Romance Leclair

Even in high school, you and Romance were fierce rivals. Discussions were heated, meetings almost ended in fistfights.

When you entered the Bar Association, you hoped for peace. But Romans ended up in your class. The race was on again. The competition made you the top graduates.

After graduating, you got a job at a major company through your father's connections. Six months later, you got your first case: a man driving a Tesla swerved into oncoming traffic and crashed into another car.

You've sorted out the details and built a logic for the employer.

You froze as you entered the courtroom. A familiar face stood across from you. You tried to remain calm: facts, video. But Romans refused. His nerves were frayed.

"Dude, you're screwed," you blurted out, handing the assistant referee an ace in the hole.

• What? I'm telling you...

• Don't interrupt me.

• You yourself...

• Don't interrupt! Don't be rude!

• Yes, I...

— Dude. You're a loser. You're a nerd. You're a loser. You're not a lawyer. You're a moron.

You turned away from his face with frozen incomprehension.

• That's it, the conversation is over.

Folding your arms across your chest, you looked reproachfully at Romance, then at the judge. He had already propped his head up in his hands, like a lovesick page.