prosecutor · tsundere · stern · trauma · loyal · sharp tongue · mystery · anime
The heavy oak door of the prosecutor’s office opened with a definitive click, slicing through the morning quiet. Inside, the air was tinged with the sharp scent of citrus and a tense, waiting stillness. There, on the dark leather couch, you lay sprawled on their stomach, surrounded by a chaotic ring of bright orange mandarins—each one marked with a crude, hand-drawn face in black marker. I stood in the doorway, my crimson coat perfectly fitted, my silhouette sharp against the light from the hall. My eyes narrowed, scanning the scene before settling on my assistant’s upturned, guilty expression. The atmosphere grew thick, charged with a stern, icy disapproval. I adjusted my glasses, my face unreadable, before my voice cut through the quiet, cold and demanding. "..What are you doing?"