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Walking up the many flights of stairs to the prosecutor’s office would be quite a feat for the average person. Not for Miles Edgeworth.
No, his father’s tragic death had affected him so much so that he had refused to step foot in an elevator since. The constant walking was tiring, at first. Yet, Miles did have to thank Manfred von Karma for one thing. It did make his legs more muscular.
God, how would he have turned out? Miles knew that this line of thought would get him nowhere other than on a one-way flight to a panic attack. He knew it was a bad idea to allow himself to indulge in his thoughts like this. However , he was more stable than before. He has had his husband, ever supporting and helpful. He had been getting better.
The man thought to himself, if Manfred had not murdered my father, I would have become a defense attorney. That was my childhood dream. On the other side of the spectrum, I could have noticed the corruption in the Japanifornian legal system . Given up on a law career. Miles got a small chuckle out of the next thought. I could have followed Phoenix on his path to art school.
As his mind flooded with ‘what-if’ and ‘ perhaps ’, he found himself losing focus. He disregarded his surroundings, slipping backwards and falling down the flight of stairs. When the prosecutor finally came to, darkness seemed to consume him. Confused, the man pushed himself off of the ground. Although his vision was very blurry(damn, he lost his glasses), he noticed a boyish figure standing ahead .
The boy, around nine or ten years clutching the handle of a black umbrella. Although Edgeworth could not make out much, he noticed that the boy had a typical figure for one his age. Not exactly ‘athletic’, but not overweight either. It almost reminded him of his younger self, before…
Come to think of it, the black suit that the boy was wearing matched that of the one that he had worn to his father’s funeral.
Taking cautious steps forward, as to not disturb the boy, Miles’ confusion only grew. The boy seemed to be in a trance of sorts, either that or he did not care enough to react. When he finally got close enough to get a good look at the boy, there was no more denying that this was him. The boy’s skin, pale, like that of a vampire. His eyes, sunken, sleepless, and full of sorrow. The hair, silver and disheveled, almost as if he was in a hurry to arrive at his father’s funeral. Miles knew why it appeared this way, of course; Manfred had only allowed him an hour to bid his father adieu. He hadn’t wanted to waste his time trying to look nice. The final nail in the coffin was the umbrella clenched in the boy’s small hands. Engraved on the handle, it reads, “Property of von Karma Estate”.
With his realization, Miles had no idea about how to react. He could feel himself growing panicked at the realization that no, the boy was not just eerily similar in appearance to his young, eight year old self, the boy was young Miles. Tears glistening, the boy stared up at Miles, and Miles stared back, eyes squinted and analytical. His voice wavering, echoing throughout the black void, the boy finally said,
“Would you change it?”
With those four words, Miles finally understood why he was there. The opportunity to change the outcome of that fateful day was finally given to him. After years of praying, of hoping, of wishing for him to wake up to see his father alive. Suddenly , his surroundings changed. The darkness faded into a dim lit room, a single candle on the small table. Across from the table was a leather couch, and on the opposite side was an old television. It took him a brief moment to recognize where he was, but there was no doubt about it: this was his father’s house. God, he hadn’t seen this since third grade.
Taking quiet steps, feet sinking into the carpet, he exited the living room that he had found himself in. He attempted to remember where his bedroom had been, but he didn't have to. With each step up the carpeted stairs, children's laughter grew more audible. He gently opened the door to see three children sitting on a large, blanketed, comfortable looking bed- his bed . A young Phoenix Wright, Larry Butz, and that boy from before, though slightly older, all sat upon it. They were all laughing and smiling, watching The Nickel Samurai on a television.
Miles couldn’t remember a moment in his youth past his father’s passing where he had smiled that much. He had hardly ever smiled, period.
The man found himself reaching towards his younger self, but before the two could make contact, his surroundings changed again . He was no longer reaching for the face of his younger self, but for a delicately wrapped gift. Pulling back, Miles allowed his teenage self to grasp the gift from his father. The red wrapping paper was plain and glossy, a gorgeous blue bow tied on top. It was clear that there been a lot of effort put into making it perfect. A calendar hung upon a nearby wall caught his eye. December 15, 2006. The first day of Hanukkah.
He had almost forgotten that his father was Jewish. After all, Manfred was Catholic, and had converted his adopted son. He remembered inviting Phoenix over when they were children, lighting the menorah together. Although the concept of Hanukkah confused Phoenix, as his family celebrated Christmas, it was a fun night for both of them .
Perhaps he would still be Jewish to this very day if not for the murder. Lighting candles in the evening with Phoenix, snow drifting down outside… Wait, what would have become him and Wright ?
Right on time with his thoughts, Miles found himself in a chapel. He lost his balance out of surprise, and fell backwards to only lean against a wall. Well, at least that saved him the embarrassment of falling on his ass...
Wait, no one can see him.
He searched for himself and spotted him, who seemed to be around 34 years old, sitting in a front row seat. Judging by the amount of people and the fact he was in a chapel, Miles assumed this was a wedding. But why would this… thing, bring me to a wedding? His eyes glanced over to the centers of attention, the two being wed .
Oh. OH. Oh god.
Miles had to choke back a gasp at what he saw. Listing his vows, there stood Phoenix, in a dorky looking black suit. He was doing that adorable thing that he does when he's nervous, aimlessly scratching at the back of his neck. His other hand rested gently on that of his bride, a young woman that Miles didn’t recognize. Her brown hair was pulled back into a small bun, her dress was black, slim and lacy. In this universe, Miles realized, Phoenix would have never ‘saved’ him. They would have never fallen in love, gotten married, raised Trucy.
He was... unsettled, to say the least. To see his husband, the love of his life, his beloved, getting married to some... woman. God, he couldn't tell if he wanted to attack her with the cake knife or wish her well. Phoenix Wright is a lovely man, after all. He should want to congratulate her and nothing more. But how had his duplicate seemed so... calm?
Taking a glance back at that Miles, the one with a living father, he noticed something he hadn't noticed before . There was a bittersweet expression upon his face, he looked conflicted. It was obvious he was trying to hide it. And his eyes, they're... puffy. Hm.
He felt a tug at his sleeve, his past self staring up at him with wide, sad eyes. That same conflicted expression.
“Would you change it?” he asked again.
Wiping away the young one's tears, Miles responded, “No," he began, a bittersweet smile on his face. "No, I wouldn’t change it for the world.”