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A von Karma is perfect. A von Karma doesn’t get sick or wounded. Above all, a von Karma doesn’t get shot in the shoulder near or inside a courthouse.
How utterly embarrassing it happened twice.
Franziska von Karma kicks Miles Edgeworth, then kicks Miles Edgeworth’s car before she kicks Miles Edgeworth’s car seat repeatedly. She’ll kick everything until the shame and the pain go away.
The pain, she knows, will go away.
The shame, however, will dwell forever.
And if she kicks, it’s because she cannot accept she let her guard down enough to be shot. A bullet was all it took for her papa to fall. She will not know the same fate. She will not know the same fate. She will not. She will—
“Franziska, stay with me.”
“I will do anything but that, Miles Edgeworth!” Franziska von Karma shouts and goes back to kicking the car. She’s appalled to find out she stopped struggling, even for an instant. Now’s not the time to give up the fight. “Turn the car around!”
“No. Stay conscious and stop kicking. You're too old for tantrums and you’re tiring yourself out.”
Franziska von Karma stops. Not because he asked her to. No. Because a von Karma is not only perfect. A von Karma is smart. A von Karma knows when to save their resources and stand back. She is, undoubtedly, losing a lot of energy by kicking a foolish car that shows no sign of stopping.
But the doubt sets in. Is she even a von Karma anymore? What is she, now that can’t stand in court? What is she, now that she isn’t perfect anymore? Who is she, if she isn’t a von Karma? Who is Franziska von Karma?
A Von Karma? A less than perfect von Karma isn’t a von Karma.Perfection has to be perfect. Anything less than perfect… isn’t perfect. A dent in perfection, however small, is an imperfection.
A genius prosecutor? She’s lost two trials in a row. Her debut in this country was worthy of the foolest fools.
Miles Edgeworth’s older sister? He’s managed to carry her to his car and force her inside. He isn’t listening to her. He isn’t listening at all.
“Turn the foolish car around,” Franziska von Karma says between her teeth.
“I will not,” Miles Edgeworth retorts.
Franziska von Karma glares at him. He has changed. But has he really grown? This crybaby little Miles Edgeworth. You don’t grow from perfection. There is no way to get better when you’re already perfect.
Franziska’s von Karma’s hazy mind flashes back to when Miles Edgeworth got his first car. That foolish Miles Edgeworth who couldn’t drive a manual gearbox when he first started out. The foolish fool had to learn and was awfully bad at it. But now it looks as easy as breathing for him.
“Apply constant pressure, Franziska. You need to limit the blood loss.”
“Don’t tell me what to do!”
“Now is not the time to be stubborn.”
Franziska von Karma has always hated Miles Edgeworth’s self-control. She’s always hated how imperfect he is. Romanticist. Franziska von Karma didn’t know the word, still isn’t sure what it entails, but she heard her papa hiss romanticist at Miles Edgeworth quite a few times.
If Franziska von Karma cared enough, she’d notice the tight grip of his fingers on the wheel, the gritting of his teeth, how often he glances her way to make sure she’s still here.
Miles Edgeworth sighs. “You were shot.”
He says it like it’s an observation and Franziska von Karma should understand exactly what it means.
But Franziska von Karma defends herself, “The bullet only grazed me.”
“With the amount of blood you’re shedding on my car’s seat, I dare object.”
“Shut up, Miles Edgeworth!”
“That sounds ugly in your mouth, Franziska.”
Franziska grits her teeth. She finds she doesn’t have the energy to get back at him.
“Does it hurt?”
Franziska von Karma is ready to snap at him again, but her vision doubles suddenly, and there’s a painful throb in her shoulder. If she’s honest, it hurts. Her head drops and she rests it against the foolish car, eyes closing as defeat creeps in.
Franziska von Karma understands it now. She won’t stand in court. She won’t get the defendant Matt Engarde convicted. She won’t get her revenge against Phoenix Wright today. And for the first time, the slightest hint of a doubt settles in. She doubts she’ll ever get her revenge.
So yes, it hurts. Franziska von Karma has been shot and she now knows no worse physical pain than a gunshot wound.
But it hurts much less than her pride right now.
“Turn back,” Franziska says quietly, her voice cracking at the weight of everything– gunshot wound, wounded pride, prideful ways.
But as she asks, she knows Miles won’t.