Chương 8: Judgement

In his room, Kurisu finished dressing before looking at his reflection in the mirror; the three silver crescent moons on his lapels seemed to glow against the black of the jinbaori in the morning light. As he brushed his fingers over the crests, his father's boisterous laugh echoed in his head, followed by his blank eyes as his heart beat outside his body.

Takeshi was so strong, so powerful, and yet, Grahk had taken him—taken them all by surprise, eliminating the most powerful of them before they could even mount a counterattack. If only they had known, surely his father was stronger, he could have won in a fair fight, then he, Kurisu, wouldn't have been a slave meant for killing all those years.

"Kurisu?" A voice asked from the doorway. Kurisu blinked. He turned to look at Steven, who was adjusting his tie, then down at the unsheathed katana in his hand. When? How, even? Steven held up his phone, the translation app already open and pulsing.

"Leave it," he said, gently.

"I am a warrior," Kurisu protested in his native tongue, sheathing the blade.

"One cannot journey to a place of judgment unarmed." Steven sighed.

"This isn't Terra, buddy, this is California. If you take that sword out of this house, especially to a courthouse, the police will arrest you. Not for being an alien, but for carrying a weapon." Kurisu frowned.

"It serves as proof of my station."

"It doesn't matter," Steven said more firmly.

"In this world, bringing a weapon to a parley is not a sign of strength. It's a sign of aggression. You have to leave it here." Kurisu looked down at the sword, then at Steven.

"It shall be as if I am naked," he muttered, looking away.

"No," Steven said.

"You have your words. You have your family. And you have that." He pointed to the silver crest on Kurisu's chest.

"That's your armor today." Kurisu hesitated. Then, slowly, he released his grip on the katana as he set it on the bed.

"Let us depart," Kurisu said with a sigh, turning to the door. At the Orange county Superior Court, the line for security already stretched out the door. Steven parked, and they made their way toward the entrance, Charlotte corralling Ace and Kellevra once she forced Ace to leave his Switch in the truck. Kurisu could feel every eye on him as he walked at the back of the group, as if he was being judged, yet who were they to do so?

He saw people in the same dark uniforms as the officer from his arrival, alongside others wearing the very jeans and shirts Steven and Charlotte insisted were inappropriate for court. Then there were the many, many people dressed similarly to the Millers, wearing collared shirts of a single color, usually blue, white or black, black or tan slacks, and some women in dresses.

"Is he a cosplayer?" a woman whispered to her husband.

"Maybe it's some religious thing, I mean, this is a court for Christ's sake," the man muttered back.

"Stay close," Steven whispered.

"Don't say anything unless the guards ask you a direct question." As they reached the checkpoint a deputy said, "Empty your pockets," looking Kurisu up and down with a raised eyebrow.

"Belts off. Any metal?" Kurisu patted his obi; he had no belt buckle, no phone, and no keys—oh, but he did have—" Kin," he stated, pulling out the single ryō to show the guard. The deputy pursed his lips, "Right, drop it in the bucket and step through." Complying, Kurisu walked through the archway. Stopping on the other side, he looked around, expecting direction on what to do next, until the person behind him nearly bumped into him.

"Move out of the way and get your belongings please." the irritated voice of an officer rang out. Kurisu hurriedly collected his single gold piece before making his way over to Steven and the others, feeling a flush creep up his neck. With a breath and a shake of his head, he slipped the coin back into his robes. Why was this so nerve racking? There was no reason to be nervous! Yet, here he was, palms sweaty and anxious about what was next. Closing his eyes he counted, regulating his breathing to calm himself.

It was fine, he was inside the fortress, now he just had to face the lord of this castle. They met Vanessa Jenkins, their lawyer, in the hallway outside Department 4. She wore a gray suit over a white blouse and had a permanently pursed lips look about her, as her eyes landed on Kurisu.

"Mr. Miller," she hissed, pulling him aside, her eyes narrowed.

"What is he wearing? I told you to dress him like a normal American teenager. Polo shirt. Khakis. He looks like he's about two hundred years late to invade a dojo."

"To him, this is formal wear. It's respectful of his culture." Steven defended.

"Respectful?" she whispered, rubbing her temples, as she glanced at the courtroom doors.

"Judge Vance is a literalist, Steven. He's old school. If he sees a kid in a costume, he sees mental instability. He sees a flight risk. Or worse, he sees a mockery of his court room!" She turned on Kurisu, looking him up and down.

"Does the kid speak English yet?" Steven shook his head.

"Not enough for this. We're using a translator app." Vanessa sighed, opening her briefcase and shuffling papers.

"Great. Just great!"

"Hey, what the hell do you expect? He's been here a month!" Steven snapped.

"Okay, I get it, now listen to me closely. This isn't just a rubber stamp. Mr. Henderson from DCFS is in there, and he's filed an opposition brief." If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Steven's face reddened.

"The f—He's opposing the identity request? That slimy—""He's arguing that without a DNA test or a fingerprint match, the State can't verify he isn't a missing person from another country," Vanessa explained.

"He wants to remand the boy to a secure juvenile facility until Interpol clears him. That could take six months."

"Do not speak unless the judge asks you a direct question," Vanessa commanded, pointing a finger at Kurisu.

"If you get stuck, let Steven translate, but keep it brief. We are arguing for 'Constructive Identity.' We need to prove you are stable, safe, and attached to this family. If you act crazy, you go to the cell. Got it?" Kurisu glared at her, gritting his teeth at her hostile tone, then forced himself to calm down. If he was feeling anxious, maybe others were too. Though he still didn't appreciate being spoken down to like a servant who refused to perform their duty.

"Understood," Kurisu said coldly, biting back his retort. They sat at the defendant's table in department four. Mr. Henderson sat at the opposing table, holding a stack of files and whispering to a County Attorney.

"All rise," the bailiff shouted. Judge Vance entered, an older man with white hair and a face that sagged from age. Moving with a frail wobble, he sat down, put on his reading glasses, and opened the file.

"In the matter of John Doe, minor," Vance read in a gruff voice.

"Case number 8940-J." He looked up, his eyes landing on Kurisu. The judge stared, and Kurisu stared back. Kurisu sat up completely straight with perfect posture, his hands resting on his knees over his hakama.

"Mr. Miller," Judge Vance said.

"Is this the minor in question?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Steven said as he stood up.

"Is he... in a costume?" Vance asked, his brow furrowing. Coughing, Steven looked from Kurisu to the judge.

"Uh, no, Your Honor. This is the formal traditional dress of his... of his clan. He wore it to show respect to this Court." Vance grunted.

"Clan, you say. The file says 'Unknown Origin.' Mr. Henderson claims the boy is a runaway with no paper trail, no language skills, and significant scarring consistent with combat or torture." The County Attorney stood up.

"Your Honor, the State objects to the Petition for Constructive Identity. This child appeared in a backyard two months ago wearing heavy iron shackles. He has no fingerprints in any database. We believe he may be a victim of international trafficking. Placing him with a host family, however well-intentioned, is premature. He needs to be in protective custody where he can be assessed by professionals." Slapping the papers down on his podium, the judge turned to face the interruption.

"Did I call on you, Counselor? No? Then I'll thank you for keeping quiet until I do." Nodding his head, Kurisu felt a slight smirk betray him at the corner of his mouth. This 'judge' may appear frail, but he had spine, and that was something he could respect. Vance looked over at Vanessa.

"Counsel? Why shouldn't I put this boy in a secure facility until we figure out who he actually is?" Kurisu frowned, but apparently he wasn't particularly on their side. Vanessa stood up, smoothing her suit.

"Because, Your Honor, 'who he is' is right here. He has been living with the Millers for eight weeks. He is enrolled in ESL classes. He has bonded with the other children. To remove him now would cause irreparable harm. The Millers are willing to accept legal responsibility for this minor. We are asking the Court to construct an identity so he can travel, attend school properly, and receive medical care." Vance leaned back, tapping his pen on the bench.

"I've read the reports," Vance said.

"Dr. Evans noted he broke a hypodermic needle on his skin. The intake nurse noted abnormalities in his eye color. This isn't just a lost kid, Ms. Jenkins. There are... irregularities."

"Yes, Your Honor. However, none of those irregularities have precedents that should prevent him from having a life," she responded.

"Noted," the judge said, before turning to look at Kurisu.

"Young man, stand up." Kurisu stood as Steven held the phone low on the table, the screen capturing the judge's words.

"Do you understand me?" Vance asked. Kurisu glanced at the phone screen, reading the text that scrolled there." Sukoshi," Kurisu said.

"You realize this isn't a game, right?" Vance said, his voice hardening.

"Yes," Kurisu responded.

"Then tell me who you are," Vance demanded. Kurisu took a breath. He was the heir to his House, his father's son, the pride of his people, and the one who destroyed them. Looking into the judge's eyes, he pointed to his chest.

"I am Nodaichi Kurisu," he declared, his voice projecting to the back of the room. Vance held up a hand.

"Nodaichi? Is that a surname?"

"It is my Clan," Kurisu nodded, tapping the silver embroidered crest on his chest. He paused, looking for prettier words to convey his situation, but there really weren't any. How was he to tell this man, these people who he was and what had happened to him, without telling them everything? They certainly didn't need to know about Terra, or the things he had done. Those crimes warranted execution, they demanded execution. But that justice was not for these people to carry out.

That was the responsibility of his own people. With a shaking inhalation he began to tell his tale to yet another person.

"My father and mother have perished," he said.

"I was not cast aside, they were slain. I secured my escape, and found these virtuous people; they offered shelter, provisions, and raiment, and they extend further grace even now." Turning his hand palm up, he gestured to the Miller family.

"Miller... give... bread. Give... roof." He looked back at the judge, squaring his shoulders.

"Therefore, I seek to forge an alliance with the Millers. They are my allies," he continued, looking at Steven. He paused. He wanted to say he would protect the Millers, but with a glance at the armed bailiff, he recalled Steven's words about aggression.

'Protecting' implied a fight, so that probably was best left unsaid.

"I exist alongside the Millers." He looked the judge in the eye and spoke the English words he had pieced together.

"Stand... with... Miller." Judge Vance stared at Kurisu, then looked at the file on his podium once more.

"Mr. Henderson," he said quietly, his eyes darting back to Kurisu.

"Does the State have any evidence that this boy belongs to anyone else? Anyone living? Did Japan claim him as a citizen?" With a sigh, Henderson stood up.

"No, Your Honor. We've run his prints through FBI, Interpol, and missing kids databases. Nothing. He's a ghost. Japan claims no record of him either." As Vance took off his glasses, he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"He doesn't look like a ghost to me," he muttered.

"He looks like an oversized flesh and blood child." The judge picked up his pen and hovered it over the order.

"This is highly irregular," Vance addressed the court.

"But the law prefers stability over bureaucracy. And if this family is willing to support this young man…" He looked at Steven.

"Mr. Miller, you understand that by granting this Constructive Identity, you are liable? If he hurts someone, if he breaks the law, it is on you. You are adopting a young man with evidence of trauma and abuse, this will not be an easy road." Steven stood up, glanced at Charlotte who nodded enthusiastically, and turned to the judge, his voice steady.

"I know, Your Honor. We trust him. He built a wall around our house with his bare hands. He honors his debts." Vance inclined his head slowly.

"Then I see no reason to deny. The Petition for Constructive Identity is granted," Vance ruled.

"Let the record show the minor's legal name is henceforth Kurisu Nodaichi Miller. Double surname. Date of birth estimated May 31, 2012. Custody is awarded to Steven and Charlotte Miller pending final adoption." The gavel hit the wood, the sound echoing through the chamber as Kurisu looked at Steven.

"Steven, is the victory ours?"

"Yeah, we won," Steven whispered back, his mailing reaching his eyes as he clapped Kurisu on the shoulder. Looking at the judge, Kurisu bowed, bending at the waist.

"I am in your debt," Kurisu started, "Magistrate." Vance showed a small smile as he gathered his files.

"Good luck in Colorado, son."