Chapter 3_2: The Defendant's Cry… and the Overturned Table

My chest tightened, as if an invisible rope were strangling me—slowly, deliberately.Every word spoken in the courtroom slammed down on my head like a hammer.And the stares—sharp, merciless—pierced through me like barbed arrows.They looked at me as though they were witnessing my inevitable end.

The judge began gathering his papers, every movement heavy and slow.The silence in the courtroom was more dreadful than any shouting…The end was near.

But suddenly, something deep within me… snapped.

I am not a victim.I am Abdelhakim.

I'm seventeen years old.Sure, the boy standing before them looks barely fifteen—But that, precisely, is the point.

Everyone around me treats me like a lost child caught in their twisted game,But what they don't know is this:I'm the one holding the cards now.

I raised my head slowly.I turned to the judge with a gaze that cut through the veil of injustice,Then spoke, my voice rising from the depths of my soul:

"Objection!"

The courtroom froze.Even the sound of breathing became audible.

The judge leaned forward, resting his elbow on his palm,Eyes glinting, lips curled into a faint smile—curious.

Elyas smirked beside me, leaning closer and whispering only loud enough for me to hear:

"He won't let you speak. It's over."

But then—The judge slammed his gavel down, the sound cracking through the room:

"Order in the court! The defendant may speak."

My lawyer tried to interrupt, but I raised my voice above his with sharp clarity:

"According to Article 105, the defendant has the right to defend himself if his lawyer is incompetent or negligent!"

Gasps filled the room, whispers swirling like a rising storm—half shock, half stifled amusement.

I continued, locking eyes with Elyas:

"An incompetent lawyer violates the right to a fair trial. That is why I will represent myself."

The judge leaned back, mildly amused, as if he had just discovered a hidden gem.Then he nodded:

"Very well. Proceed with your defense."

And so I spoke.

I told the story in detail—My sister's scream that awoke terror in me…The younger boy who attacked her…My desperate attempt to protect her…

And then, Elyas.How he entered the scene and twisted everything to his advantage.

With every word, Elyas's face paled further.He kept glancing at his lawyer—who was drenched in sweat and utterly speechless.

Even the judge seemed to hide a subtle smile,As if the truth was gradually lifting the fog that had shrou

When I finished, the judge leaned forward and asked, his voice sharp:

"Do you have any evidence to support your account?"

I smiled faintly, though my heart thundered like war drums.I exhaled…

"No… I don't have anything.."

The silence returned.Heavy. Crushing.

Then Elyas burst into hysterical laughter:

"Ha! You're delusional! Making up stories now, are you?"

I turned back to the judge, voice steady:

"What's the penalty for fabricating a crime in court?"

The judge hesitated, his expression tightening:

"Four years for the perpetrator, and four more for anyone aiding in obstruction of justice."

Elyas's breathing quickened.I saw fear flash in his eyes.

So I leaned in, voice laced with irony:

"And what about those who buy off witnesses… and corrupt the police?"

The courtroom stirred.Panic spread like wildfire.

They realized:I was holding a trump card I hadn't played yet.

Yes…The game was over.

And just then, footsteps echoed in the hall.Cries of security guards—rushed, confused:

"Stop, kid! This isn't a playground!"

I looked up—My little brother had stormed into the courtroom,Darting between the officers with impossible agility,Family trailing behind him, held back by the guards.

The scene was absurd—A seven-year-old weaving through armed men like it was child's play.

He reached me, panting, holding out my phone—the one he'd taken earlier.In it… every shred of evidence: recordings, photos, proof of the truth.

I took the phone calmly.My eyes met Elyas's frozen stare.

Then I turned to the judge, tossed the phone gently onto his desk with a confident smile:

"Sorry for the delay, Your Honor.I believe it's time for the main course."

The judge stared at me for a beat, then turned to the phone.He tapped, scrolled, watched, read…A silence so thick fell over the courtroom, it felt like time itself had stopped.

But in his eyes—I saw it.

That spark.The one he'd hidden all along.The look of a man who knew the truth—but had been bound by lack of evidence.

Now…He had enough to bring it all crashing down.

He slammed the gavel, the sound rattling Elyas to the bone:

"It appears you no longer have anything to defend yourself with… true defendant."

Elyas froze.

Then cracked.

He turned to me, pleading, his voice barely a whisper, lips trembling, sweat pouring:

"Please… let's forget all of this. Don't let the devil divide us, brother…"

Despite the fury boiling in my chest,I smiled, calm:

"You're right. I never wanted to send you to prison in the first place."

He exhaled—relieved.

Until I added, cold and cruel:

"But there's one condition:One hundred million dinars per year.In your case, four billion.And that includes everyone who worked with you."

Gasps.

Murmurs.

Shock and panic spread.

Elyas lunged forward, grabbing my collar, veins bulging, eyes wide:

"Are you insane?! Who's going to pay that here?!"

I slowly turned to the judge and locked eyes:

"I believe I'm entitled to this request… aren't I?"

The judge held back a smirk…Then nodded.

And Elyas snapped.

He pulled out a knife.The blade glinted beneath the dim lights as he rushed toward me, eyes filled with madness.

But I was ready.

I caught the blade between my cuffed wrists—metal screeching against metal.Then I slammed my forehead into his nose.The crack echoed, pain exploded—but he dropped to the floor, writhing.

He tried to get up—Only to find a firm hand around his throat.

The same officer from before.The dark-skinned man who believed in me.

"Stop here," he said, voice sharp as steel."One more move, and it'll be worse."

Then he turned to me with an apologetic smile:

"Sorry I'm late."

The gavel came down again.

"Based on the evidence provided, the court orders the immediate arrest of Elyas for assault, evidence tampering, and witness bribery. A full investigation is to be launched immediately!"

The military police surged forward.Boots stomping in unison.Iron grips locking around Elyas's shoulders.

He screamed—Face flushed red with rage and desperation:

"No! This is impossible! You're all against me!"

As he was dragged out like a rabid animal,I turned to the judge.

He looked at me…Paused…Then said, quietly:

"Well done… that was no ordinary courage."

I didn't reply.

I had nothing more to prove.

For the first time…I had won a war no one believed I could survive.

Then—My father stormed into the courtroom like a furious hurricane.His clothes stained with blood—not his.

He stood firm, a mountain before the guards who tried and failed to stop him.

My mother ran to me, hugging me like she feared I'd vanish again.And my father…Placed his heavy hand on my shoulder and whispered with deep pride:

"Well done, son."

There was no feeling like it.We were whole again.

I looked at my little brother—the silent hero who snuck in and saved me with his tiny hands.I thanked him with my eyes.

Just as the judge was about to declare the final ruling…

Elyas's family burst in—sobbing, begging:

"Wait! We'll pay the ransom! Just don't send him to prison!"

The courtroom erupted in murmurs of disbelief.

I smiled calmly:

"Fine.But I won't wait for full payment upfront.One billion dinars per year, for each of the nine involved."

Elyas's mother collapsed in tears, screaming:

"You're not human… even monsters show more mercy than you!"

I looked at her, coldly amused:

"Then why are you begging mercy… from a monster you'll never tame?"

This case…Should have ended here.

But what happened next…Was stranger than anything I could've imagined.