Chapter 7: The Jurisprudence of the Soul
While his physical form was being meticulously forged into a vessel of hyper-dense muscle and reinforced bone, Hiromi Higuruma's mind was being sharpened into a surgical razor. He understood a fundamental truth that spanned both his previous life and this new existence: power without a rigorous, unyielding framework was merely a catastrophe waiting to happen. To truly master the technique of Deadly Sentencing, he had to become more than a mere combatant; he had to transform into a living, breathing encyclopedia of the Law and a master of the "Binding Vows" that governed the jagged, complex flow of Cursed Energy.
The Internal Library: Cognitive Transcendence
Hiromi spent his late nights submerged in a state of profound "Meditative Research." He utilized his Cursed Energy to enter a deep, sensory-deprived trance—a proprietary technique he had developed over years of isolation called Cognitive Reinforcement. By flooding his brain's neural pathways with a precise, low-frequency flow of CE, he could bypass the biological limitations of human neurotransmission. In this state, his synaptic firing rate accelerated until he was processing information at nearly ten times the speed of a normal human.
Inside this mental sanctuary, the world slowed down until the ticking of a clock sounded like a distant cannon blast. The vast, dusty complexities of international legal codes became as clear and vibrant as a child's picture book. He didn't just study Japanese Law; he embarked on a journey through the very history of universal justice. He memorized the Code of Hammurabi, the Magna Carta, and the thousands of intricate, often contradictory Quirk Registry Laws of the modern era.
He looked for the "holes"—the dark corners and grey areas where the Law was intentionally left vague to protect those with high-ranking Quirks and prestigious, wealthy lineages. He would sit before his monitors for twenty hours at a time, his handsome, tired face reflected in the blue light of the screens. Even at fourteen, he possessed a sharp, defined jawline and hooded eyes that carried a weight far beyond his years. His dark hair, usually slicked back with professional precision, would occasionally fall over his brow, framing a face that was a refined, more striking version of his original self.
"In this world, 'Heroism' is not just an occupation; it is a legal shield," he noted, his fountain pen scratching furiously in a journal encrypted in a shorthand that would look like meaningless gibberish to any observer. "The current statutes are a farce. If a Pro Hero destroys a city block while chasing a minor villain, it is labeled 'Collateral Damage' and excused by the Ministry of Justice. If a civilian does the same to save their own child from a burning building, it is prosecuted as 'Unlicensed Quirk Usage.' The law is being weaponized to curate a hierarchy of 'Specials,' not to protect the common man."
This realization served as a potent, high-octane fuel for his Cursed Energy. Every time he uncovered a new layer of systemic injustice in his father's restricted files, his "well" of energy grew deeper and darker. It was a self-sustaining cycle of resentment: his intellect fed his anger, and his anger fed his power. He was no longer just drawing from the general negativity of a world filled with monsters; he was drawing from the specific, sharp indignity of a man who saw the scales of the universe being tipped by the very hands meant to hold them steady.
The Manifestation: Pain and Mahogany
By the age of twelve, Hiromi was ready to move beyond simple physical reinforcement. He needed to master the Innate Domain, the very heart of a Sorcerer's soul. He retreated to the center of his subterranean bunker, a place of cold concrete and fluorescent humming. The air around him began to shimmer with a localized heat that had nothing to do with thermal energy and everything to do with the sheer density of his aura.
He focused on the philosophical concept of "Absolute Equality." In his mind, he visualized a space where a god and a beggar, a Hero and a Villain, stood on the exact same level, judged by the same cold, unfeeling standard of truth.
"Domain Expansion..." he whispered, his voice steady even as his heart hammered against his ribs.
The first hundred attempts were agonizing, bloody failures. The fundamental reality of the physical world resisted the intrusion of his ego. His Cursed Energy would flare out in a violent, jagged burst and then dissipate instantly, leaving him coughing up mouthfuls of iron-tasting blood as the "backlash" of a failed expansion racked his internal organs. He would lie on the cold floor, his lean, hyper-dense body trembling, his skin pale and slick with sweat.
"I am missing a pillar," he realized one evening, wiping a crimson smear from his chin with the back of a bruised hand. "In the ancient records of Cursed Energy, a Domain is an extension of the soul. My soul isn't just that of a lawyer; it is a protector of the Process itself. The Court doesn't punish because it hates the defendant; it punishes because the Truth demands a balance."
He tried again. This time, he didn't try to force the physical world to change. He invited the reality around him to be judged.
"Deadly Sentencing."
The sound of a heavy, invisible iron door slamming echoed through the bunker, vibrating in his very teeth. The cold concrete walls bled away like wet ink, replaced by infinite rows of towering mahogany benches that smelled of ancient paper, cold iron, and polished wood. The ceiling vanished into a swirling, cosmic void of gold and black, a sky made of celestial justice.
And there, looming fifty feet tall behind a massive judicial bench, was Judgeman.
The entity was terrifying in its silent divinity. Its three-eyed, blindfolded face turned toward Hiromi with an air of absolute impartiality. Its mouth was sewn shut with golden thread—a symbol that the Law needed no voice to be felt. The golden scales in its hands were perfectly balanced, glowing with a light that felt like a physical weight on Hiromi's shoulders. Hiromi felt a surge of absolute, chilling peace. Within these walls, he was the master of the process.
The Architects of the Vow
"We need to set the rules," Hiromi said to the entity, his voice echoing in the silent, infinite court.
He began the arduous process of establishing Binding Vows—spiritual contracts made with his own soul to amplify his power through self-imposed restriction. He understood that in this world of Quirks, his Domain needed to be a perfect trap. He voluntarily established several key pillars:
* The Pact of Non-Violence: He vowed that no physical harm could be dealt by anyone—including himself—within the Domain until a verdict was reached. By sacrificing the ability to attack his opponent immediately, he made the Domain's barrier nearly indestructible from both the inside and the outside. Not even a Top 10 Hero could punch their way out of a courtroom that forbade violence.
* The Disclosure of Evidence: He granted Judgeman total access to his own memories, sins, and thoughts in exchange for the entity's divine insight into the opponent. This meant Hiromi could never lie within his own court; he was as subject to the truth as his defendant.
* The Jurisdiction of Intent: He refined the "Confiscation" mechanic. He realized that while his Domain could not judge inanimate objects—for a machine has no "soul" to hold accountable—it could judge the biological function of a Quirk. Since Quirks were an intrinsic part of human biology, his Domain would treat them as "tools of the crime," allowing him to temporarily "confiscate" the biological spark itself.
The Ultimate Spar: The Limitation of Law
On his fourteenth birthday, Hiromi held a final training session that combined his physical evolution with his newfound spiritual authority. He had the estate's engineers release twelve "Executioner Drones"—high-speed, lethal units armed with live ammunition and cutting-edge AI, designed to test the reflexes of top-tier combatants.
He didn't use his Domain immediately. He wanted to test his Yuji-like physical evolution against the cold precision of machines. As the drones swarmed in a lethal, buzzing formation, Hiromi became a ghost of black fabric and motion. His movements were rhythmic, almost judicial. He utilized the Divergent Strike, hitting a drone with a soft, calculated palm strike and letting it fly past. A full second later, the delayed wave of CE would detonate from within the machine's chassis, turning it into a spectacular fireball of mangled steel.
He was sweating, his lungs burning with the effort of maintaining constant CE reinforcement while moving at speeds that blurred the vision of the high-speed cameras. His white training shirt was torn, revealing the dense, corded muscle of his torso—a body that looked like it had been carved from marble, built for a war that hadn't even started yet.
Suddenly, he stopped. He stood perfectly still, letting the remaining six drones surround him, their targeting lasers locking onto his chest like red needles.
"Court is in session," he said, his eyes glowing with a sharp, judicial intensity.
The Domain snapped into existence instantly. The mahogany walls rose, and Judgeman loomed over the scene. However, because the drones were non-living machines, the "Trial" could not proceed. Judgeman did not present a file. The entity remained silent, its scales unmoving.
"Confirmed," Hiromi thought, watching the drones remain frozen mid-air by the Non-Violence Pact. "The Domain cannot judge the soulless. It can only contain them. Against machines, the Court is a shield, not a weapon. To destroy the tool, I must rely on the strength of my own hands."
He deactivated the Domain. The transition back to the cold, concrete bunker was jarring. As the mahogany faded, the drones' systems rebooted instantly, their red eyes flashing with intent. But Hiromi was already in motion. With his CE-enhanced strength, he tore through the reinforced alloy with his bare hands, dismantling the "soulless" threats with the surgical efficiency of an executioner.
He stood in the dark, the only sound being his own rhythmic breathing and the crackle of short-circuiting electronics. He realized his path: against the monsters and robotic threats of this world, his physical vessel was his primary weapon; but against the "Heroes" and "Villains" who hid behind their power, the Court would be their ultimate undoing.
"U.A. won't be a school for me," he whispered, clenching his fist as the last of the Cursed Energy receded into his skin, leaving his pale hands trembling slightly. "It will be a witness stand where I determine who is truly worthy of the power they wield."
He spent his final night before the entrance exam reading a dusty volume on Hero Ethics, a faint, cold smile playing on his handsome lips. He was no longer just a boy. He was a system of justice made of flesh, bone, and ancient, refined energy.
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Author here:I have rewritten this chapter again and updated it cause I was not satisfied with the previous version
Thank you 😉