. He is a victim. He was denied a childhood, denied a choice. He has cooperated fully, giving us the means to dismantle the Organization that created him. I ask the court to show mercy—not for the crimes, but for the child who never had a chance."

The judges exchanged glances, their faces unreadable. The chief judge finally spoke:

"This is a case of extraordinary complexity and gravity. The court will take a recess to deliberate further. Proceedings will resume after the break."

A bailiff approached. "All rise."

Itsumi stood, numb, as the judges filed out. The courtroom buzzed with anxious whispers. Zhu caught his eye, offering a small, uncertain nod of encouragement.

For now, the world waited—holding its breath, uncertain what would become of the boy called Ghost.