#AND NO NEED TO WORRY ABOUT LENGTH EVER I PROMISE AKSDJ;LFKD

[howthesleeplesswander]

Considering he had devoted the last decade of his life to preparing to fight for the justice his father deserved, admittedly, Kazuma had expected to be entirely unprepared for what came after.

What would he do when the driving flame that had spurred him for so many years was finally quenched? The thought had crossed his mind on more than one occasion, but it was unimportant. Trivial. A question to wrangle at the appropriate time.

With that time now upon him, Kazuma found his assumption had been partially correct. Layers upon layers of unforeseen circumstances resulted in things unfolding in ways he could have never expected. For just a moment during that fateful trial's conclusion, he'd felt equally lost as he felt relieved, happy, ashamed. But no sooner had the final gavel sounded did a new fire ignite in Kazuma's chest.

It burned just as brightly as its predecessor, illuminating his only path forward: to be the hand that delivered justice to men like Lord Stronghart. At long last, his father's honor was restored, and his spirit could finally be at rest. Fighting to achieve that same peace for others would be his new purpose.

He'd been prepared to make it happen by any means necessary, just as before. So imagine his surprise when the very man he'd attempted to send to the gallows readily agreed to maintain their mentorship after the fact.

Thankfully, Kazuma wasn't one to flounder even in the most uncertain waters. A lifetime of discipline proved a powerful boon: for no matter how strained the air between himself and Lord van Zieks felt at times, Kazuma was undaunted. He poured his all into every task, no matter how menial, never satisfied until he'd exceeded expectations. Even now, after hours of sifting through the towering stack of paperwork on his desk, the scratch of his quill never faltered or slowed. The sunlight through the window dwindled in tandem with the sounds of the office's staff as they took their leave for the night, yet Kazuma's attention was astute as ever—

At least, until his mentor's voice demanded it, instead.

It was the first time either of them had disrupted the drone of pen on paper in hours. Immediately Kazuma looked up, ever prepared to be put to the task. But rather than adding to his work, Lord van Zieks bade the opposite. Strange, considering their shared relentlessness—near ceaselessness, even—towards their work.

"With all due respect, I see no reason why I should retire from my work any sooner than you from yours. I'm of the opinion that midnight oil is meant to be burned." Between his schooling and his personal studies in preparation for coming to London, countless sleepless nights had never stopped him when there was more work to be done. And there always was more work to be done.

Yet as he spoke, he flexed his hand around his quill, only noticing how stiff it had become now that he'd finally stopped. A glance at the complete darkness out the window betrayed how late the hour had gotten.

"I've no other engagements for the evening." Not to mention that he was nearing the finish line, now—the stack of paperwork was only a quarter of what it had been when he'd started. They could wait until tomorrow, technically, but there was no reason they had to. "If you must depart, however, I can finish here and lock up for the night."

@howthesleeplesswander for Kazuma !

The first case that Kazuma Asogi had taken in London had been monumental. Not to mention far over his head — very much by design of the man who had appointed a fledging prosecutor whose interests lay so dangerously close to the Reaper trial. And there was no doubt that Asogi was suffering for it now.

Apprenticing under the former Reaper of the Bailey had its benefits, certainly. The courtroom was hardly ever dull, what with the dramatics that Barok employed to capture the attention of judges and difficult-to-sway jurors.

Drowning in legalese, however, required little imagination and provided even less entertainment. And yet it was a part of the prosecutor's profession as much as the time they spent in the Old Bailey, and thus Barok pushed it mercilessly as he did every aspect of their duties. To grow into the role of the prosecutor Asogi intended to be, there was hardly room to moan and to drag his feet. And he took it well for the most part, poring over the paperwork, writing and reading and reviewing case reports cover to cover, and filing every report demanded of him, no matter how trifling Barok's request.

Barok's commendations were few and far between. Not for lack of performance on Asogi's part; it was merely the manner in which Barok had been taught when he, too, had been young and training in this merciless occupation. But the meagre praises were more than he would have offered most, should they find themselves under his tutelage. ( There had been none, until Lord Stronghart had handed Barok's first and only disciple to him, leaving him little choice but to take a nameless man under his wing. ) But, still, in the heart of Asogi's apparent flawlessness lay the very evidence of his limitations.

❛ Asogi. ‎❜

Much like his father, Kazuma was a man of action... but this Asogi was younger, less practised in his work and much less measured in his emotion. As much as Kazuma was driven by his ambition, he proved at times helpless to its whims — unable to direct it, taken over by it.

( ... they were similar, in a great many ways. Stronghart had surely known when he'd called upon Barok and delivered Asogi's fate and future into the prosecutor's hands. From the outlook of the Reaper trial, he had been counting on it. Relying on another abandoned, angry heart to deliver an innocent man to his end. Just as Barok — for all his studiousness and all his then-perceived shrewdness that he thought had been impressed upon him by the blood, sweat and tears poured into this profession — had done. )

Barok felt wearier than ever as he watched Asogi toil away at the stack of papers on his desk. His own attention was fading fast, and his quill had slowed to a feeble scratch for over the better part of an hour. Asogi, meanwhile, had shown no signs of slowing. He was near machine-like in his determination.

Still too young, still too strong-headed, to recognise that his persistence and his perseverance could be his own failing.

❛ ... you've done more than your fair share of work. It would be best to retire for the evening. We will continue in the morning. ‎❜

One must know when to rest. Barok, too, had work to put into learning his limit. When he had worked alone, there had been less need for it; he alone suffered the consequences of his at-times unreasonable doggedness.

Now, he was not alone. As much as he and Asogi struggled verbally to come to terms with it, they had to consider one another — to do more than than simply coexist. To work with one another.

Perhaps it was guilt of years past, too, that indebted Barok to the task of keeping after Asogi's health. ( Guilt that held him to the oath Genshin could not himself keep, when Barok had sent him to the gallows: to look after his beloved son. ) Nonetheless, this was his apprentice; the man was under Barok's care, whether or not he liked it.