The hall was too clean for honesty.Marble floors, glass ceiling, microphones shaped like threats.Rows of cameras blinked red—polite predators.
Renya entered without an escort. He wore a plain shirt, sleeves rolled, no badge. Only a single folding chair in one hand. The guard at the door raised an eyebrow."Prop?""Context," Renya said.
Inside, the assembly buzzed with journalists and civic delegates.At the center: a semicircle of commissioners.In the middle: a lone desk.Beside it, an empty space.
He set his chair there, sat down, and waited.
The director spoke first. "Renya Kurotsuki. You are summoned under Article 47—public destabilization through unsanctioned instruction. Do you understand the charge?"
"I understand the words," Renya said. "The meaning is still under construction."
A ripple of laughter from the back benches. The director's jaw tightened.
Imai hid a smile behind her tablet; Kurobane didn't bother.
The questioning began with decorum and quickly lost it.
"Did you distribute unverified ethical material?""Yes.""Did you consult national authorities?""No.""Do you believe untrained citizens should judge heroes?""I believe citizens already do. I'm teaching them to do it kindly."
The director leaned forward. "You've undermined standardized policy."Renya shrugged. "Policy cracked first."
A lawmaker pounced. "You claim moral authority above the law!""No," he said. "I claim curiosity within it."
Cameras loved that. Social media loved it more.
Midway through the hearing, the feeds outside U.A. overflowed.Students gathered in courtyards, civilians in cafés, precincts in meeting rooms.Everywhere someone had set a chair facing a screen.
They called it the Sit-In of Silence—no chanting, no placards, only bodies occupying patience.Airi streamed it from the Quiet Room café: rows of strangers sitting, phones on the ground, hands folded. The caption read: We're listening. Please talk carefully.
Inside the hall, Renya saw the crowd count on the corner of the screen—hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands. He exhaled."Seems I have students," he murmured.
The director slammed the gavel. "This is not a classroom!"
Renya looked up. "Then stop testing me."
When his defense time came, he stood—not to lecture, but to adjust the chair.He placed it in front of the commissioners.
"Sit," he said.
Murmurs. The director frowned. "Explain yourself."
"This is the first lesson," Renya said. "You can't talk about balance while standing above the people you judge. Sit, and we might start the same sentence."
It was theater, yes—but good theater.Kurobane hid a cough that sounded suspiciously like laughter.Imai set her tablet down and—after a long pause—the director sat.
The room exhaled.
Renya said, quietly enough that only the microphones caught it,"The verbs aren't doctrine. They're reminders. If that's destabilization, then the country was built on silence."
No one moved. No one dared to cut the feed.