^[1]T/NL such an emotional chapter. The song is Superheroes by The Script

Jane had thought she was ready. She’d imagined herself walking up there, standing before her tormentors, ripping apart their fabricated expressions, and denouncing them for her suffering. She wanted the world to hear, to know what kind of scum they were—unworthy of existing in this world.

But just seeing their faces on the screen and hearing their voices made her shake with rage. She opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t voice her accusations. All she wanted to do was lunge at them, tear them apart. The darkness of those despairing days closed in on her again, engulfing her.

Jane realized she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t calmly and coherently recount the criminals’ deeds. Despite the help of the nurse and psychologist, she felt utterly exposed under the cameras, as if she were standing naked before them. Even demanding justice for herself felt like the desperate pleas of a beggar.

The criminals loomed tall, and she was small and defenseless.

Tiny shafts of light streamed through the small window in the waiting room. Jane stared at the faint glow, transfixed, as if time had stopped. In that stillness, no one could hurt her, but no one could save her either.

Until—

Music shattered the stillness, bursting through like sunlight piercing a darkened sky.

“All the life—she has seen—”

(She’s lived through such a life…)

Jane froze.

“All the meaner side of me—”

(She’s seen all the cruel sides of humanity…)

It was a child’s voice.

Before the song carried into the courtroom, a journalist from The New York Chronicle, Jeff, noticed something unusual outside the courthouse. During recess, he had stepped out to use the restroom, camera in hand as always.

Through the bathroom window, he saw a crowd gathering outside the courthouse. People streamed in from all directions—crossing streets, scrolling on their phones, stepping out of coffee shops. They seemed summoned by some invisible call, converging at the courthouse steps.

Even the court security officers seemed puzzled. These people weren’t storming the courthouse—

And they didn’t appear to be armed.

Jeff, intrigued, rushed outside, camera ready. A truck screeched to a halt, and the crowd—some seventy or eighty people—began unloading… wait, instruments?

It was a ragtag band made up of Gotham locals. As they began tuning their instruments, Jeff couldn’t help but frown. It was painfully obvious this was an amateur group, barely able to stay in tune.

But why were they performing outside the courthouse?

As they finished a rough rendition of one song, Jeff stood up, intending to return to the courtroom. Just as he turned, he heard more footsteps—closer, louder, and more numerous.

From the left side of the road came a group of children, no older than ten at the most, some as young as seven or eight. Leading them were priests and nuns. Was this Gotham’s local church choir? The number of kids seemed far larger than usual.

From the right came another group: white-collar workers fresh off work, tattooed hip-hop enthusiasts, construction workers, and even bewildered tourists swept along by the gathering crowd.

Jeff raised his camera as hundreds of people converged into one mass. The children stood at the front, the band encircled in the middle. As the rough, imperfect music flowed out, the children began to sing.

“All the life—she has seen—”

(She’s lived through such a life…)

“All the meaner side of me—”

(She’s seen the cruelest side of humanity…)

She had endured a life filled with hardship and had witnessed the darkest sides of human nature. The gods had never shown mercy, and in the face of malice, everyone was equally small and powerless.

Jeff instinctively took a step back. Then, one by one, others joined in. Adult voices mixed with the sharp, clear voices of the children, creating a deeper and more powerful harmony.

“She’s got a lion in her heart…”

(There’s a lion in her heart…)

“A fire in her soul…”

(A fire burning in her soul…)

“He’s got a beast in his belly…”

(There’s a beast in his chest…)

“That’s so hard to control…”

(A beast that’s so hard to control…)

The combined voices of hundreds drowned out the earlier sounds of instruments and children. The music poured into the courtroom during recess, drawing people to the hallways. Nora helped Jane to the window as the sound grew louder, almost like a roar.

“Cause they’ve taken too much hits…”

(Because they’ve endured too many blows…)

“Taking blow by blow…”

(Weary, battered, and broken…)

Now let them be illuminated. Let it all be illuminated.

Jane rested her forehead against the windowpane, the vibrations of the glass echoing the powerful song.

“When you’ve been fighting…”

(When you’ve been fighting…)

“For it all your life…”

(For your entire life…)

When you’ve fought with all your might to change your fate, to alter your life—

You are a hero.

The immense, surging sound poured through the doors. Other than the defendants shackled in their seats, almost everyone left the courtroom to step outside and immerse themselves in the song.

Jeff pressed his camera’s shutter repeatedly, capturing one face after another. Yet it felt inadequate. More people were gathering, some with a clear sense of purpose, others bewildered but swept up in the collective singing. Farther off, someone recorded the scene on video. A court officer gripped his gun uncertainly, as if wondering whether to fire a warning shot.

Jeff moved closer to the officer, only to hear him softly singing along.

“That’s how a superhero learns to fly…”

(That’s how a hero learns to fly through pain…)

As the song ended, the music softened. Someone leaped atop the truck, clumsily directing the orchestra to restart. The music began again, rough and imperfect. Dusk fell as priests brought out candles, lighting them one by one, passing the flames from hand to hand. They continued lighting, passing, and singing until their voices were hoarse.

—But the light had already become a sea of stars.

Jeff didn’t even remember when he returned to the courtroom. A woman had taken the witness stand, though her face remained obscured, blurred in his vision by orange flickers of candlelight. Her features seemed swallowed by the firelight, reduced to hazy outlines.

He heard her voice, steady but trembling slightly. In contrast, the men at the defendant’s table grew increasingly agitated, their tones more erratic and desperate.

By the time Jeff snapped back to full awareness, the only sound left was the judge’s gavel striking.

The trial was over. The dust had settled.

The South Hinckley case, involving 1,187 individuals from New Haven, Detroit, and other regions, was consolidated and transferred to Washington for retrial. Only after this would the extensive web of drug and human trafficking—from South Hinckley to New Haven, Detroit, and even St. Petersburg—be resolved.

The final outcome? Some suspects would face extradition and execution abroad.

This included Roman Sionis, a.k.a. Black Mask. Tragically, Roman was “on the run,” avoiding capture, while others in his circle would face their end before him.

As the criminals were escorted out and the judges vacated their seats, the audience stood. Someone—no one knew who—started clapping. Then another joined. Applause rippled through the room, accompanied by knowing smiles exchanged across the gallery.

Outside, the fading music and song gave way to a massive cheer. It burst through the courthouse walls, loud enough to fill the room. It lasted several minutes, even after the applause inside had quieted.

Bruce Wayne glanced at Mayor Alek, who seemed lost in thought, staring at a blank wall. Or perhaps she was gazing beyond the crowd. Either way, a faint smile graced her face.

It might have been a good time for dinner—a gathering with Dick, Tim, Commissioner Gordon, Barbara, and even the warden and Vivi. Bruce thought it would feel like a family dinner, albeit an oddly large one.

Before he could extend the invitation, the warden approached the mayor. The two women walked out side by side, nodding to others but politely declining all invitations.

…So much for that.

But Bruce wasn’t wrong. Vivi was indeed looking at something—

Her approval rating.

Frankly, she had nearly forgotten about her reputation system.

When the system first activated, 50% of Gotham’s population recognized her as mayor. At the time, her rating was [Neutral Leaning Negative].

Just now, her approval had climbed significantly. The system indicated 75% of Gothamites now knew her, with the rating updated to [Neutral Leaning Positive].

[Current Influence: Regardless of where you are, your influence will encompass your subordinates. All subordinates’ loyalty level: 3.]

[Current Perception: When someone is too distant from you, people tend to hesitate in making a clear judgment. Many vaguely think you’re a good person, though some distrust you inherently due to your profession.]

[Alignment: Neutral leaning toward good.]

[Current level insufficient to enact changes to Gotham’s legal system. Please continue to raise your reputation.]

It seemed that, despite the significant increase in reputation, Vivi couldn’t yet accomplish any major changes. She set it aside for now and quickly shifted identities.

The criminals were scheduled to be transferred to Washington at dawn. Vivi needed to achieve her goal before the night was over.

She teleported to Blackgate Prison.

Of course, she wasn’t alone.

“Doctor?”

Dr. Stephen Strange appeared silently. Before this, he had already visited Gotham’s three major hospitals.

The sorcerer—known to some as Doctor Strange—stared at the girl before him for a long moment and finally said, “…I’ve never attempted to separate this many souls from their bodies. Prolonged separation is incredibly dangerous for ordinary people.”

“Just get to work, Doctor,” the girl said impatiently. “It’s not like I’m going to hurt them. That’s impossible, isn’t it?”

Strange closed one eye, opened it again, and observed the increasingly dense and ominous dark mist surrounding Vivi. He hesitated to speak.

In just one day, the eerie aura around Vivi White had grown even more menacing. And yet, he still hadn’t figured it out.

Through their interactions, Strange had come to realize that Vivi herself was unconnected to the malice surrounding her. She seemed like a simple girl determined to change her city, putting in a genuine effort to do so. Considering what had happened in New York, Strange speculated that Vivi was either chosen by a slumbering dark god to absorb malevolent energy, or her unique constitution made her a natural seal for these forces, drawing them toward her.

Yet the fact that she referred to Strange as a “reward” made him lean toward the former theory—and suggested that these so-called slumbering gods from other dimensions might not be fully dormant after all.

…Since he hadn’t yet uncovered who or what was behind Vivi, Strange usually didn’t refuse her reasonable requests.

Teaching magic? Sure. Helping repair roads? Why not.

At Blackgate Prison, thousands of inmates from South Hinckley slept soundly. Their souls were forcibly separated from their bodies, floating in a dreamlike state. Vivi followed behind Strange, cradling something invisible in her hands. Under the shroud of shadows, the bodies of the inmates began disappearing one by one.

—Among them were hardened criminals who, in theory, deserved execution, as well as others convicted of “lesser” crimes like rape and abuse. To Strange, they were all treated equally.

As their disembodied souls hovered in a slumbering state, Vivi, true to form, abandoned Strange the moment he had finished his task and vanished.

Strange: “…”

Standing in the hallway of Blackgate, Strange glanced at the sleeping guards and the disabled security cameras. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had just become an accomplice to something profoundly wrong.

At Rose Manor.

Cards, visible only to the player, floated midair in two distinct groups, perfectly separated. Using the [Replication Card], Vivi duplicated a bronze card labeled [Item: Compression (Single Use)].

Since a human body without a soul is merely a collection of elements—a “thing”—both victims and perpetrators floated equally on either side, their bodies transformed into cards.

After a moment, Vivi pulled out a golden scale.

Justice would not be delayed. Having fulfilled the judicial process through the trial, she now sought to deliver true justice—the kind that lay beyond the reach of law, in the domain known as magic.