The air inside the clinic was as stagnant as a pool of dead water. The only sound was the wall clock ticking—tick, tock—counting down the remaining time of John Doe's freedom.

  The lawyer's letter, claiming 8.5 million in damages, sat on the center of the table like a death warrant.

  "Boss, that was the twelfth one."

  Grace's holographic projection looked dim; even her twin tails drooped. She looked defeated as she closed a video window labeled [Connection Terminated].

  "That last one was a 'Legal Advisor' from a Cultivation Sect in the Eastern Plane. The moment he heard it was a lawsuit against the Necromancy Guild, he said this constitutes 'Betraying the Master and Destroying Ancestors,' a capital offense... He won't take it."

  "There was also a Contract Devil from the Magic Plane. He was willing to take the case, but his fee is half your soul. And he doesn't guarantee a win, only that if you lose, you get a private cell in Hell."

  John groaned, raking his hands through his hair until it looked like a bird's nest. He paced back and forth, the friction of his shoes against the floor sounding harsh in the silent room.

  "Different legal systems, incompatible logic. This is a dead end."

  He looked at the pitiful 500 Merit Points on his iPad. In front of this massive judicial machine, that amount wasn't even enough to buy a lawyer a cup of coffee. The Guild had hired the top legal team in the city, led by a Chief Counsel named Solomon who didn't even need to argue logic—he just needed to crush John under a mountain of statutes.

  "Do we really have to run?" John muttered. "Take Mom and Bone, and live like rats in the sewers forever?"

  "Boss, I don't get it."

  Bone, who had been polishing the large-caliber pistol (still empty of bullets) in the corner, suddenly spoke up. His shiny skull reflected the dim light, and his jaw clicked with simple confusion.

  "Last time... that lady in the pajamas... the Landlady. We didn't pay her anything, right? You just let her curse to her heart's content, and that one shout saved us everything."

  John's pacing came to a sudden halt.

  He stared blankly at Bone. A rusty gear in his brain seemed to click into place.

  "Didn't pay... because she wanted to curse?"

  Epiphany.

  John grabbed the Yin-Yang iPad, his fingers trembling slightly. He had been trapped in the mindset of "hiring people with money," forgetting the true nature of this system—it was a black market of Karma and Desire!

  Some Heroic Spirits wanted money for energy.

  Some wanted offerings for their obsessions.

  But there was another kind... they didn't want money or offerings. They wanted... a Challenge.

  Just like the Landlady needed to vent her rage, just like Tesla needed to prove his tower. If he could find someone who inherently craved a "desperate lawsuit"...

  "Dead horse, living medicine... let's try it."

  John stopped looking at the expensive Gold Medal Lawyers and went straight to the rarely visited [Flea Market / Bargain Zone].

  He typed a string of extremely abstract keywords into the search bar:

  [Keywords: Argumentative, Sophistry, Challenging Authority, Impossible Lawsuit]

  The screen flickered. Countless names scrolled by. Finally, the list settled on an option with no avatar, only a giant black question mark.

  [Responder: ??? (Concept-Type Heroic Spirit)]

  [Class: Lawyer / Debater / Rule Breaker]

  [Win Rate: Unknown (But he has never admitted defeat)]

  [Summon Cost: 0 Merit.]

  [Special Requirement: Only accepts "Unwinnable" cases. Warning: If the case isn't interesting enough, accept the consequences.]

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  "Concept-Type?" Grace leaned in, gasping. "Boss, this is a High-Risk Category! They don't have a fixed historical prototype; they are an aggregation of a 'Concept'! These guys usually have bizarre personalities... possibly even lunatics!"

  "Lunatics?" John looked at the lawyer's letter, a grim smile curling his lips. "Can they be crazier than my life right now?"

  He took a deep breath and pressed the question mark.

  ZZZT—

  There were no golden light effects. A harsh burst of white noise erupted from the iPad's speakers. Then, the screen turned a depressing, high-contrast black and white.

  A voice came through the pixelated blur. It was deep, magnetic, yet filled with a careless arrogance.

  "This is the Legal Aid Center's trash can. If you're here to cry about how wronged you are, hang up. I don't do therapy. If you're looking for someone to help you evade taxes or find loopholes, turn left and find that guy named Saul."

  "Give me one reason not to hang up. Three seconds."

  The voice was cold, like a scalpel dissecting John's nerves.

  John panicked. He wasn't good with words, and under this pressure, he stammered.

  "Wait! Don't hang up! I... I have a big case!" John shouted at the screen. "They want 8.5 million! It's the Necromancy Guild! They want to demolish my house and put me in jail! I'm innocent!"

  The voice on the other end didn't waver. "Innocent? Everyone says they're innocent. Boring. One second."

  "No! It's not just money!" John was sweating profusely, speaking at rapid-fire speed. "They... they cut my power, I just generated some myself, and they called it theft! They blasted noise at me, I shouted back, and they called it destruction of public property! It's unfair! My mom is sick..."

  BEEP—

  The signal bars on the screen turned red. The finger on the other side was clearly hovering over the 'End Call' button.

  "Sounds like a typical story of a low-life getting crushed by power," the voice dripped with boredom. "Tragic, but dull. These cases are everywhere. I have no interest in wiping tears for the little guy."

  The connection was about to break.

  John felt despair. His mind went blank. Logic and structure vanished, leaving only the raw, absurd feeling of being backed into a corner.

  "This isn't a lawsuit!"

  John roared, embracing the chaos.

  "This is... This is a shark suing a fish for illegal swimming! Because the ocean belongs to the shark!"

  The finger that was about to hang up suddenly stopped.

  The black and white pixels on the screen rippled slightly.

  "What did you say?" The voice held a trace of imperceptible fluctuation. "Say that again."

  John was panting heavily, unaware he had just said something profound. He just continued to vent his frustration:

  "I said... I said this is a joke! They wrote the laws, they interpret the laws, and they are the judges! They use the Necromancy Act they wrote to judge me, a Necromancer! How is this a lawsuit? This is... this is a Closed Loop! A perfect dead loop designed so no one can survive!"

  John slumped against the table, his voice dropping. "Anyway... within these rules, whatever I do is wrong."

  Silence.

  Dead silence lasted for a full ten seconds.

  John's heart went cold. It's over. He definitely thinks I'm crazy.

  But the next second, a chuckle came from the screen.

  "Heh... Hahahaha!"

  The laughter grew louder, filled with a neurotic excitement, like a hunter spotting the ultimate prey.

  "A shark suing a fish for illegal swimming... A perfect dead loop... The legislative, executive, and judicial trinity of absolute hegemony..."

  The black and white shadows on the screen began to twist, gradually converging into a human silhouette. It was a projection of a man in an old-fashioned suit, with messy hair and eyes as sharp as a hawk.

  He didn't look at John's despairing face. Instead, he stared intently at the lawyer's letter on the table, as if seeing through the paper to the massive, arrogant system behind it.

  "Kid, you are clumsy. You can barely speak."

  The man (or rather, the Concept Entity) no longer sounded cold. His voice was filled with fanaticism.

  "But you just inadvertently described a... remarkably beautiful monster."

  "A dealer with 'Absolute Interpretation Rights,' suing a player destined to lose in a game they designed."

  The projection reached out, seemingly "stroking" the image of the lawyer's letter through the air.

  "This is no longer a legal issue. This is the Tyranny of Logic. This is the greatest mockery of the word 'Justice'."

  He looked up sharply, his eyes—which had no pupils—fixing on John.

  "I'll take this case."

  John was stunned. "Huh? But... but I can't afford the legal fees. I only have 500 Merit Points..."

  "Money?"

  The man waved his hand dismissively. His projected finger poked right through the screen, pointing at John's head.

  "Who cares about something so vulgar? A losing game like this? The thrill of challenging absolute authority? The excitement of tearing down the stage while their BGM plays? Can money buy that?"

  "My fee structure is simple."

  The man's voice dropped, carrying a devilish temptation.

  "I will fight this case for you. If we lose, I take nothing. I'll even offer myself to your skeleton as a spare bone."

  "But if we win..."

  "I want all the 'Awe,' 'Fear,' and 'Disbelief' generated by this trial. In other words... you must yield all the 'Fame' of the highlight moment in court to me."

  "I want the legal circles of New Babylon to whisper the legend of the 'Mad Lawyer' for years to come."

  John's mouth hung open.

  No money? He wants fame? He wants a legend?

  For an E-Class fugitive whose reputation was already in the gutter, this was like manna from heaven!

  "Deal!" John shouted, terrified the man would change his mind.

  "Excellent."

  The man adjusted a tie that didn't actually exist and pulled a book as thick as a brick from his pocket—his self-authored Guide to Anti-Logic Defense.

  "Now, tell me everything. Every detail. Even down to how many wires you used when you 'stole' that electricity."

  He looked at John, a dangerous light flickering in his eyes.

  "Let's teach these self-righteous Guild idiots... what true 'Justice' looks like when the law becomes a shackle."

  John looked at this wild new teammate, then at the bewildered Bone and Grace.

  He suddenly felt that the 8.5 million claim wasn't a death sentence.

  It was an admission ticket.

  An admission ticket to madness.

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