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He was sick. Sick of all things. He was taking multivitamins, he was cycling almost everywhere, and, not to brag, he had been cutting his dad bod down into a regular bod. Ever since he ate glass , yeah, that happened, well, it was more a container made of glass, filled with poison. The poison in it messed up his stomach, apparently, he couldn’t absorb nutrients from food as well as he could before. He could still taste the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, the smell of burned human flesh mixed with the sickly sweet scent of her perfume.
* ACHOO ! ACHOO ! ACHOO !* Ugh… is this why Grossberg clears his throat so many times? He can’t go to the office like this, nor can he go to court like this. His nose was as red as Edgeworth’s sports car.
* ACHOO ! ACHOO ! AHCOO !* He hates this. He hates this. Not for the reason normal people hate being sick, he HATES this. Being this sick, it only brings back old memories.
He could still remember the cold Detention Center visitor’s room table, waiting for his parents, Larry, anyone, to visit him. The only one was Mia Fey, his defense attorney, and her mentor, Marvin Grossberg. He could remember her words like it was yesterday…
“Mr. Wry…?” The defense attorney asked, concerned for both his well-being and his fashion sense.
“Wright. Phoenix Wri-- * ACHOO !*” He sneezed into his mask.
“I’m Mia Fey, your defense attorney.” She took off her Defense Attorney’s Badge from her lapel, pressing it up against the glass, presenting it to him.
He stared at the Badge, admiring the sunflower motif on it. One day, he wished to have on affixed to his lapel. “So… You’ll defend me in court?”
“Yes,” she nodded, “I need you to tell the truth.” She touched the purple magatama on her neck, “Did you or did you not kill Doug Swallow?”
The air in the visitor's room was tense, tenser than it was before. “...I-I… W-Well, I… No. I didn’t.”
Mia clutched her purple magatama, staring daggers into Phoenix. “Good.” Her expression softened, “I want you to trust me, and for that, I need to trust you.”
* COUGH ! ACHOO ! COUGH !* Looks like that’ll be the most reminiscing he can do without his sickness kicking in. He took out his phone, looking at the contacts.
Edgeworth…? No, too busy.
Maya…? No, she was up in Kurain, it was two hours by train, he doesn’t want to bother her.
Larry…? He’s a good friend, but he’s WAY too unreliable.
Franziska…? Wait. Why does he even have her number?
…Mia…
He closed his phone. *
COUGH
!
COUGH
!
COUGH
!* He’d rather suffer in silence than bother any of them. *
ACHOO
!
ACHOO
!
ACHOO
!* Fuck… Imagine Edgeworth, Maya, Larry, or anyone seeing him like this. Phoenix Wright, the “Turnabout Terror”, sneezing, coughing, and hacking up his lungs in his dank apartment. *
ACHOO
!
COUGH
!
COUGH
!* He’ll sleep it off…