Melina Solberg sits alone in a hospital, secretly waiting for her test results. The brain tumor has returned and grown. Surgery is no longer possible. She may only have three months left to live.
She tells no one. She doesn't want to burden her fiancé, Adrian Falk. She has spent her whole life trying not to be a burden.
When she was a child, her mother Elise died in a fire while saving her. After that, Melina's father Henrik blamed her for the tragedy. He remarried Vivian, his former secretary
Reborn: No Longer Your Fool - Morning of Victory, a New Shadow
A fine rain was quietly wetting the cobblestones of the old town.
The end of February. Frosthaun was still deep in winter, and though it was early morning, the sky hung low and leaden. The orange glow of the streetlamps bled in long, thin streaks across the wet pavement.
The Berg Law Office was on the second floor of a ninety-year-old brick building at 42 Strand Street. From Café Morgen on the ground floor, the scent of cinnamon and roasted coffee drifted upward. The only sound in the quiet, pre-opening shop was the hiss of the espresso machine's steam.
The office door opened quietly.
"Morning. Sorry to call you in so early."
A tall man with deep chestnut hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck emerged from the dim hallway. His sharp gray eyes held not a trace of sleepiness. The small scar at his left temple caught the faint light and stood out pale against his skin.
In his hand, he held a single envelope. A brown, utterly ordinary envelope. There was no return address. It had been slipped into the office mailbox with the first sound of the slot opening that morning.
"What's inside?"
Still seated in one of the reception chairs, Melina looked up. Her long platinum-blonde hair was gathered low into a single tail, and her deep brown-hazel eyes were fixed on the envelope.
"A USB drive. Let's play it."
He quickly opened his laptop and inserted the small metal stick, cap removed, into the slot. A single audio file appeared on the screen.
The filename was only a date and a time.
When Nikolai pressed the key, static came first. The distant sound of waves. The moan of wind. The creak of an iron door. Then, a man's voice and a woman's voice.
――"Is that book ready yet?"
Melina's back straightened. That voice—there was no mistaking it.
――"Yeah. A sixteenth-century first edition. Decent scholarly value. I had the binding deliberately aged so it looks like that little girl's had it for years."
Henning Larsen. A ruthless investor who orchestrated corporate takeovers. His voice was steeped in barely contained pleasure.
――"The Frosthaun University library holds over two hundred books of the same kind. If we slip it into her bag on the day of the collection audit, no one will think twice. ...You can arrange that, can't you?"
――"I'll call the chief of police myself to report it. You pressure the university through your connections. Sofia Nilsen. I want that insolent editor-in-chief erased from public life."
――"Oh my. 'Erased'—how violent. I never asked for anything of the sort."
――"Heh. Right. You always keep your hands clean, don't you."
The recording cut off there.
A heavy silence settled over the room. Outside, the rain had grown a little stronger. In the distance, the sound of a tram grinding along its rails could be heard.
"...Well?"
Her voice was low and cold. It was the same tone she always used when speaking of revenge.
"If we submit this to the prosecutor, we can force the theft charges against Sofia to be dropped. It's a conversation between Vivian Solberg and Henning Larsen. No voiceprint analysis needed. The context alone makes it obvious who's speaking."
He said it matter-of-factly, but with absolute certainty.
"At the same time, this data was leaked from inside the police department. Someone recorded it and delivered it anonymously to this office. ...Which means someone inside the police—someone who can't stomach Vivian's methods—has made a move."
"Simon... do you think it was him?"
"I don't know. But if it was, he has access to the police servers and the duty logs. The possibility is high."
Melina sat still, fingers laced together on her lap. The old burn scar on her left wrist throbbed faintly in the damp air.
"...I can finally tell Sofia."
The edge of her voice trembled, just a little.
Nikolai said nothing. He quietly placed a cup of coffee in front of her. It was from Birgitta at Morgen—she had secretly handed it to him before opening. The steam rose slowly into the cold office air.
―――
Dawn was breaking.
It was past seven in the morning when sunlight finally began to leak through gaps in the clouds. The thin light illuminated the surface of Frost Bay in silver. The buildings of the waterfront district were exposed to the north wind blowing in from the sea, and the air was cold and clear.
A few reporters were waiting in front of the police station.
Before long, the heavy front doors opened, and Sofia Nilsen emerged, accompanied by her lawyer. Her bob cut, a dark brown nearly black, was tousled by the wind, and her large brown eyes were red and swollen from crying. But behind her glasses, her gaze was fixed straight ahead.
"Sofia!!"
Melina was not the only one waiting. The moment Sofia stepped forward—before she even made it through the glass doors, no, just outside the doors—a shriek of joy burst forth.
She broke into a run like a startled hare.
"Melina...! Melina!!"
Sofia threw herself onto Melina. The force made Melina stagger back a step. Sofia's fingers dug into the back of Melina's coat. She buried her face in Melina's shoulder and began to cry aloud, like a child.
"I... I thought I was... done for...!"
Her tears wet Melina's neck, warm against the cold March morning wind that whipped mercilessly at their hair. Around them, reporters' cameras clicked and flashed. Someone shouted, "She's been released!"
And yet, all Melina felt was the warmth of her best friend's body.
(I won.)
The realization rose quietly but surely from deep within her.
(For the first time, I won against Vivian.)
But she did not show tears. She patted Sofia's back—gently, but firmly—two, three times.
"...It's all right. This isn't the end. It's only just begun."
Her voice was low and quiet. The heat of revenge was pressed tight beneath her words.
Sofia lifted her head, her face a mess, but she smiled anyway. Her slightly protruding canine tooth peeked out.
"...Yeah. Hehe. Melina, you'll get wrinkles making such a scary face."
"None of your business."
Almost despite herself, the corner of Melina's mouth softened, just a little.
―――
The notice from Frosthaun University arrived at ten o'clock that morning.
No disciplinary action would be taken against Sofia Nilsen. The theft incident had been a case of mistaken identity; the university acknowledged that defamatory information had been circulated about one of its students, and it pledged full support for the student newspaper's activities.
In other words, the university as an institution had effectively admitted Sofia's innocence.
The moment she heard the news in the office's reception room, Sofia leapt out of her chair.
"Yes!! The university's surrendered too!! Now I can walk around campus with my head held high!!"
She threw both hands up in the air, not caring that her glasses had slipped askew. The ink stains on her left fingers looked dark under the fluorescent light.
"I'm glad."
Melina smiled quietly. Not at anyone in particular—only at Sofia. It was a smile from the heart.
"Reward, reward! I'm starving. I could eat three cinnamon rolls at Morgen! You're coming too, Melina! Obviously!?"
"Wait. Three is too many. At least keep it to two."
"How about two and a half!?"
"Why am I the one compromising?"
They laughed. The morning office was finally filled with air that was easier to breathe.
Nikolai watched the two of them silently from the wall. Only the corners of his mouth showed the faintest hint of a smile.
―――
Around that same time.
At the new Solberg residence, the air had frozen solid.
Number 17 Kastanje Street—a three-story mansion on a rise at the southern edge of the old town. In her salon on the first floor, Vivian sat alone.
Her silver-blonde hair was perfectly curled, and her cold, pale-blue eyes gazed out the window at the sea. In her hand, a cup of rose-scented tea. She wore an expression of perfect nonchalance, as if this were an ordinary teatime.
But her fingertips trembled faintly each time they traced the rim of the cup.
"A recording, is it. Leaked from the police station—what an unfunny joke. That girl couldn't possibly have smuggled it out. ...Someone on the inside squealed like a rat."
Her monologue echoed coldly through the silence of the salon.
On the table lay a single handwritten note. It was a piece of paper bearing the name of a young officer from the police station's duty logs, traced over and over again.
Simon Halvorsen.
She traced the name with her fingernail.
"You have nerve. A mere police officer, ruining my plans. ...Well then, I have my own ideas. You'll be leaving this city on a charge of perjury."
She gently removed the glove from her hand. Her white fingers met the air.
Then she picked up her smartphone and pressed a short number.
The person on the other end was the Vester family's legal counsel.
"Oh, it's been too long. ...Yes, actually, I have a small legal matter. ...A young officer—yes, a young man whose only merit is his youth—has leaked internal police secrets without authorization. It seems there's also suspicion that he tampered with perjury records. ...I was hoping the Vester family's influence might introduce me to a prosecutor who's easy to work with."
The voice she used was the metallic, cold one hidden behind her aristocratic smile.
"Oh, didn't you know? What happens when you defy the police. ...Yes, this time, I'll be the one to teach you. That boy, Simon Halvorsen—he's finished. Perjury."
The scent of roses hung thick and heavy in the salon.
―――
That same day, in the afternoon.
A man burst into the Berg Law Office.
"P-please! Help me! I didn't do it! I swear! Perjury—I never... I only delivered a copy of the recording data, the truth...!"
A young officer in his mid-twenties, his uniform still disheveled, stumbled through the door as if clinging to it. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his pale face wore the terror of a man being chased by ghosts.
"Simon Halvorsen. Calm down. We'll hear you out. Sit there."
Nikolai seated the man in a reception chair and handed him a glass of water.
Simon gripped the glass with both trembling hands.
"The Vester family's lawyer came to the station. And then the chief... called me in... 'Your duty log has disappeared. A complaint has come from Vivian Solberg alleging that you condoned the tampering of hospital footage'...!"
His breathing was shallow and rapid. His teeth chattered audibly.
"I recovered the original of that doctored footage and gave it to you. That can't be a crime. I did it for justice. But everyone's lying... lying...!"
"Simon. Listen."
Nikolai's low voice cut through the man's panic and stopped it cold.
"If your duty log has been erased, I'll restore the evidence. I can prove who anonymously provided the recording through voiceprint analysis and work records. What Vivian has set up is an obvious scapegoat. Leave the procedure to me—I'll make sure the truth holds up in court."
His voice carried absolute confidence. Breaking down an opponent's lies through pure logic—that was the unshakable strength of a lawyer who had graduated at the top of his class from Frosthaun University's law faculty.
"And your family—"
"What—my family...!? You don't mean she'd go after my family...!?"
"Vivian Solberg crushes people by seizing their weaknesses. She won't necessarily stop at you. Think about your wife, your child, the eyes of your neighbors. Starting tonight, move to a safe apartment owned by someone you trust."
Simon slumped forward, head hanging.
"...Understood. ...But what do I tell my wife..."
"Tell her the truth will be proven by the power of the law."
Outside the window, the rain was growing heavier again.
―――
It was past three o'clock that afternoon.
An old man knocked hesitantly at the door of the Berg Law Office.
The person who appeared was a small, stooped man in his early seventies. He wore a worn gray coat with the collar turned up, and clutched an old leather bag in his hands.
"Um... is Mr. Nikolai Berg here? ...N
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