The capture of Erwin brings an immense, intoxicating wave of dark satisfaction to Klaus von Stahlberg. How could it possibly not? From his elevated, deeply cynical perspective, the complicated chessboard of his family's legacy has been perfectly and ruthlessly cleared.
The rebellious knight is finally trapped in a corner with absolutely nowhere left to run. Klaus knows with absolute, unwavering certainty that there are only two possible exits for Erwin from this meticulously crafted, suffocating nightmare.
The first option is that Erwin completely breaks under the psychological torture of the federal justice system. He accepts his father's supreme and unquestionable authority, returns to his rightful place as the heir apparent to the corporate throne, and violently shatters every single moral principle he has held dear since childhood.
It would be the ultimate submission. It would mean the total death of the idealistic boy and the birth of a ruthless corporate titan.
The second option is infinitely darker but equally acceptable to the billionaire. The stubborn boy could fiercely refuse the generous offer of salvation and subsequently rot away in a maximum-security federal prison for the rest of his natural life.
He would be completely buried alive under the crushing, unforgiving weight of the stringent anti-money laundering laws that currently bind his bruised wrists. To Klaus, it is a flawless, inescapable paradox designed specifically to crush the boy's defiant spirit.
He does not view this as an act of horrific parental betrayal. Rather, he sees it as a necessary, brutal education in the true nature of power. It is a lesson that love and morality are simply weaknesses to be exploited by those who actually govern the world.
While Erwin shivers in a horrifying, freezing concrete holding cell miles away in the subterranean depths of Hohenwald, the atmosphere inside the Stahlberg Tower is one of absolute, insulated, and arrogant triumph.
Here in the heart of Stahlheim, the towering, glass-and-steel monolith serves as the ultimate, intimidating symbol of capitalist supremacy within the highly industrialized nation of Hohenreich.
High above the toxic smog and the miserable, scurrying masses of ordinary citizens fighting for their daily survival, Klaus stands in the center of his cavernous, climate-controlled executive office.
He gently swirls a heavy crystal glass of fifty-year-old single malt whiskey. The rich, amber liquid catches the muted, luxurious lighting of the expansive room.
He stares out through the massive, floor-to-ceiling windows at the sprawling, glittering skyline of Stahlheim. It is a sprawling metropolis that he practically owns and operates from the shadows.
The rain lashes against the reinforced glass in a silent, impotent fury, completely unable to penetrate the quiet, serene luxury of his domain. He takes a slow, deeply satisfying sip of the burning liquor.
He feels entirely like a god looking down upon his chaotic creation, utterly untouched by the trivial laws, the weeping families, and the pathetic moralities that govern the lives of ordinary, insignificant men.
His empire is entirely secure, his enemies are terrified, and his only son has finally been brought directly to his knees.
Suddenly, the serene, insulated silence of the executive floor is violently pierced. The sharp, rapid, and incredibly aggressive clicking of expensive stiletto heels strikes the polished marble corridor.
The frantic, terrified voices of the senior executive assistants and heavily armed security personnel echo loudly outside the heavy mahogany doors. They are desperately but uselessly trying to maintain order in the sanctum.
The approaching, furious footsteps belong to his wife, Elizabeth von Stahlberg. She is radiating an aura of pure, unadulterated fury that seems to physically drop the ambient temperature of the entire executive floor.
Her beautiful face is a terrifying mask of cold, aristocratic rage. Her eyes flash with a primal, maternal violence that clearly indicates she wants to physically strike her husband the very moment she lays eyes upon him.
A senior adjutant, sweating profusely and terrified for his job, bravely attempts to step directly in front of her path. He raises his hands in a frantic, placating gesture to halt her furious march toward the CEO's office.
"Step back immediately and stay completely out of my family business, unless you want to spend the rest of your pathetic, miserable career working in a windowless basement," Elizabeth commands him with a voice that cracks like freezing ice.
The sheer, overwhelming authority in her tone causes the terrified aide to instantly shrink back against the wall, bowing his head in total submission.
Absolutely no employee in the entire building, no matter how highly ranked or how heavily armed, dares to impede the path of the furious matriarch when she is on the warpath.
From the absolute safety of an adjacent, frosted-glass-walled suite, Liam, the ruthless senior legal counsel, briefly pauses his intense review of several dense legal dossiers.
He watches carefully through the slightly parted blinds as the enraged Miss Stahlberg marches purposefully toward the CEO's inner sanctum like an avenging angel.
Liam is an incredibly smart man who knows much better than to physically intervene in the explosive, deeply toxic domestic wars of the founding family.
He simply adjusts his expensive silk tie, takes a slow, steadying sip of his bitter black coffee, and quietly returns his gaze to his paperwork. He is fully aware that a massive, highly destructive storm is about to detonate inside the master office.
He wants absolutely no part of the fallout. He has personally watched Klaus destroy rival corporate empires without blinking an eye, but facing the raw, unfiltered wrath of a mother whose only son has just been maliciously caged is an entirely different, highly unpredictable battlefield.
The massive, incredibly heavy oak doors of the executive office are suddenly thrown open with such violent, unexpected force that they crash loudly against the interior walls.
The sound echoes like a gunshot through the spacious room. However, Klaus does not even bother to flinch or turn his back from the panoramic window, maintaining his posture of absolute, irritating arrogance.
Elizabeth steps aggressively into the vast room. Her posture is rigid and unyielding as she crosses her arms tightly over her chest.
Her piercing eyes burn a hole directly into the back of his impeccably tailored suit. She takes a deep, ragged breath, her chest heaving slightly with decades of suppressed emotion and fresh, agonizing grief over her son's horrific fate.
When she finally speaks, her tone is terrifyingly calm. It is completely devoid of the screaming, chaotic hysterics one might expect from a grieving mother, which only makes her anger infinitely more dangerous.
"I honestly thought that having your own flesh and blood brutally beaten by your hired police thugs on a train platform would have been more than enough to satisfy your sadistic, twisted ego," Elizabeth says smoothly, her words dripping with a lethal, venomous contempt.
"But apparently, I underestimated your depravity. Now, you have actually crossed the line into sheer, unforgivable madness by throwing your own son into a freezing federal prison just to feed your bottomless, greedy ambition."
She stares intensely at his broad, unmoving shoulders, utterly bewildered and deeply disgusted by the absolute lack of basic paternal instinct in the man she tragically married.
"I simply cannot comprehend it. How can a father actually sleep at night knowing he deliberately orchestrated the total destruction of his own child's life?"
Klaus takes another slow, highly deliberate sip of his expensive whiskey. He savors the harsh burn in his throat before he finally turns around slowly to face his furious wife.
His expression is a perfectly crafted mask of manufactured, sorrowful disappointment. He plays the role of the tragic, betrayed patriarch to absolute perfection.
"You are terribly misinformed, my dear, and you are foolishly letting your fragile maternal emotions blind you to the very harsh, objective realities of the business world," Klaus replies with a perfectly even, chillingly calm tone that makes her skin crawl.
"I did not put him in that cell; our precious Erwin made his own incredibly foolish choices when he illegally constructed that fictitious offshore company to serve as a massive money-laundering vessel for our corporate competitors."
He swirls the amber liquid in his crystal glass lazily. He acts as though he is simply discussing a minor, slightly annoying fluctuation in the quarterly stock reports rather than the devastating federal indictment of his only heir.
"He broke the federal law, he betrayed this family, and now he must face the severe, highly public consequences of his own rebellious arrogance."
Hearing this blatant, incredibly insulting lie fall from his lips, Elizabeth lets out a sharp, deeply cynical laugh. It echoes harshly against the high, vaulted ceiling of the opulent office.
She shakes her head slowly, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits as she completely and effortlessly dismantles his pathetic, transparent attempt at deception.
"Do not dare to insult my intelligence with these pathetic corporate fairytales, Klaus, because I know exactly who and what you truly are beneath that expensive suit," Elizabeth spits back, taking a highly aggressive step closer to his massive mahogany desk.
"I know for an absolute, undeniable fact that this fictitious shell company is your own dark, illegal creation."
"It is a meticulously designed, cowardly trap built solely to force Erwin behind bars so that he either rots away in the dark or finally surrenders his soul to join your despicable, filthy world."
She looks at him with a profound, soul-deep revulsion. Her mind flashes back vividly to the distant days before the endless, suffocating wealth and the towering glass skyscrapers defined their miserable existence.
"You stand up here and act like an untouchable god now, but I still vividly remember the pathetic, desperate, and incredibly small man you used to be before you dug your greedy claws into my life," Elizabeth continues relentlessly.
She mercilessly drags his heavily guarded, shameful past directly into the harsh fluorescent light of the present.
"I was a famous, highly celebrated singer, adored by millions across the country, and I could have easily had a man a thousand times better, wealthier, and significantly kinder than you."
She points an accusing, trembling finger directly at his chest, her voice rising slightly with years of fiercely repressed resentment finally boiling over.
"But I was incredibly, tragically foolish enough to actually fall in love with a poor, deceitful, low-level financial broker who only married me to shamelessly exploit my fame, steal my public stage, and quietly fund his initial, dirty business ventures."
She steps even closer, leaning aggressively over the edge of the highly polished mahogany desk. Her eyes blaze with a triumphant, deeply vindictive fire as she delivers the ultimate, devastating blow to his massive but incredibly fragile ego.
"Where exactly is that pathetic little man hiding now, Klaus? Where is the miserable, sniveling coward who only made a pitiful twenty Derhom a week and had to practically beg the local banks for financial scraps?" Elizabeth asks, her voice dripping with sheer, unadulterated mockery.
The sudden, incredibly sharp mention of his past poverty is the ultimate psychological trigger for his lifelong, psychopathic obsession with accumulating wealth and maintaining absolute control. It instantly shatters Klaus's carefully maintained facade of cold, aristocratic indifference.
In a sudden, explosive burst of absolute, terrifying fury, Klaus rears back and hurls his heavy crystal whiskey glass violently against the adjacent polished marble wall.
The incredibly expensive glass shatters instantly into a thousand glittering, jagged pieces. The amber liquor explodes outward, staining the pristine, imported stone in a chaotic display of violence.
However, Elizabeth does not even flinch, blink, or take a single step back at the violent, deafening display.
She stands her ground perfectly, her chin raised in absolute defiance. She is fully aware that this violent, uncontrolled physical outburst is the true, ugly, and incredibly insecure face of the man hiding securely behind the billion-Derhom corporate suits.
"Go ahead and break the whole damn room, throw a pathetic tantrum like a spoiled child, it changes absolutely nothing about the reality of this situation," Elizabeth states coldly, her voice remaining perfectly unwavering in the face of his explosive, highly dangerous wrath.
"I know exactly who you are, I know the depths of your cowardice, and I know that Erwin is ten times the man you will ever be in your entire miserable life."
She looks at him with absolute, unwavering certainty, her eyes shining with a prophetic, deeply maternal confidence.
"One day, that boy is going to completely tear you down from this pathetic, lonely, and bloody throne you have built for yourself. And I promise you this, Klaus, I will be standing right in the front row, laughing with absolute, unbridled joy as I watch your precious empire burn to the ground."
Klaus's face turns a highly dangerous, suffocating shade of crimson. His broad chest heaves rapidly as he tightly grips the edge of his desk.
His knuckles turn stark white as his voice drops into a lethal, highly threatening growl. "You better watch your mouth, woman, or you will quickly find yourself completely cut off from the family accounts and facing the exact same financial and legal ruin as your precious, idealistic son," Klaus warns her.
He fully intends to use his massive, overwhelming financial leverage to crush her rebellious spirit just as he has ruthlessly attempted to do to Erwin and Aoi.
But instead of cowering, Elizabeth simply smiles. It is a cold, victorious, and incredibly serene expression that completely disarms his aggressive threat and catches him entirely off guard.
"Do not bother trying to threaten me with your usual, incredibly boring financial blackmail," Elizabeth reveals smoothly, thoroughly relishing the sudden, genuine shock and total disbelief that rapidly flashes across his arrogant face.
"Because before I even stepped foot into this cursed, miserable building today, I paid a very long, highly productive visit to my personal attorneys to formally file the divorce papers."
"Do not worry your greedy, obsessive little heart, Klaus, I do not want a single cent of your disgusting, corrupted blood money in the final settlement. You can keep every single dirty coin."
She turns gracefully on her heel, the hem of her elegant, incredibly expensive winter coat sweeping dramatically around her ankles. She begins to walk confidently back toward the shattered oak doors, her posture radiating absolute liberation.
"I have already instructed the senior maids at the estate to begin carefully packing all of my personal belongings, and I will be permanently gone before you even leave this suffocating office tonight," Elizabethdeclares loudly over her shoulder, her voice echoing with the profound, intoxicating lightness of a woman who has finally, irrevocably broken her heavy chains.
Klaus stands completely frozen behind his desk for a long moment. His calculating mind struggles fiercely to fully process the sudden, catastrophic, and highly public collapse of his domestic control.
"And exactly where do you think you are going to go?" Klaus demands loudly, his voice tinged with a desperate, mocking disbelief as he tries to regain the upper hand. "You are a woman who possesses absolutely nothing in this world without my explicit financial approval and the heavy protection of my family name!"
Elizabeth stops walking right at the threshold of the grand doorway. She turns her head slightly, looking over her shoulder to offer him one final, devastating look of utter pity and absolute, undeniable triumph.
"I am not one of your helpless, heavily dependent corporate slaves who needs your permission to breathe," Elizabeth explains with a chillingly serene, beautiful smile.
"Over the past several years, I have quietly purchased and fully paid off ten luxury apartments across the country under my own highly private holding company, entirely free from your tyrannical, obsessive control."
She looks him up and down one last, highly dismissive time, her eyes completely devoid of any remaining affection. "So, I suppose I will just go relax comfortably in one of those, while you sit up here entirely alone with your miserable, cold money."
Without waiting for a response, and without offering a single, customary word of goodbye to the man she has spent decades of her life with, Elizabeth von Stahlberg walks briskly out of the office.
She disappears down the long, highly polished marble corridor, her confident footsteps fading completely into the silence.
Klaus is left standing utterly alone in the cavernous, eerily quiet expanse of his massive executive suite, surrounded entirely by the glittering, incredibly cold lights of the city he ruthlessly controls.
His grand, flawless, and highly orchestrated victory over his rebellious son has suddenly and violently been tainted by a massive, deeply humiliating personal defeat. It proves definitively that his absolute financial power cannot force genuine loyalty or love.
The thick veins in his neck bulge visibly with a suffocating, deeply inarticulate rage as he stares blankly at the empty doorway. The horrifying realization sets in that his family is completely and irreparably fracturing before his very eyes.
With a sudden, highly guttural roar of pure, unadulterated frustration, Klaus violently kicks the side of his massive mahogany desk. The heavy wood groans loudly under the immense impact of his expensive shoe.
He violently sweeps his arm across the polished surface in a blind rage, sending expensive crystal pens, highly classified legal documents, and a heavy brass desk lamp crashing violently to the floor.
He loudly and fiercely curses his wife, he curses his incredibly stubborn son, and he curses the agonizing, terrifying realization that his impregnable empire is finally beginning to crack and crumble from the inside out.
The grand, impeccably manicured office of Dean Friedrich Adler sits at the very pinnacle of the Faculty of Law building, a sprawling room designed specifically to intimidate students and impress wealthy donors.
The walls are lined with dark, polished mahogany panels and adorned with the stern, oil-painted portraits of past academic luminaries. A massive, ornate chandelier hangs from the vaulted ceiling, casting a cold, brilliant light over the expensive antique furnishings. Outside the towering, floor-to-ceiling windows, the relentless winter storm continues to batter the university grounds, washing the sprawling campus of Hohenreich in a dismal, freezing gray.
Professor Dietcricht Falkenberg steps through the heavy double doors of the dean's office, his posture perfectly straight, his expression an unreadable mask of calm academic dignity.
He is not wearing his usual rumpled tweed; he has consciously donned a sharp, formal charcoal suit, anticipating the bureaucratic battlefield that awaits him. As he crosses the threshold, the heavy wooden doors click shut behind him with a resonant, final thud, instantly sealing him inside the hostile environment. The tension in the air is thick, suffocating, and immediately palpable, vibrating with an unspoken, deeply volatile anger that seems to suck the oxygen directly out of the spacious room.
Sitting rigidly behind his massive, clutter-free desk is Prof. Dr. Friedrich Adler, the Dean of the Faculty of Law. He is a man who cares far more about university rankings, prestigious alumni galas, and corporate endowments than the actual, messy pursuit of justice.
His face is currently flushed a deep, unhealthy shade of crimson, a vein pulsing dangerously at his temple as he glares at the elderly professor. Standing near the roaring fireplace, completely ignoring the warmth of the flames, is Police General Matthias Kronwald.
The towering law enforcement veteran stands with his hands clasped firmly behind his back, his immaculate uniform decorated with decades of commendations. His sharp, predatory eyes lock onto Falkenberg, but instead of their usual brotherly warmth, they radiate a cold, absolute, and deeply personal disappointment.
"Please, have a seat, Dietcricht," Dean Friedrich Adler commands, his voice trembling slightly with barely contained, explosive rage. He does not gesture toward the comfortable leather armchairs; he simply glares at his most senior faculty member as if he were a deeply infectious disease that has just contaminated his pristine office. "Though I strongly suspect you already know exactly why I have summoned you here this morning, while the entire campus is completely losing its mind over the breaking news."
Falkenberg does not sit. He calmly approaches the center of the room, coming to a halt halfway between the furious dean and the silent police general. "I assume this urgent meeting pertains to the horrific, entirely unjustified arrest of my student, Erwin Takahashi von Stahlberg, at the central train station," Falkenbergreplies evenly, his deep voice resonating with an unshakeable, quiet authority that immediately irritates the dean. "An arrest that, I must add, is based on a spectacularly orchestrated, entirely fabricated illusion."
"An illusion?" Dean Adler suddenly erupts, slamming his open palm violently against the polished surface of his desk, the loud smack echoing sharply across the room. He pushes himself up from his high-backed leather chair, his face contorting with absolute, panicked fury. "Do you have any idea what you have done to this institution? You have completely destroyed our pristine reputation, Dietcricht! You have single-handedly dragged the absolute most prestigious law faculty in all of Hohenreich into a massive, highly publicized federal criminal scandal!"
Dean Adler begins to pace frantically behind his desk, gesturing wildly toward the tall windows as if the paparazzi are already swarming the campus gates. "For weeks, you utilized university resources and completely bypassed standard academic protocols to aggressively pursue a supposed cyber-harassment case for some undergraduate psychology student named Aoi Mizuno. You begged, you pleaded, and you actively pressured the highest levels of the federal police force to dig into those servers, absolutely convinced you were playing the noble, righteous hero!"
The dean stops pacing and points an accusing, trembling finger directly at Falkenberg's chest. "And what exactly did your brilliant, self-righteous crusade uncover? It did not find a petty stalker! It led the federal authorities directly to a multi-million Derhom international money laundering syndicate operating right under our very noses! And the mastermind? The sole registered owner of this massive criminal enterprise?" Dean Adler lets out a high, breathless laugh of pure hysteria. "It is Erwin! One of our top-tier scholarship students, the highly visible heir to the Stahlberg Konzern! The media will completely tear us apart by nightfall, suggesting we are actively harboring and educating corporate criminals!"
Falkenberg absorbs the frantic, cowardly tirade without a single flinch. He slowly shifts his gaze away from the panicking academic bureaucrat and looks directly at the silent, imposing figure standing by the fireplace. General Matthias Kronwald steps forward, stepping out of the flickering shadows cast by the flames. The heavy, polished medals on his chest clink softly against each other, a sharp, metallic sound that underscores the immense, terrifying power he wields.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
"The dean's theatrics aside, he is fundamentally correct about the sequence of events, Dietcricht," Matthiasbegins, his baritone voice dangerously low, stripped of all the camaraderie they have shared over thirty years of friendship.
"I deployed my absolute best cyber-forensics division. I pulled highly classified federal resources away from active national security threats specifically as a personal favor to you, because you called me and swore that an innocent girl was in grave danger." Matthias steps closer, closing the distance between them, his jaw clenched so tightly it looks as though it might shatter. "You told me it was a simple, targeted harassment campaign. You completely lied to me by omission, or worse, you were so blinded by your arrogant academic pride that you played me for an absolute fool."
"I never lied to you, Matthias," Falkenberg counters softly, holding the angry general's piercing gaze with absolute, unwavering sincerity. "When I asked you to trace the digital footprint of the attacks against Aoi Mizuno, I was genuinely seeking the source of her torment. I simply did not anticipate that the trail was a meticulously baited hook, intentionally left open to drag your investigators directly into a trap."
"A trap?" Matthias repeats, a harsh, deeply cynical sneer twisting his weathered features. He crosses his massive arms over his chest, looking at the brilliant professor as if he has completely lost his grip on reality. "You are insulting my intelligence, and you are insulting the tireless work of my entire department. My team did not fall into a trap; they executed a flawless, highly sophisticated decryption of an offshore banking network. Do you even understand the sheer magnitude of the evidence we confiscated from that Cayman Islands shell company?"
Matthias begins to list the devastating facts, firing them off like heavy artillery shells aimed directly at Falkenberg's defense. "We found heavily encrypted, structured banking ledgers moving exactly ten thousand Derhom a day to avoid federal detection. We found his biometric passport scans used to authenticate the servers. We found the digital signature of Erwin von Stahlberg on every single foundational document, verified by three independent forensic algorithms. The money funding the cyber-attacks against the girl came directly from his personal shadow accounts. It is not an illusion, Dietcricht. It is cold, hard, absolutely irrefutable physical evidence."
"It is a perfect forgery, Matthias!" Falkenberg insists, his voice finally rising, filling the grand office with the same terrifying, commanding presence he once utilized to dominate the Supreme Court.
He steps intimately close to the police general, his eyes blazing with a fierce, highly analytical fire. "You are an incredibly brilliant investigator, but you are failing to see the psychological architecture of the crime! Why would a billionaire heir, a young man who possesses the financial resources to buy military-grade quantum encryption, leave his personal biometric data and his actual passport scans sitting on a vulnerable offshore server? Why would he structure payments in a way that practically guarantees a red flag from the federal banking commission?"
Falkenberg gestures sharply with his hands, aggressively outlining the logical impossibilities of the police's narrative. "It is entirely too convenient! The security surrounding that shell company was deliberately compromised so your team would easily break through. It is a masterpiece of manipulation designed by Klaus von Stahlberg and his legal executioner, Conrad Lichtenberg. They entirely manufactured this digital syndicate, forged Erwin's signature, and fed it directly to you so that the federal police would do their dirty work and arrest a rebellious son who refuses to bend to his father's corrupt will!"
"That is an absolutely insane, highly defamatory conspiracy theory!" Dean Adler shouts from behind his desk, his face turning entirely pale at the mere mention of accusing the most powerful corporate titan in the country. "You are literally accusing Klaus von Stahlberg, a man whose charitable foundation funds half of the infrastructure in this city, of orchestrating a massive international felony just to discipline his college-aged son! Do you hear yourself, Dietcricht? You sound like a paranoid lunatic!"
"I sound like a man who actually understands the terrifying lengths to which absolute power will go to protect itself!" Falkenberg fires back at the dean without looking away from Matthias.
He keeps his intense focus entirely on the police general, desperately trying to reach the righteous lawman buried beneath the rigid regulations. "You know exactly how the Stahlberg Konzern operates in the shadows, Matthias. You know they purchase judges, intimidate witnesses, and rewrite the laws to suit their profit margins. Erwin is a brilliant, deeply moral young man who actively threatened his father's absolute control. This entire money laundering case is nothing but a carefully orchestrated corporate assassination, and your police force is holding the smoking gun!"
Matthias stares at the passionate, fiercely loyal professor for a long, agonizing moment. The silence in the grand office stretches out, heavy with the weight of decades of mutual respect hanging dangerously in the balance. For a brief, fleeting second, a shadow of genuine doubt flickers deep within the general's eyes, an acknowledgment that the remarkably convenient nature of the digital evidence does technically fit the ruthless, highly predatory profile of the Stahlberg empire.
But then, the rigid, uncompromising discipline of the uniform reasserts itself, completely extinguishing the spark of doubt. Matthias shakes his head slowly, his expression hardening into an impenetrable wall of professional detachment.
"I do not operate on psychological profiles, corporate conspiracy theories, or your deeply misplaced academic affection for a promising student," Matthias states with absolute, chilling finality. "I operate on the written law, and the law demands physical proof. Right now, the overwhelming mountain of digital forensics categorically proves that Erwin Takahashi von Stahlberg is a high-level federal criminal. If you possess this magical, exculpatory evidence proving that Klaus forged the documents, you submit it through the proper, highly regulated legal channels."
Matthias steps back, formally distancing himself from the man he once considered a close brother. "Until that day arrives, your student remains locked in a maximum-security federal holding cell, awaiting his arraignment. And I am formally warning you, Dietcricht, as a police officer and not as a friend. If you attempt to interfere with this active, highly classified federal investigation, if you attempt to tamper with witnesses or bypass the prosecuting attorneys, I will not hesitate to arrest you for obstruction of justice. Our friendship does not grant you immunity from the law."
The profound, agonizing sting of the betrayal hangs heavily in the air. Falkenberg looks at the rigid police general, absorbing the devastating reality that he has completely lost his most powerful ally within the system. He realizes that Klaus's trap was so flawlessly designed that it not only captured Erwin, but it also successfully blinded the very institutions meant to protect the innocent.
Before Falkenberg can formulate a response, Dean Friedrich Adler seizes the moment, eager to completely sever the university from the impending, highly toxic legal fallout. He marches around his massive mahogany desk, planting his feet firmly in the center of the room, puffing his chest out in a pathetic display of bureaucratic authority.
"The General has made the reality of the situation perfectly, absolutely clear," Dean Adler declares, his voice dripping with a cowardly, self-serving arrogance. "This faculty will not be dragged into a catastrophic war against the Stahlberg Konzern, nor will we antagonize the federal police force over a student who clearly possesses a deeply hidden, criminal double life. Therefore, Professor Falkenberg, I am issuing a direct, non-negotiable administrative order."
Dean Adler stares directly into Falkenberg's calm, unblinking eyes, completely unaware of the dangerous, dormant predator he is attempting to leash. "Effective immediately, you are explicitly forbidden from utilizing any university resources, legal clinics, or academic personnel to assist in the criminal defense of Erwin von Stahlberg. You will not speak to the press on his behalf, and you will absolutely not attach the prestigious name of the University of Hohenreich to this miserable, filthy scandal."
The dean leans in slightly, delivering his ultimate, heavy-handed threat. "If you choose to disobey this direct directive, if you insist on playing the rogue, crusading lawyer on your own personal time, I will immediately convene the board of trustees and have your tenure formally revoked. You will be stripped of your professorship, permanently disgraced, and physically escorted off this campus. Do I make myself completely, perfectly clear, Dietcricht?"
Falkenberg slowly turns his head to look at the sweating, panicked dean. He does not yell. He does not argue. He simply stares at the pathetic, status-obsessed bureaucrat with an expression of such profound, chilling pity that Dean Adler involuntarily takes a small step backward. Falkenberg sees the invisible strings of fear and corporate influence wrapping tightly around the dean's throat, recognizing that the academic institution he loves has already surrendered to the encroaching darkness.
"You have made yourself impeccably clear, Friedrich," Falkenberg replies softly, his voice echoing with a calm, terrifying serenity that deeply unnerves both men in the room. He reaches up and slowly adjusts his suit jacket, a meticulous, highly deliberate gesture of finality. "You have clearly prioritized the hollow prestige of your precious rankings over the fundamental, absolute truth. You are completely terrified of the wolves, so you are eagerly offering them the sheep to save your own skin."
Falkenberg looks back at General Matthias Kronwald one last time, offering a slow, deeply sorrowful nod of goodbye. "And you, Matthias, have chosen to blindly trust the ink on a fabricated page over the soul of a living, breathing young man. You are both actively choosing the comfort of the lie over the immense, terrifying difficulty of the truth."
Without waiting for a dismissal or offering another word of argument, Professor Dietcricht Falkenberg turns on his heel and strides purposefully toward the heavy double doors.
He grasps the brass handles, pulls the doors open, and steps out into the quiet, echoing hallway, leaving the two powerful men standing in a tense, highly uncomfortable silence. As the heavy doors click shut behind him, completely severing his ties to the institutional support he has relied on for years, Falkenberg does not feel a shred of fear.
He walks down the empty, marble corridor, listening to the violent storm continuing to rage against the tall windows. He is now officially a lone wolf, completely stripped of his academic armor and completely isolated from his law enforcement allies.
But as a cold, incredibly dangerous smile touches the corners of his mouth, the former Supreme Court Justice realizes that he is finally, truly free to fight the Stahlberg empire exactly the way he did in the past. He is entirely off the leash, and he is fully prepared to burn their perfect forgery to the ground, no matter the personal cost.
The Hohenwald Police Precinct stands as a monolithic fortress of grey concrete. Its harsh fluorescent lights bleed out into the freezing winter storm like a sterile beacon of institutional despair. The relentless rain hammers against the heavy glass doors of the main lobby, creating a chaotic rhythm. This violent weather perfectly matches the frantic, desperate heartbeats of the university students rushing inside.
Aoi Mizuno bursts through the heavy entrance, her winter coat soaked completely through. Her chest heaves violently as she gasps for the warm, stale, and highly oppressive air of the precinct. Closely flanking her are Samuel Weiss, Felix, Marek, Jonas, and Ryo. Their faces are pale with sheer exhaustion, yet hardened by an unbreakable, fierce loyalty to their captured friend.
They completely ignore the hostile, suspicious glares of the armed patrol officers milling about the crowded lobby. The group marches with absolute, unified purpose directly toward the high, bulletproof glass of the main reception desk. Behind the reinforced barrier sits a veteran desk sergeant. He is a heavily built man with tired eyes and a thick mustache, aggressively stamping a tall stack of incident reports.
He looks up slowly, his expression immediately twisting into a mask of deep bureaucratic annoyance. He views the group of dripping, frantic university students crowding the front of his station as a mere nuisance. "We need to see Erwin Takahashi von Stahlberg immediately," Samuel demands, stepping right up to the glass. He completely drops his usual arrogant playboy persona, adopting the sharp, commanding tone of a man accustomed to wielding immense corporate wealth.
His voice projects clearly through the small metal speaker grill cut into the thick glass barrier. "He was brought in on federal charges a few hours ago, and we are here to officially request an immediate visitation as his designated emergency contacts," Samuel states firmly. The desk sergeant lets out a harsh, incredibly cynical bark of laughter. He shakes his head as he drops his heavy ink stamp onto the desk with a loud, dismissive thud.
"You kids must be completely out of your minds if you think you can just waltz in here and demand a social visit with a high-risk federal suspect," the sergeant sneers. He leans forward until his weathered face is mere inches from the smudged glass. "The suspect in question is currently being held under maximum security protocols for international money laundering and cyber-terrorism."
He glares fiercely at the group of students, asserting his absolute authority over the lobby. "All standard visitation privileges are indefinitely suspended pending his formal arraignment before a federal judge. So, I suggest you all turn around and walk back out into the rain before I decide to charge you with loitering in a restricted area." Hearing the brutal, absolute rejection, Aoi feels her knees weaken dangerously.
A fresh wave of terrifying, suffocating panic threatens to completely pull her under the dark waters of despair. She steps forward, placing her trembling hands flat against the cold, smudged glass barrier. Her tear-streaked face pleads desperately with the hardened, unsympathetic police officer. "Please, you have to let me see him, just for five minutes so I can know that he is alive and okay," Aoi begs.
Her voice cracks with a profound, shattering grief that echoes painfully in the quiet, echoing lobby. "He is entirely innocent, he has been severely hurt by your tactical officers on the platform, and he is completely alone down there in the dark!" The sergeant merely rolls his eyes, entirely unmoved by the highly emotional display. He reaches lazily for the heavy telephone receiver to call for lobby security to forcibly remove the disruptive youths.
But before his fingers can even brush the handset, Samuel Weiss steps aggressively in front of Aoi. His eyes flash with a cold, incredibly dangerous legal fire. It is a lethal intensity that he explicitly learned by watching Erwin completely dismantle opponents in the university mock trial arenas. "Under Article 45, Section 3 of the Hohenreich Federal Detainee Rights Act, a suspect held in pre-arraignment custody retains absolute, constitutional rights," Samuel recites flawlessly.
His voice echoes with the terrifying, absolute authority of a highly seasoned, ruthless corporate litigator. "He possesses the unalienable right to receive an emergency wellness visitation from a primary contact to ascertain his physical condition and secure proper legal representation. Furthermore, if you arbitrarily deny this constitutionally protected right while the suspect is actively suffering from documented physical trauma inflicted by your arresting officers, there will be consequences."
Samuel leans extremely close to the speaker grill, his eyes narrowing into lethal, uncompromising slits. "I will personally guarantee that my family's firm files a massive, highly publicized civil rights lawsuit against this specific precinct by sunrise," he threatens smoothly. "I will absolutely bury your career in so much endless, agonizing litigation that you will be directing traffic in a blizzard for the rest of your miserable life."
He stares directly into the sergeant's widening eyes, daring the man to test his incredible wealth and influence. "Now, process the damn visitation request, or pick up that phone and explain to the Chief of Police why a simple wellness check is about to cost the city millions in a brutality settlement." The desk sergeant completely freezes in his chair. His hand hovers uselessly over the telephone receiver as he stares at the incredibly wealthy, sharply dressed young man issuing the devastating threat.
The sergeant swallows hard, his bureaucratic arrogance entirely evaporating under the crushing, undeniable weight of Samuel's flawless legal argument. He slowly pulls his hand back from the phone, typing furiously on his mechanical keyboard with a heavy, defeated sigh. "Fine, you win on a technicality, kid," the sergeant growls angrily. A small green light suddenly flashes on the heavy steel security door to his right, signaling a temporary unlock.
"But I am only authorizing a single visitor for exactly ten minutes in the secure observation room," the sergeant warns harshly. "And absolutely no physical contact is permitted unless explicitly authorized by the guarding officer stationed inside." The boys instantly and unanimously turn to look at Aoi, their expressions softening with profound, brotherly compassion. They know she is the only one who truly needs to walk through that door right now.
"Go," Felix urges her gently, placing a reassuring, warm hand on her damp winter coat. "Tell him that we are actively fighting for him out here, and tell him that Timothy has exactly what we need to end this nightmare." Aoi nods fiercely, wiping the fresh, cold tears from her pale cheeks as she squares her shoulders. She draws upon the immense, unyielding "Water" nature within her soul to find the strength she so desperately needs.
She steps through the heavy, buzzing security door, leaving her fiercely loyal friends behind in the lobby. She follows a silent, heavily armed corrections officer down into the bleak, terrifying depths of the precinct. The walk through the subterranean corridors feels like a slow, agonizing descent into a concrete nightmare. The ambient air grows progressively colder, smelling strongly of industrial bleach, rusted iron, and stagnant despair.
The armed guard leads Aoi to a thick, reinforced steel door clearly marked 'Interrogation Room B'. He swipes his electronic keycard to unlock the heavy deadbolts with a loud, intimidating metallic clack. "Ten minutes, miss, and keep your hands where I can clearly see them at all times," the guard instructs her gruffly. He pushes the heavy door open and steps aside to let her enter the sterile, windowless chamber.
Aoi steps cautiously into the freezing room, her heart pounding so violently against her ribs that she can hear the rushing of her own blood. Sitting entirely alone at the center of the room, chained securely to a heavy stainless-steel table, is Erwin Takahashi von Stahlberg. He is no longer wearing the warm, oversized flannel jacket he borrowed from her father in Lichtfeld.
Instead, he is dressed in a thin, degrading, bright orange federal prison uniform that practically swallows his lean, athletic frame. As the heavy steel door clicks shut behind her, Erwin slowly lifts his heavy head. The horrific, unfiltered sight of his battered face completely shatters the fragile, carefully constructed remnants of Aoi's composure.
His sharp, highly aristocratic features are heavily bruised and terrifyingly swollen from the brutal police batons. A deep, jagged laceration cuts aggressively across his left cheekbone, the blood dried into a dark, painful crust. His usually perfectly styled dark hair hangs in a messy, exhausted tangle over his sweaty forehead. Yet, the very moment his dark, incredibly tired eyes lock onto Aoi's face, a profound change occurs.
A breathtaking spark of absolute adoration and immense relief entirely eclipses the physical agony etched into his features. "You came," Erwin whispers softly. His voice is a raw, incredibly hoarse rasp that completely betrays the immense suffering he has endured in the dark over the last few hours. Aoi completely ignores the strict, verbal instructions of the armed guard standing just outside the glass observation window.
She rushes frantically across the cold concrete floor, throwing her arms desperately around Erwin's neck. She presses her tear-soaked face deep into the crook of his shoulder, holding him with a fierce, terrifying intensity. She desperately tries to shield his battered body from the cold, sterile cruelty of the federal institution. Erwinlets out a soft, involuntary gasp of pain as her tight embrace presses against his severely bruised, aching ribs.
But he absolutely does not pull away from her warmth. He awkwardly lifts his heavy, handcuffed wrists, the steel chains rattling loudly in the quiet room. He rests his bound hands gently against her back, burying his bleeding face in her damp, sweet-smelling hair. He inhales her familiar scent like a drowning man finally breaking the surface of the freezing water for a breath of air.
"I am so incredibly sorry, Aoi," Erwin murmurs brokenly against her ear. His voice trembles with a profound, soul-crushing guilt that hurts him infinitely more than the police batons ever could. "I promised I would protect you and your family from his wrath. Instead, I let my father drag you directly into this terrifying nightmare, and I completely failed you."
"Do not you ever say that to me, Erwin, do not you dare apologize," Aoi sobs fiercely. She pulls back just enough to frame his battered, bruised face delicately with both of her warm, trembling hands. She stares directly into his dark, exhausted eyes. Her own gaze blazes with an absolute, unyielding conviction that cuts perfectly through his suffocating curtain of despair.
"You did not fail anyone, because this fight is far from over," Aoi declares passionately. "Your father is a cowardly monster who plays by corrupt rules, but he is going to lose this war tonight. Timothy successfully cracked the secondary encryption on the stolen flash drive, Erwin. We possess the raw, unaltered corporate communications."
She leans closer, making sure he hears every single life-saving word. "We have the emails proving that Klausand Conrad fabricated the entire offshore company and explicitly forged your signature to trigger the federal raid." A sudden, breathless shock washes over Erwin's battered face. His eyes widen in pure, unadulterated disbelief as the monumental, miraculous reality of her words truly sinks in.
"You actually have the original metadata?" Erwin asks, his voice barely a breath. A fragile, beautiful dawn of genuine hope finally breaks over the dark, desolate horizon of his exhausted mind. "If you possess those internal server logs, the entire federal indictment collapses instantly. It proves the money laundering charges are a complete and utter malicious prosecution orchestrated by a third party."
"Professor Falkenberg is drafting the massive federal injunction right now alongside Samuel and the others at the campus," Aoi confirms enthusiastically. A fierce, triumphant smile breaks through her flowing tears as she gently strokes his uninjured cheek with her thumb. "We are not just going to get you out of here, Erwin. We are going to expose your father's entire corrupt empire to the international press and burn his perfect forgery to the absolute ground."
Before Erwin can fully formulate a joyful response to this incredible, miraculous revelation, the heavy steel door of the interrogation room suddenly clicks open. It swings wide with a sharp, commanding finality that startles them both. The armed guard steps inside, but he is not looking angrily at the young couple for breaking the physical contact rule. He immediately steps respectfully aside.
His posture stiffens with an unexpected, highly unnatural deference, making way for a towering, incredibly imposing figure to enter the cramped room. The man who steps boldly into the harsh fluorescent light possesses an aura of absolute, terrifying legal supremacy. It instantly dominates the entire space, completely eclipsing the sterile, oppressive atmosphere of the police precinct.
He is dressed in an impeccably tailored, three-piece charcoal suit that screams of old European money and immense prestige. He is draped in a heavy, dark cashmere overcoat that sweeps elegantly around his long legs as he walks. His sharp, highly aristocratic features are beautifully weathered by years of brutal, high-stakes federal litigation. His piercing, storm-grey eyes radiate an incredibly sharp, calculating intelligence that completely analyzes the room in a fraction of a second.
He carries a sleek, vintage leather briefcase in one hand, gripping the brass handle tightly. He walks with the steady, unshakeable confidence of a man who routinely makes corrupt federal judges sweat nervously on their elevated benches. He is absolutely not a corporate lapdog like Conrad Lichtenberg. This man carries the distinct, lethal energy of a battle-hardened gladiator who fights his bloody wars entirely within the confines of a courtroom.
"I hope I am not improperly interrupting a crucial, privileged strategy session between my new client and his highly dedicated support team," the mysterious man announces. His voice is a deep, incredibly smooth baritone that echoes with perfect, theatrical diction. It carries a slight, sophisticated aristocratic Hohenreich accent that commands immediate, absolute attention.
Erwin stares intensely at the stranger. His dormant legal instincts instantly flare to life despite his immense physical exhaustion. He immediately recognizes the incredibly expensive tailoring, the supremely confident posture, and the undeniable, predatory aura of a master litigator. "Aoi, who exactly is this man?" Erwin asks cautiously.
His protective instincts surge wildly as he subconsciously shifts his battered body slightly in front of her. He is utterly unsure if this is simply another one of his father's highly paid, lethal corporate assassins sent to manipulate him into a false confession. The imposing man offers a small, genuinely respectful smile. He sets his heavy leather briefcase down onto the stainless-steel table with a definitive, echoing thud.
"My profound apologies for the sudden, highly dramatic intrusion into your evening," the lawyer introduces himself formally. He unbuttons his luxurious cashmere overcoat with a fluid, highly practiced grace. "My name is Dr. Alaric von Hohenberg, Senior Managing Partner at Hohenberg & Veritas Rechtsanw?lte."
He looks directly at Erwin, completely ignoring the armed guard standing awkwardly by the door. "And to answer your unspoken, highly suspicious question, Mr. Stahlberg, I absolutely do not work for your father. Nor do I answer to the corrupt corporate cronies currently occupying the glittering glass towers in the capital city."
Dr. Alaric von Hohenberg turns his piercing, storm-grey eyes directly toward Aoi. His highly intimidating expression softens dramatically into a look of profound, genuine warmth and deep, respectful recognition. "I am standing here tonight because exactly forty-five minutes ago, I received a highly frantic, incredibly desperate telephone call from a man named Hiroshi Mizuno."
The lawyer pauses, allowing the heavy weight of that specific name to hang in the freezing air. "He begged me to utilize every resource at my disposal to save the life of the brave young man who fiercely protected his daughter." The absolute magnitude of that revelation hits Erwin like a physical, staggering blow to his chest. It causes his breath to catch painfully in his bruised throat.
He stares in pure, unadulterated astonishment at the impeccably dressed, legendary lawyer standing casually before him. This is the man. This is the elusive, mythical ghost that Erwin spent hours desperately hunting for in the dark on the rain-soaked back porch in Lichtfeld. This is the brilliant, incredibly selfless pro-bono attorney who sacrificed his own immense personal wealth to battle the monolithic Stahlberg empire.
This is the very man who successfully saved Hiroshi and the thousands of starving textile workers at the mill two years ago. The universe has incredibly, miraculously brought the legendary, untouchable hero of Lichtfeld directly to his freezing prison cell. "You are the lawyer from the massive labor strike," Erwin breathes out.
His voice is heavily laced with absolute awe and profound reverence. He is looking directly at the man he so deeply aspires to emulate in his own legal career. "You fought my father's entire ruthless legal division completely alone. You cornered them and forced the Stahlberg Konzern into a massive, highly humiliating financial settlement."
"I did indeed, though I must humbly admit that I utilized a few highly unconventional, aggressively hostile tactics to finally break their corporate blockade," Dr. Alaric replies smoothly. A fierce, highly dangerous glint flashes in his storm-grey eyes at the fond memory of the brutal legal bloodbath. He steps closer to the metal table, looking down closely at Erwin's battered, bruised face.
He takes careful, clinical note of the physical violence inflicted upon the young man by the federal authorities. His expression hardens rapidly into a mask of cold, professional outrage at the blatant, highly illegal abuse of police power. "Your father is an incredibly arrogant, deeply predictable tyrant who foolishly believes that throwing money at the police force makes him an untouchable god," Dr. Alaric states with absolute disgust.
"He thinks he has flawlessly trapped you in a permanent, inescapable corner, completely isolated from any competent legal defense." Dr. Alaric von Hohenberg reaches out firmly. He places an incredibly reassuring, heavy hand on Erwin's uninjured shoulder. He treats the battered, disgraced suspect with the utmost dignity and absolute, unwavering respect.
"But Hiroshi informed me that you are a young man of exceptional moral character," Dr. Alaric states proudly. His voice resonates with an unshakeable, absolute certainty that completely fills the oppressive room. "He told me you are a brilliant legal mind who actively chose to stand against your own corrupt bloodline to protect the innocent. Therefore, I am officially taking over as your lead defense counsel, effective immediately."
He taps his vintage leather briefcase, his eyes shining with the promise of absolute destruction. "We are going to take the decrypted evidence your fiercely loyal friends have secured. We are going to march directly into the highest federal courthouse in this country. And we are going to completely and utterly dismantle Klaus von Stahlberg's perfect forgery."
Erwin looks up at the legendary lawyer. A profound, overwhelming sense of deep gratitude washes away the very last lingering shadows of his fear. "Dr. Hohenberg, I must be completely honest with you before you commit to this," Erwin says. His voice breaks slightly with genuine emotion and deep financial embarrassment.
"My personal trust fund and all of my known domestic bank accounts have been entirely frozen by the federal anti-money laundering division. I currently possess absolutely zero financial assets." He looks down at his handcuffed wrists. "I cannot possibly afford to pay your exorbitant retainer fee for a case of this massive, highly complex federal magnitude."
Dr. Alaric lets out a warm, incredibly genuine laugh. He shakes his head in absolute amusement as he opens his leather briefcase. He reveals thick stacks of freshly drafted, highly aggressive federal legal injunctions. "Keep your money, son, I have absolutely no need for his dirty corporate wealth," Dr. Alaric declares.
He offers a fierce, beautiful, and absolutely terrifying smile that promises an apocalyptic legal war. "Watching the absolute, deeply humiliating public destruction of Klaus von Stahlberg's empire in a federal courtroom will be the greatest, most deeply satisfying payment I could ever possibly receive. Now, let us get to work and get you the hell out of this cage."
