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When Edgeworth first receives the call from Detective Gumshoe, he remains calm.
“It’s that new defense attorney, sir. Phoenix Wright? We originally thought he had nothing to do with it, but White from Bluecorp says he saw the whole thing.”
How could he possibly be any different? After years and years of learning to suppress various feelings taught by von Karma, he knows there is no room for frivolous emotions. They are unnecessary and distracting from the task of getting a guilty verdict at all times.
“Very well,” Edgeworth says into his phone, ignoring and pushing down anything that isn’t indifference. He finishes writing his sentence down on the paperwork he was attending to, putting the pen down. “Make him aware that he will need to testify in court tomorrow, Detective. And drop off any evidence and case files at my office at once.”
“Yes, sir.”
It’s silent on the other end for a bit, and Gumshoe doesn’t say anything. Edgeworth feels irritation and irritability crawl up his spine, faster than usual.
“Is there something else, Detective?” He asks, his tone not allowing for any nonsense.
“Oh! Uh, well. I was just—I know you’re not one to talk about personal matters, sir, but—”
“You’d be correct.”
“—isn’t this defense lawyer an old pal of yours, or something?”
His shoulders tense up out of his control. Flashes of an innocent, slightly naive, kind-hearted child with mismatching eyes appear against his will, and his fists clench so tightly that his knuckles turn white.
“Detective—”
“I just wanted to, er, let you know, if you needed to talk about anything—”
A bitter, cold-hearted laugh comes out of Edgeworth, stopping Gumshoe’s rambling. “And you presume I would talk to you? A subordinate of mine whose salary I have to cut quite often due to his incompetence?”
“...”
“I implore you to learn your place, Detective,” he says coolly. “As far as Phoenix Wright, nothing will prevent me from getting a guilty verdict tomorrow.” The shadows and ghosts of memories from the past threaten to bubble up within him, glimpses of three boys being simple children—laughing, having fun, being carefree—but he crushes them down.
Nothing will stand in my way. Not even undeserved sentimentality.
“The current circumstances are no different than any other trial. The defendant must be found guilty, must be punished for their vile crimes. The fact that it is no one other than Phoenix Wright makes no difference to me.” He ignores the clench in his chest as he says it. “Do you understand?”
“...Yes, sir.”
“Good. I encourage you not to doubt my abilities again. Now, get back to work, Detective.”
He ends the call, not allowing Gumshoe to reply. Now that he’s no longer actively talking to someone, his thoughts roam.
Memories of standing up for a boy in the name of his own childish idea of justice fill his mind. Memories of blue-brown eyes widening in awe and admiration, memories of hot summer nights gazing upon the stars with a boy who actually gave him the time of day, listening to his interests with undivided attention. Memories of quickly drawn doodles on pages that were ridiculously good for a young boy, memories of laughter and quickened heartbeats of which Edgeworth did not understand as a child. Memories of a friendship that had shone a radiating light of salvation in some of his darkest days in the household of a monstrous man.
Memories of a friendship that is as good as dead, now that Phoenix Wright has apparently turned into something of a monster as well.
Has he thrown all of it away?
He’s aware he shouldn’t care. It’s just another case. It’s just another case for yet another criminal, which will ultimately lead to a guilty verdict and an execution. Like they always do.
Which is part of the problem, Edgeworth thinks before he stops himself on that train of thought.
No. He will not go down this path.
If Phoenix Wright is capable of such things, justice must be served.
Thoughts of a similar caliber repeat in his head like a mantra for the rest of the day whenever his mind goes astray. They repeat as he finishes his paperwork, once Detective Gumshoe arrives with the case files, and as he’s packing up to return home from work.
Justice must be served. Phoenix Wright will be found guilty tomorrow, and then will become dead to the world.
But to Edgeworth, he already is.
He ignores the part of himself that aches with the thought—the child within him that he had thought to be long gone—and goes home.
“This court finds the defendant, Mr. Phoenix Wright—”
Edgeworth stands up straight, head held high. He knows what the judge is about to say.
“Guilty.”
A satisfied smirk forms on his face. Another perfect trial for his perfect record, something Phoenix Wright was powerless to stop. How could that criminal truly think he could defend himself in court?
“Wait! Please, I didn’t—”
The bailiffs are starting to drag the pathetic excuse of a man away, and Edgeworth watches with a sneer. He starts to stride over to the commotion and panicked blue-brown eyes fall on him.
“Please! Stop! Edgeworth—” The man struggles against the grip of both bailiffs, trying to get out of their reach. “Edgeworth, you know I didn’t do this—”
“Bailiffs, if I may have a word?”
The bailiffs look at each other before they stop dragging Wright at once. They simply hold him in place, still providing enough force that he won’t escape from their grasp.
“Edgeworth, please.” Wright begs, in between panicked breaths, trying to twist his way out. “We still have time—you don’t have to do this; we can fix this—”
A cold, bitter laugh escapes Edgeworth that shuts Wright up in an instant. His lips curl in disgust as he looks down upon the other man. “Fix this? Wright, you have chosen your path,” he spits out, “The path of a criminal—a murderer.”
This gets a response out of Wright, causing his eyebrows to crease in anger, thrashing about in the hold of the bailiffs. “I didn’t kill her! She was my mentor—”
“The path of “fixing this” as you so call it, has vanished.” Edgeworth leans closer to him, taking a long look at the man in front of him. Disheveled, frantic, a mess. He’s seen enough.
“Farewell, Phoenix Wright.” He says quietly, but firm. Turning around on his heels, he begins to walk away, ignoring the cries from the man. He has work to get to, as there are plenty of other defendants needing to be declared guilty.
“Please, stop! Wait! Please!”
That’s all what Phoenix Wright is now. Another rotten criminal.
“Don’t you have a heart!?”
Except the voice is younger, higher in pitch, more innocent, and pleading.
Edgeworth stops moving immediately, ice flooding through his blood in an instant.
He knows that voice.
Memories of his first encounter with his childhood dog flow through his mind. A lost puppy that was found, three newly acquainted young boys trying to find its owner. A woman who threw the dog out onto the street like it was garbage.
A passionate, sensitive, far-too-kind-for-his-own-good boy, yelling at a cold, heartless woman for her despicable actions.
It can’t be.
Edgeworth slowly turns around, breath caught in his throat. He’s met with the Phoenix he remembers, the Phoenix who he thought was long gone.
Blue-brown eyes look at him, begging, pleading, filled with tears. “Miles,” the boy whimpers, choked up with emotion, “Why are you doing this?”
He feels as though there’s claws around his heart. “I—”
Tears start to fall down Phoenix’s face. “I t-thought,” he snivels, “I thought we would be friends forever.”
The grip around Edgeworth’s heart tightens, and his thoughts spiral. What happened? What has happened to them?
“Why?” Young Phoenix demands.
Edgeworth’s breathing quickens, eyes still glued on the boy in front of him. His knees start to feel weak, and before he knows it, he’s kneeling on the ground, hands out in front of him to catch himself. The room starts to get darker, everything turning black, yet the boy in front of him remains.
Why is this happening?
He’s confused. He’s so very confused and has not a clue what to do.
“Why have you thrown our friendship away?”
Edgeworth shakes his head, refusing to entertain such a thought. “N-No. I didn’t—You were the one who threw it away, it was you—”
And then Phoenix is suddenly in front of him, looking down at him, heartbroken and angry. He feels smaller than he has in fifteen years. It doesn’t make sense; it all doesn’t make sense—
“What happened to you?”
His voice is too loud, and Edgeworth starts to hide himself with shaking hands. It’s too much, it’s too much—
“What happened to you, Miles?”
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know, and he wants it to stop, he wants everything to end, he wants things to go back to the way they were—
“What happened to you, Miles?”
“I don’t know,” he screams out, his hands shaking out in front of him, “I don’t—”
He hears a gasp, and his eyes trail up to Phoenix who’s staring at him with a horrified expression, hand clasped over his mouth in shock. Edgeworth follows his gaze, tilting his head down.
There’s blood on his hands.
Edgeworth wakes up in a cold sweat, jerking up from the bed. His chest is heaving from frantic breaths as he tries to become more aware of his surroundings, looking around his bedroom.
It was just a dream, he thinks, trying to get a hold of himself. It was just a dream, and nothing more.
After all, he wasn’t a newcomer to having such disturbing dreams.
He shakes his head at the thought, closing his eyes. Now is not the time to think about such things. Moving his body so that he’s now sitting at the edge of the bed, Edgeworth rubs his hands over his face.
It isn’t his fault, what he has to do tomorrow. He’s doing what needs to be done—putting a criminal away, pursuing justice. It is far from my fault that he chose to do this, he thinks, taking a deep, calming breath. If Phoenix Wright wanted to throw his life away, that is not Edgeworth’s fault.
He knows he won’t be able to go back to sleep most likely—he always has difficulty after nightmares—he stands up from the bed, walks over to turn on the light. The brightness stings his eyes for a moment, and he blinks rapidly.
Perhaps I should take this as a moment to prepare for tomorrow.
Edgeworth walks out of his bedroom, going to his home office. With a sigh from tiredness, he flicks on the light, takes a seat at his desk, and starts looking over the files Detective Gumshoe gave him.
He’s not sure how long he looks at the file, jotting down notes as he reads along, making important case points for tomorrow. He flips the page, only to be met with a picture of Phoenix Wright.
Edgeworth freezes.
His nightmare floods back into his mind, and he feels his jaw clench.
It shouldn’t be any different. Phoenix Wright is just another defendant; it shouldn’t be different.
And yet, it is.
Truth be told, Edgeworth had never expected to see Phoenix Wright again in his life. To see him appear in court of all places, was quite the shock for him. Still, he had no intentions of rekindling a friendship with the man, as he has no time for such things. Furthermore, the man is a defense attorney. Truly a despicable job, defending criminals and murderers.
But still, finding out that Phoenix Wright had murdered his mentor…
There’s a part of Edgeworth that feels betrayed. Someone that he thought of as a dear friend once upon a time, turned into a vile human being, capable of heinous actions.
Has he done this on purpose? To show up in court, to mock me? To make a mockery of something that was once near and dear to my heart?
Anger boils within him. How dare he? How dare he show up like this, like it’s nothing, like it’s a joke, like he hasn’t done something terrible—
He isn’t even aware that he’s clenching the papers so tightly that they begin to crumple until he looks down. He stops at once.
Very well. If Phoenix Wright wants to burn everything we had away…
His gaze falls upon the corner of the room, a corner that he had avoided many times. In fact, the corner is so neglected that it is covered in dust, a stark contrast to the pristine condition of the rest of the room. There is a box, hidden away in that corner. It’s filled with memories along with the letters Wright had sent him throughout the years. Memories that are much too useless now.
…I suppose I should do the same.
Before he can second guess himself, he makes his way over to the box, picks it up, and makes his way to the living room.
Edgeworth sits on one of the chairs in his living room, the box of letters occupying the space by his feet. It’s much too warm, as there is a fire currently occupying the fireplace, something that is seldom used. There are letters scattered about on the table in front of him, creating a mess of papers.
He rereads the very first letter he had gotten from Phoenix after he had moved.
Dear Miles,
How are you doing? I know you had to leave pretty quick, but I hope everything’s okay. I miss We miss you. We hope you and your puppy are doing okay. Did you hear that Signal Samurai is ending soon? What a bummer. Even if it ends, you’ll always be Signal Red to me. I hope we can still be friends
Can’t wait to hear back from you,
Phoenix Wright
Growing up in the von Karma household, Edgeworth was only allowed to keep his focus on his studies, on becoming the perfect prosecutor. When he had gotten the first letter from Phoenix, it was a glimmering light in such a dark time, seeing that his friends still cared about him. He cherished it and rushed to respond. When he tried to send out a letter in reply, however—
“If you have such an absurd amount of free time to respond to such a foolish letter, you surely have time to increase your studies,” von Karma sneered, grabbing the letter he had written from his hands.
“Wait—”
But it was too late. His mentor tossed it into the fireplace like it was nothing, flames licking up the sides until it was fully engulfed.
“If you know what’s best for you, you will not attempt this ridiculous action again,” he said with finality, looking down upon Miles.
“...Yes, sir.”
And that was that. Edgeworth had gotten every single letter Phoenix had sent him, being unable to reply. Still, he would read them, but there would be an ache in his chest when he did. There were so many things he had wanted to say, so many feelings that he at that time did not understand.
But it didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, not now.
Filled with bitterness and hurt, Edgeworth gets up with Wright’s first letter in his hand and moves to the fireplace. He simply watches the flames for a bit, numerous thoughts running in his mind.
If he is nothing but a monster now, I have no choice.
Edgeworth moves the letter towards the fire but hesitates. Is this really what he should do? Burn the memories of the boy he had cared for so deeply?
That is not up to you. He already wasted our friendship away; you are just following suit.
But what if something is wrong? What if Wright didn’t—what if he hadn’t—
No. He is guilty, end of story. I trust the detectives to do their job, and I will do mine.
He glances at the letter.
No matter the cost.
Edgeworth flicks the letter in the blazing fire before he’s able to think twice. There’s an unpleasant feeling in his chest, but he knows it’s for the better. He has no need for these letters anymore.
He continues picking up letters from the box, reading bits and pieces before throwing them in the fire.
I saw a dog today. It looked so much like yours! It made me think of you.
Toss.
We walked by your old house today. It’s been sold. Whoever moves in won’t be as amazing as you, Miles!
Toss.
Larry has a new crush again. Is there anyone you like, Miles?
Toss.
We miss you,
Write back soon,
I miss you,
Toss, toss, toss.
Friends forever,
He scoffs at that particular sign off and throws it into the fire with little remorse.
You didn’t mean it, did you? Edgeworth thinks bitterly, You hadn’t meant anything you said. You couldn’t have, to do this.
He goes to grab the next letter to come to an alarming realization that there are no more. He’s burned them all. There are emotions swirling within him that he doesn’t quite recognize, but there’s one that remains higher in power than them all.
Anger.
Edgeworth looks into the box, and there’s only one thing left to burn now.
The red signal samurai keychain stares back at him, and his breath gets caught in his throat.
Surely, I can—
He swallows, picking the keychain up with a shaky hand. Surely, I can keep at least one thing.
But the rage inside of him barks at him. How dare you give him the time of day? How dare you show any sort of sympathy for him, any sort of emotion for him after what he’s done? He needs to pay.
Edgeworth stands there, at war with himself. He clutches the keychain tightly, almost as tight as the grip around his heart, and how foolish is this? Getting emotional at a mere keychain.
Phoenix Wright has made his decision. It’s time for Edgeworth to make his.
He thinks about all the memories they had together. The laughter, the joy, even the pain. But none of that can measure up or make up for the pain he’s feeling now. Phoenix Wright has to pay. He needs to pay.
Edgeworth throws the keychain into the fire.
Images of the Phoenix he remembers as a boy flash in his mind, rapidly. His smile, his laughter, his tears, his eyes—so full of emotion, so full of hope, and love—
“Don’t you have a heart!?”
And Edgeworth can’t breathe, eyes stuck on the burning plastic, he can’t breathe, he can’t—
“You and me? We’ll be friends forever!”
He can’t do this. He can’t do this to them, he can’t do this to the Phoenix Wright he used to know, even if he’s long gone—
Without thinking twice, he reaches into the fire, barely registering the pain, barely registering the burning sensation he feels, because he needs to grab it, needs to keep it, needs to save it—
He’s able to grab it, throwing it on the table, breathing heavily. It had only been in there for a few seconds, but the plastic had started to melt, making it look a little worse for wear. But that doesn’t matter now. It’s there, it’s safe—
The pain finally overtakes the panic, and he runs over to the kitchen sink to run cool water over his hand, red all over. The water eases the pain, if only for a little while. He knows he has done something extremely foolish but can’t bring it on himself to care.
And later, he continues nursing his fresh wound, and a voice that sounds suspiciously like his mentor appears in his mind.
“Look at what your foolish sentimentality has done.”
He’s well aware. Edgeworth knows now that his burn will turn into a scar, and he’ll have this moment forever molded onto his body. It shouldn’t have been worth it.
However, while the current Phoenix Wright’s memory may deserve to go up in flames, the younger version of him does not.
A little while later, he knows he only has a few more hours until his alarm clock is set to go off, until he has to go to work. To the trial. He finishes wrapping gauze around his burnt hand, and goes back to bed, putting the slightly melted plastic keychain on his nightstand.
He gives it one last long look, and then closes his eyes to get what little rest he can.
There’s a trial to win soon, after all.
The next day, right before the trial, Edgeworth can’t stop himself from going up to Phoenix Wright. He doesn’t know what possesses him to, just that he must.
“Why—why!?” The victim’s sister cries out, a young Miss Maya Fey. “How can you torment an innocent person like this?”
Edgeworth can’t bury the scoff that bubbles up within him. It comes out bitterly. “Innocent...? How can we know that?” He stares directly at Wright, who looks dumbfoundedly shocked. “The guilty will always lie, to avoid being found out. There’s no way to tell who is guilty and who is innocent. All that I can hope to do is get every defendant declared guilty.” He swallows, wondering why it’s becoming more and more difficult to speak. “I make that my policy.”
There’s some emotion that flashes in the mismatched eyes right in front of him, an emotion he can’t seem to place, but makes him squirm under the intensity. When Wright speaks, it comes out quiet, but similar to the quiet before a treacherous storm. “You’ve changed, Edgeworth.” His eyes trail down, and then his brows crease into something like worry, which is—
“Hey, Edgeworth—” And it comes out gentle, which it shouldn’t, he is a criminal, a murderer— “What happened to your hand?”
Edgeworth goes rigid. He had almost forgotten.
Why does he care?
He instinctively moves his hand to be shielded behind his body, not before he growls out, “Don’t expect any special treatment, Phoenix Wright.” He turns on his heels and walks away, starting to prepare himself for the trial.
The boy he once knew and loved may be dead to him, but the memories will live on, because they have to. They were some of the few highlights Miles had from his childhood, and the boy he knew as Phoenix Wright will remain in his memory, in his heart.
The current Phoenix Wright, however, is a different story.
Edgeworth walks into the courtroom, behind his designated stand. He sees Wright across from him, looking at him with an emotion he cannot place.
You will not get away with this, Phoenix Wright.
Whether for the murder of Mia Fey or the betrayal against his heart, Edgeworth isn’t sure.