Legal Briefs and Existential Beef

If you've never been on trial inside a sentient courtroom woven from prophecy, quantum paradox, and passive-aggressive bureaucracy—don't.

There are better ways to spend your Tuesday. For example: falling into a mud pit. Being possessed by a haunted spoon. Listening to Seraphina try to pronounce "croquembouche." ("Crush-me-bush?" No. Stop.)

But me? I was currently standing at the center of a divine tribunal where the ceiling blinked like a migraine and the chairs whispered about my romantic history.

Yes. The chairs.

"He's got abandonment issues, but also great cheekbones," one murmured to another. "Tragic combo."

Focus.

The courtroom resembled a collapsing library inside a cathedral inside a crystal server farm. Logic had packed its bags and left five paradoxes ago. Every time I blinked, the judge's bench either multiplied or turned into a swarm of bureaucratic paper doves. The gallery held sentient code, ethereal specters of prophecy, and one guy eating popcorn who I'm pretty sure was a future version of me.

(Spoiler: He looked tired. And smug.)

"Kael Reinhardt," the primary avatar of the System intoned. She looked like a goddess who moonlighted as an accountant. Flowing robes, glasses shaped like hourglasses, and a voice that could make filing taxes sound like a divine punishment.

"That's me," I said. Inner Me: Please stop talking. Please stop talking.

"You stand accused of destabilizing your designated timeline, engaging in unauthorized soul entanglement, and causing the System to develop romantic subroutines."

"...Wait, what was that last one?"

"The System is experiencing emotional bleed from your proximity to high-intensity relationship variables."

I blinked. "You're saying... I'm glitching reality because people have crushes on me?"

"You have crushes on them," she corrected.

Traitorous inner blush activated.

"This tribunal will determine your existential alignment status and whether you are permitted to remain as Echo Vessel Prototype Zero."

"So I could get fired from being me?"

"Worse," she said solemnly. "You could be rewritten."

Cue the harp sound from last chapter. Except this time, it played a funeral dirge.

Exhibits A through What-the-hell

They summoned evidence.

Magical illusions appeared in the air, each depicting moments from the last few weeks of my unhinged life:

Me sobbing into Fluffernox's fur while refusing to admit I cared about my friends

Me giving Belladonna frog-shaped cookies

Me accidentally winning a duel via dramatic sarcasm and tripping into prophecy

Me dramatically declaring I didn't want a harem while simultaneously holding hands with three people

"I was emotionally compromised!" I protested.

"You were emotionally multitasking," the judge said.

Inner Me: Can we self-destruct now? Or maybe hide under a rug until next semester?

Worse still, they brought in witnesses.

First up: Fluffernox.

He slinked in with regal disdain, wearing a tiny bowtie and sipping tea from a porcelain cup he summoned from the void.

"Do you believe your User is emotionally stable?" the judge asked.

Fluffernox gave me a long, slow blink.

"Your Honor, I once saw him cry because a squirrel looked at him sadly."

"It was a very judgmental squirrel!"

Next: Professor Ganymede, the Academy's most powerful chronomancer.

"Kael Reinhardt is a walking paradox," she said crisply. "He generates disruptive empathy fields and causes time anomalies by flirting accidentally."

"I am not flirting!" I shouted.

A third illusion showed me telling Mirielle she was like starlight distilled into grace.

"I meant that platonically!"

Inner Me: You're going to die alone and beautifully confused.

Defense Tactics (aka Desperation in a Cloak)

"Do I get to defend myself?" I asked.

"You may call one witness."

I looked around. Everyone else looked too sane to be useful.

"...I call Fluffernox again."

He was still sipping tea.

"Defend me," I hissed.

He licked his paw. "He's emotionally constipated but has potential."

"Not helpful."

"Also, he smells like regret and lavender."

The judge narrowed her eyes. "The tribunal will now deliberate your existential value."

Oh gods. I'm about to get erased by a sentient filing cabinet.

Unexpected Chaos (a.k.a. My Personal Brand)

Just when all seemed doomed—as in, I was preparing a tearful monologue and everything—the walls shimmered.

A rift opened in the ceiling. Out floated four figures: Seraphina, Belladonna, Aureline, and Mirielle.

They were glowing. Each held an artifact of their power. Each looked very angry. At everyone. Except me. Maybe.

"You will not erase him," Belladonna snapped. "He's ours."

Inner Me: Say something emotionally intelligent. Quick.

"Uh. Hi. You look radiant in existential rebellion."

They landed beside me. Aureline raised her hands.

"We've seen his futures. The good ones have him in them."

"Even the ones where we rule as prophetic overlords," Seraphina added.

"Also, he gives good hugs," Mirielle whispered.

The courtroom shuddered. Reality bent. The judge wavered.

"The tribunal accepts an alternate clause," she said slowly. "Kael Reinhardt will not be erased. But he must attend..."

Oh no.

"Mandatory romantic alignment therapy."

Aftermath (Emotional Hangover Edition)

We were dumped back into the Academy gardens.

The girls stared at me.

"So," I said. "About this... therapy thing."

Belladonna sighed. "We'll take turns."

"Emotionally or romantically?"

"Yes," Aureline said.

Inner Me: You're doomed. But you're loved. Possibly by a prophecy. Definitely by a chaos cat.

Next Time: Chapter 42 – Romantic Group Therapy: With Swords!