Uddangtangtang!
Thud!
Bang!
Did someone fall?
No, that was just the sound of my mind going into meltdown.
My heart was pounding like crazy—hundreds of eyes were locked onto me.
"So what?" I told myself. "I've studied law like a madman."
But what use was that now? Even a veteran judge would probably wet their robes in this situation.
The people seated on the high podium wore shiny clothes and carried expressions so stern they could make a trot singer forget their lyrics. And the court inspectors? Dressed like knights with cold, hawk-like eyes. They looked like they were here to execute someone, not oversee a trial.
Honestly, anyone would've felt overwhelmed.
As I stood there dazed, a sharp headache struck me.
The judges seated beside me quickly reached out in concern.
"Your Honor!"
"Are you all right, sir?"
"If you're feeling unwell, take a break. No one would dare question Your Honor's decision."
They acted like I'd collapsed or something. I waved them off, my arms flailing like a broken puppet. What's with the fuss?
Still, I straightened up. That's what a judge should do, right?
Then I realized—the entire courtroom was watching me. Carefully. Nervously.
What now?
I turned my head to the right and accidentally met eyes with a judge who looked like he was from a nobleman's fashion catalog.
He gave me a slight nod, like we shared a secret.
'What did you just understand?'
He stood up, his voice calm and steady.
"I will begin by verifying the defendant's identity. Paul, a wage worker at Parviant Farm. Is that correct?"
The man kneeling at the center of the room responded in a weak voice.
"Y-Yes…"
And so, the trial began.
A man wearing an overly theatrical, glittery black outfit—who I guessed was the prosecutor—stepped forward and stated the charges.
"The defendant assaulted the farm owner and broke his arm. We request witnesses and the victim to testify."
Then all eyes turned to me again.
I nodded slowly. Felt like the right thing to do.
'Yes, yes, bring him in. This is court drama 101.'
So far, I wasn't doing too badly.
Even if I didn't know why I was here, the trial was moving forward without a hitch.
The prosecutor bowed and two people entered: a young man in his twenties, clearly the defendant, looking ragged and nervous, and a middle-aged man wearing simple green clothes with a bandaged arm—presumably the farm owner.
'Ah, there's the guy with the bandage.'
My eyes narrowed as I focused on the farm owner. He was limping too, acting as though death was knocking on his door.
According to what I could gather, the worker—Paul—got angry over unpaid wages and allegedly attacked the farm owner with a blunt object.
The prosecutor began questioning the witnesses.
"We haven't even sold the wheat yet. How could I pay them?" the farm owner said, sobbing like a wronged saint. "I asked them to wait a little longer. They wouldn't listen!"
He looked ready to collapse from the weight of his own injustice.
Then the judge to my right decided to chip in, speaking in a strangely sugary tone.
"Baron Parviant William is well-known for his generosity. His farm is praised for its treatment of workers."
I stared at him silently.
'Why are you suddenly endorsing the guy?'
I didn't say anything, but something popped up next to his face.
---
[Person Information]
Name: Josef Padilla
Title: Viscount
Position: General Judge
Relationship: Not Good
Status: Cooled passion, slight fatigue
---
I blinked a few times.
Josef's face stiffened.
"I-I didn't mean it that way," he stammered. "I only said it for your reference, Your Honor."
"I'll take note," I said calmly.
Josef let out a breath and wiped sweat from his forehead.
All I did was look at him. Did I seem that scary?
Not that I cared much.
This entire situation still felt like a fever dream.
'How the hell did I end up as a judge?'
But it wasn't a dream.
Because my thighs hurt like hell from all the pinching.
Painfully real.
And then there was the other weird thing—little info boxes popping up next to certain people's faces. Not everyone, just ones I apparently knew.
Like Baron William Parviant.
A moment ago, his name was just a vague identifier. Now, I was getting mini-biographies.
Was this some kind of twisted reward for being dumped into another world?
Paul, the defendant, began to speak. His voice trembled.
"I got hit first. And my wages were always delayed. I admit—I lost my temper and grabbed his pants. But that's it!"
He started crying. But something about it didn't sit right.
Maybe it was his sunken face, the hollow cheeks, the overall vibe. Even his crying looked a bit off—too rehearsed.
The nobles sitting behind the farm owner started to sneer.
"Lies! Everyone knows Baron Parviant's good nature!"
"You'd think he was the criminal here, crying like that."
"No way the judges will fall for this act."
And to be honest, I almost agreed with them.
For a moment, Paul did look like the molester I arrested back in the real world.
But then I caught myself.
'No. I can't let bias cloud my judgment.'
I was the judge now.
And the first rule in any courtroom—especially written in this empire's code—is clear:
[First Principles of Law Enforcement: Be Fair.]
It wasn't just lip service.
It was the foundation of justice.
'Better take a closer look at this law.'
I flipped through the imperial code. Found the section on bodily harm.
And I nearly choked.
The law read:
[Crime of Injury]
Anyone who injures another person may be flogged, imprisoned, or put to death.
…What?
That was it?
No sentencing guidelines, no severity categories, no nuance?
Just a buffet of punishment options ranging from bruises to beheading?
'Are you telling me to just wing it?'
The more I read, the clearer it became—judges here basically had god-like power.
Even Josef had said so earlier: "No one can defy Your Honor's ruling."
That power… was mine now.
Meanwhile, the prosecutor stepped forward again and declared:
"We seek a sentence of ten years in prison for the defendant."
The courtroom quieted.
All eyes were on me.
Even the other judges looked confused. Josef leaned toward me.
"Your Honor, this case is clear-cut. Surely we can skip any further statements…"
Yeah, right.
What a weasel.
Trying to steer me with honeyed words.
I shook my head.
"I'll hear the defendant's final statement. Is that a problem?"
"N-No. That's… wise."
He backed off immediately. And I felt it—this strange, intoxicating rush of authority.
Was this what it meant to be a judge here?
Paul collapsed to his knees.
"Please… I beg you! I only wanted what I was owed!"
And for the first time, I noticed the quiet sympathy from some of the crowd.
Workers. Poor like Paul. But too afraid to speak.
Because nobles glared daggers at anyone who so much as shifted in their seat.
'Ah. I get it now.'
This wasn't just a trial. It was a stage for class warfare.
I took a deep breath. I used to be a lowly cop, working the beat.
But I believed in justice. And so did the guy whose body I now occupied.
'The truth. That's what we need.'
I snapped my fingers.
"Victim."
Baron Parviant flinched.
"Yes, Your Honor?"
"Come forward."
His eyes widened.
He clearly hadn't expected that.
But he moved—he had no choice.
He stood before me, nervous and stiff.
I grabbed his arm and gently pressed around the "injured" area.
"Urgh!"
He winced.
But the more I prodded, the more my eyebrows furrowed.
'Wait a minute…'
This arm? It wasn't broken. Heck, it wasn't even swollen. Nothing felt off.
I broke my own arm once as a kid—I know what it's supposed to feel like. And this? This was just a normal arm.
I shot him a cold stare.
His face drained of color.
'So what do I do now?'
I was angry.
But I still didn't quite know who I was in this world, so I needed to tread carefully.
That's when I saw it—the perfect prop.
The Imperial Code of Law.
It was right there on the judge's desk, the emperor's name on the cover.
I raised my voice, channeling every ounce of righteous fury I could muster.
"How dare you insult His Majesty's sacred court!"