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"Malum prohibitum!" Miles called out, and Phoenix perked his head up from where he was dangling upside-down from the monkey bars.
"Oh, I know that one! It's something that's bad because it's against the law, right?"
Miles smiled. "Right! And malum in se?"
"That's something that's just evil!" Phoenix answered, unhooking his knees from the bars and dangling from his hands. "Like murder! The Signal Samurai always talk about how killing people is bad!"
"Correct again!" Miles' smile grew brighter at that, and Phoenix whooped, clambering across the bars and dropping onto the platform before sitting next to Miles. "Make sure to wipe your hands, those bars are dirty."
Phoenix laughed, wiping his hands off on his shorts before Miles let him take one side of the book.
"So someone stealing your lunch money was malum prohibitum," Phoenix noted, pronouncing both words carefully, and the way Miles nodded told him he had gotten it right, "and Mr. Masters was accused of murder, so that's malum in se."
"Exactly," Miles answered. "But he didn't do it, so that's why Father is defending him."
"I know that," Phoenix answered. "Because your dad is really cool, like you!"
Miles turned his head away, looking a little embarrassed. "You mean I'm cool like him."
"Nah," Phoenix answered, grinning, and Miles' wide-eyed gaze snapped back over to him. "Your dad is really cool, but you're the one who stood up for me in front of everyone, and we watch Signal Samurai together and you tell me about things like malum prohibitum and stuff. Which makes you even cooler in my opinion!"
Miles blinked at him, then laughed, lightly shoving Phoenix. "You're so sappy." Then, quieter, he added, "I think you're cool too."
Phoenix grinned at that, reaching over and hugging Miles, who proceeded to squawk about making sure not to wrinkle any of the pages.
Phoenix nudged Miles lightly. "You've got this okay! I believe in you!"
"I'm...but what if I screw it up?" Miles mumbled, grabbing his arm. "What if I stumble over the words or say the wrong thing or...or..."
Phoenix blinked, before holding out a hand. "Gimme your keychain, okay? I wanna try something!"
He blinked, but nodded slowly, unclipping the Signal Red keychain from his bag and handing it to Phoenix. Then, Phoenix reached in his pocket and pulled out his key ring, unclipping the Signal Blue keychain from it.
(Miles had always thought it was cool, how Phoenix had his own set of house keys already. He had asked Father about it, but Father had gotten a weird expression on his face after Miles told him about it, and he had asked a lot of questions too. Then, after that, Phoenix started coming home with them after school and staying there for a couple of hours each day, which Miles was glad about. He liked spending more time with Phoenix.)
Phoenix clutched both keychains to his chest, closing his eyes and looking incredibly focused for a moment. Then, he opened his eyes, looking at Miles and grinning before holding out the Signal Red keychain.
"There, now it's a good luck charm," he declared as Miles took the keychain back. "Whenever you're worried about something, you just gotta hold it real tight in your hand, close your eyes, take a deep breath, and say, 'I can do it.' And then you'll have good luck. It's magic!"
Miles frowned. "Magic isn't real, Phoenix."
"Well, then it's a placey-bo thing?"
"Placebo," he corrected.
"Right! That!" Phoenix smiled brightly. "If you believe it'll work, than it will. You might as well try, right?"
And Miles looked at him for a moment, before sighing, clutching the keychain to his chest and closing his eyes. "I can do this," he whispered softly, before opening his eyes.
And, when everything went perfectly, he simply grinned and beared it when Phoenix insisted, "I told you so!"
Phoenix felt out of place, to say the least.
Mostly though, he felt too tired to care about the weird looks his classmates gave him as he sat in the lecture hall, desperately trying to stay awake because he was the dumbass who decided to double major in art and pre-law instead of just switching his major like a normal person.
(After all the time and effort he spent on those art classes, not to mention the money, he was not going to drop art completely. He refused.)
He could feel himself drifting off when someone sharply elbowed his side, and he blinked to see the class staring at him, as well as the professor.
"Excuse me, Mr..." the professor began, and Phoenix flushed.
"Wright," he answered. "Uh, Phoenix Wright. Is my name."
There were a few snickers in the class, and the professor crossed his arms, remarking, "You do know that this class is important, don't you?"
"I do. I'm sorry, I've had classes all day, tha'ts why I'm tired."
"That's no excuse," he answered, shaking his head. "I doubt you will make it very far in your law career if you can't take this class seriously. Do you know what compos mentis means?"
Phoenix blinked, an image of a nine-year-old Miles Edgeworth coming to mind as he answered, "It means 'of sound mind', when discussing if someone who committed a crime was mentally present and not inebriated or experiencing temporary insanity."
The professor blinked, and the class went quiet. Then, he asked, "Alright, what is erga omnes?"
"Rights and obligations owed to everyone," Phoenix answered, now feeling more confident. He never realized how useful Miles quizzing him on those terms was until now.
"Per minas?"
"A defense in which the accused was under duress when performing an illegal act." Then, taking a deep breath, he added, "And ad hominem is for when an opponent attacks the person's character instead of answering the argument, like when I told you I had classes all day and you insisted that I wasn't serious about this class instead of addressing the actual problem. I don't know the Latin term for an attempt made to humiliate your opponent in front of their peers but I can look it up after class if you want."
The professor went red, clearly not happy, but after a moment he turned and continued his lecture, and Phoenix took a deep breath at that.
He would need plenty of energy drinks before this class, that much was clear.
It was, to borrow a word from Franziska, foolish, to say the least.
And yet...yet he couldn't help the anxiety he felt, faced with the third "first trial" he was meant to undertake.
Both previous attempts at a first trial had ended prematurely in murder (and he was terrifyingly certain that one of those trials would have been a definite loss anyway, not that he would ever admit it), and he knew von Karma was growing irritated and impatient with him. And now, his third try was upon him, and his confidence was harder to find now than it had been before.
His debut had been stained with the blood of others, and now he felt completely unprepared to try again, not when he had yet to make an appearance in court that hadn't resulted in someone's death.
(An elevator, shouting, a gunshot and a scream. Yes, it appeared that whenever he stepped into a courtroom, someone was doomed to die.)
He sat at his desk in his office, unable to help the way his hands shook as he tried not to fidget, because fidgeting was unbecoming of a von Karma and he may not be one but he was expected to meet those standards all the same. And he looked in his drawers for something to occupy his thoughts, and that was when he noticed it.
The metal was dented and the paint had chipped with age, but it was still recognizable as Signal Red's signature mask. And, distantly, Miles remembered a little boy declaring it to be a good luck charm.
It was foolish, he immediately thought, and yet...
And yet, it had been incredibly comforting when he was a child, to go through that little ritual. And he was alone, his office empty except of him. No one would ever know except him.
He held it tightly in his hand, holding it to his chest as he took a deep, shaky breath.
"I can do this," he whispered.
...He felt foolish.
(And yet, when his first trial went off without a hitch, he wondered if maybe that little boy had had a point when he said that believing in it made it work.)
Phoenix Wright passed the bar on the first try, and Mia clapped him on the back and treated him to dinner as a celebration.
"You know, for someone who hates reading so much, you sure know your stuff," Mia remarked.
He laughed, a little sheepishly. "Well...I had a little help studying, to be honest."
He thought of Miles back when they were kids, and that article about him in the newspaper years later. And he took a drink of his soda and knew, without a doubt, that he would face his old best friend in court someday, the kid who had lit up when Phoenix asked him to explain the different legal terms to him now a man who looked so cold and tired and lonely in a picture that labeled him as a demon.
They would meet again, and Phoenix was going to get answers.
Miles Edgeworth won case after case, and von Karma never did more than inform him of what he could do better, never once congratulating him on a success, not when he was still so far from perfection.
He didn't let himself think much about a childhood lost to time and tragedy, even when a familiar face made the news for winning a murder trial in one day, his first time ever defending.
When he lost to that same familiar face though, he threw the keychain in the trash, determined to bury the past so deep he'd never find it.
Then, after making sure no one was around, he dug it back out of the trash, cleaning it with soap and water and tucking it back into his desk, because his nightmares were evidence enough of his inability to let go of the past. And despite everything, that keychain was...a comfort, as was the ritual. A ritual he repeated before he faced von Karma after that loss.
It did not save him from the ire of his mentor, but it at least gave him the confidence to see it through.
It was unlike him, honestly. To rely on something so sentimental and illogical. It was against everything he stood for. And yet...he held onto it anyway. And it truly did help, even if it was only a placebo.
(The next time he would enact that ritual, it would be his most daunting task yet. And yet, as he gathered the strength to face a future he was terrified of, one he would have to redefine for himself after years of relying on empty victories, telling himself "I can do it" was possibly the thing he needed the most.)
Phoenix knew everything he needed to know, and yet...and yet he couldn't help but be terrified.
He'd be taking the bar exam again. And he knew everything, he had studied and Edgeworth had quizzed him like they were kids again and yet all he could think of was the horrifying possibility that this time he would fail, that after seven years of work he would screw up his second chance.
"Malum prohibitum?" Edgeworth asked, and Phoenix groaned, face-planting against his desk. "Now Wright, we both know you know this."
"Yeah yeah, it's an act that is prohibited by the law, versus malum in se which is an act that is inherently evil. I've literally known that since I was nine when you drilled them into my head like a little law tutor." He bonked his head against the surface of his desk, continuing, "That doesn't mean it isn't entirely possible I go in there and get so anxious that I forget my name."
Edgeworth sighed. "I doubt you will be going into an anxiety-fueled disassociative fugue, Wright."
"Uuuuuugh," he groaned. "I...what if I screw this up? What if I can't be a lawyer anymore? I...I need this to go well, Edgeworth."
The first time he became a defense attorney, it was to save someone he loved. Now though...it was to save himself. And if he screwed it up...
Then, he heard a soft sound of metal against wood, and he looked up to see that Edgeworth had removed the Signal Blue keychain from his bag and set it beside him on his desk, and was now looking away, his cheeks flushed.
"I...do you remember? You made it a good luck charm."
It took him a moment, but, faintly, Phoenix did remember. It was just a goofy little attempt to help Miles calm down before a class presentation, because Miles had been terrified and Phoenix had wanted him to feel better.
"I...it wasn't magic or anything. It was just-"
"A placebo to get me to calm down," Edgeworth noted. "Yes, I recall, Wright. However..." He pushed his glasses up his nose, which conveniently hid his face. "I...I find that the ritual is comforting, despite knowing that. It...certainly wouldn't hurt to try, now would it?"
"...How does it go again?" Phoenix asked, his voice quiet.
"You hold it tightly, close your eyes, take a deep breath...and you say, 'I can do this.'"
He didn't ask how Miles remembered it so well, as he carefully picked up the old keychain, clutching it tightly as he shut his eyes and took a shaking breath.
"I...I can do this..."
And, when he opened his eyes, he saw Miles smiling at him, looking confident (and happy and healthy and so unlike that newspaper picture from long ago).
"...Thanks, Miles," he said quietly, and Miles blinked, before nodding.
"It's no trouble, Wri...Phoenix."
Neither said anything about the name shift. They never did.