[293] Langue de Chat Cookie

Silence filled the dim, spacious study, broken only by the rustle of pages. Langue de Chat, hunched over an old leather-bound tome, traced the edges of its yellowed sheets. Enough time had passed since the high-profile trial against Rougefort for the “invincible newcomer” to be known not by rumor, but by real victories.
“Paragraph four, section seventeen,” he murmured, though his voice trembled. He glanced at the cookie across from him. Days of exhausting hearings had left him in a strange state. Usually, during breaks, he shut himself in his office with papers. Now, he felt compelled to remain here, watching not only the case files, but how the window light outlined his client’s profile. He quickly dropped his gaze back to the book. The words blurred. The legal code he had known since childhood now felt like meaningless symbols. A heavy, unfamiliar pressure built inside him. For the first time, his brilliance and mastery of precedent meant nothing.
“There… is one legal technicality,” he lied, forcing a dry tone. His fingers whitened against the page. This wasn’t just a defense anymore. With every question, every glance from the bench, he realized this fragile, anxious soul had trapped him within his own laws—without appeal. He shut his eyes, a hollow pulse in his temples. “Pull yourself together. You’re a lawyer. Be the pillar,” he told himself, but his hand trembled as it reached for cold tea. For the first time, it was his own defense that was falling apart.