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Balzac looked deep into the teenager’s eyes. A profound look of pity, laced with a heavy, ancient sorrow, washed over the professor’s features.

"The path of revenge you are trying to walk has no end, Solomon," Balzac said, his voice dropping to a resonant baritone. "The revenge will not simply end with the deaths of those people. To kill them, you will have to kill the guards protecting them. Then you will have to kill the teams sent to avenge the guards. You will have to kill their grieving families who seek retribution against you. You will have to kill hundreds, possibly thousands more, just to survive the consequences of your own ’justice’."

Balzac turned and looked out over the quiet park. "No one in this world is entirely innocent. Every single person breathing is a sinner, and a corrupt opportunist in their own way. By the strictest definitions of morality, they all deserve to die. But that absolutely does not mean they should die, and it certainly does not mean that you should be the one to kill them."

The professor stuffed his hands deep into his trench coat pockets. "I am not going to stand here and preach to you about the virtues of forgiveness, or spout naive nonsense about how ’justice shall inevitably prevail.’ That is a fairy tale for children. But you cannot be the one delivering this supposed justice, Solomon. Because the world does not actually need your justice."

Balzac turned back to face the boy. "Justice itself is an illusion. It is a concept that cannot ever be truly given, or fully achieved, because absolutely nothing in this world is fair. True, objective justice does not exist. It is simply a perspective."

"You have an entire life ahead of you now," Balzac continued, his tone turning fiercely protective. "There are so many people who genuinely care about you. People who want you in their lives. They will be utterly devastated if something terrible happens to you because you threw your life away on a suicide mission. Doing that to them... that would be the ultimate injustice."

Balzac stepped closer, placing a firm hand on Solomon’s shoulder. "Justice comes in many different, flawed forms, and everyone’s definition of it is entirely different. You cannot take revenge on behalf of the dead. The dead do not care. And justice is not something you can just hand out with a sword. If every single sinner in this realm was punished accordingly, there would be no living beings left to walk upon this earth. And that is not an outcome that should ever happen."

The professor’s eyes, usually lazy and half-closed, burned with a haunting, painful intensity. He spoke as if he was drawing directly from his own horrific, personal experiences as a former High Inquisitor.

"If you decide to walk the path of delivering ultimate justice," Balzac warned, his voice barely a whisper, "there will be no coming back. Because the pursuit of justice always begins with a perceived injustice. And the path to correct it is paved entirely with an endless, never-ending cycle of bloodshed that will eventually consume your own soul."

Balzac looked incredibly sad and dejected as he let his hand fall from the boy’s shoulder.

"This is the only advice I can give you as your teacher," Balzac concluded softly. "The rest of the choices are entirely up to you. I will not stop you from throwing your life away if you truly wish to do so."

Solomon stared at Balzac with an annoyed, frustrated, and utterly baffled expression. He finally looked away, staring down at the pavement.

"You do not have to get so philosophical and depressing about this," Solomon muttered. "I have already changed my mind about the courtroom massacre. The proof of that is the fact that I am standing right here in front of you, having a casual conversation, instead of being on the run from the tactical SWAT teams."

He kicked another pebble across the sidewalk. "But that does not mean I have given up on my revenge entirely. I will just kill them later. I will wait until they are at their happiest moment... when they think they have successfully gotten away with everything, when they believe they possess power, and when they think no one can stop them. That’s when I will get them, because they will have much more to lose."

They continued walking down the quiet suburban street in comfortable silence.

A while later, Solomon looked around the neighborhood and furrowed his brow. "Why are we walking in the direction of my house? Why are we not heading toward the city central where the transport portals are located so we can return to the academy?"

Balzac stopped walking. He looked at Solomon with an incredibly serious and stern expression. Then, a mischievous grin stretched across his face.

"Because I have been imprisoned within that stuffy academy as a punishment," Balzac declared, stretching his arms wide. "I am legally not allowed to leave the campus grounds unless it is an emergency. And now that I have finally gotten a legitimate excuse to get away from that place, I am going to enjoy my time out here in the real world. I do not care how bad this city supposedly is."

He chuckled as he glanced around. "It absolutely cannot be worse than dealing with the Grandmaster’s endless nagging."

Balzac patted Solomon on the back. "So right now, we are heading to your house. We are going to spend a day or two here, travel around the city, eat some real food, and actually enjoy ourselves before returning to the academy. And no one at the administration will know about our little detour. That is... if you don’t tell them. Do you mind?"

Solomon shrugged his shoulders. "I do not mind that at all. I still have a thing or two left to take care of in the city anyway, so I can just finish those errands while we are here."

"Exellent!"