Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was incredible how the most significant moments in one’s life could seem so insignificant at the time. 

Miles could not remember the first time he had met Phoenix Wright. He supposed that, logically, it had to have been during that first week (if not first day) of fourth grade, but if pushed for a more specific answer, he wouldn’t be able to give one. Back then, Phoenix was nothing more than one face out of thirty, no more important than any of the other kids that Miles had kept his distance from. He had long learned his passion for law was not one his classmates shared, and the last thing he had wanted was to stress out his father with another bullying incident. 

There was one moment that stuck out to him, however – though not for the same reason it stuck with Phoenix himself, as he would later learn, and not at the same life-defining depth. 

Even though it was his lunch money that was stolen, Miles remembered buzzing in excitement at the announcement of a class trial. To a precocious nine-year-old who had idolised his defense attorney father and spent his free time memorising legal jargon, this felt like the opportunity he had been waiting for his entire life. This was his chance to kickstart his righteous fight for truth and justice, and prove to everyone – and especially himself – that this was what he was put on this Earth to do. 

That excitement was quickly dashed once it became clear that the class trial would be nothing like the real deal. For one, there were no lawyers. The poor defendant was sat in the centre of a circle of desks, and forced to recount his side of the story with no attorney to defend him and no prosecutor to present the case with civility and order. Instead, everyone in the class was allowed to shout their accusations freely and without reprimand – even when those accusations were nothing but conjecture. 

For another, there was little-to-no evidence placing the defendant at the scene of the crime. There were no eyewitness accounts, no proof that he had ever touched the money. The sole reason he was being accused was because he was the only student without an alibi. No real court worth its salt would have tried a case so thin. 

The whole trial was a farce. It was a mockery of the justice system and everything Miles valued and held dear. The poor defendant was in tears trying to defend himself against a crime he did not commit while everyone in the room – including their teacher – insisted he did it. 

Rage the likes of which Miles had never felt before bubbled up inside of him. When their teacher had firmly asked the defendant to pay him back for every cent, and, even more infuriatingly, the defendant was about to give in just to make it all stop, Miles could no longer play the part of the silent victim. He had to do something. 

“OBJECTION!” 

His voice ripped from his throat, punctuated by his chair scraping across the linoleum as he leapt to his feet. 

“He shouldn’t have to apologise! The only thing that belongs in a trial is evidence! Anything else has no place! You should all be ashamed…. Amateurs!” 

Miles argued back and forth with the teacher until another student chimed in with the point that it wasn’t fair of them to gang up on someone like this, after which their teacher finally relented and offered to cover his missing lunch money herself. (Miles maintained he could have won the argument without that student’s help, however.)

As the rest of the class complained about the “unsatisfying” ending to the trial, Miles’s gaze connected with the defendant’s and his lingering fury melted away. 

Big brown eyes, still wet with tears, looked at him with something akin to wonder and awe – like Miles had done something more than save him a couple weeks’ worth of pocket money. 

Like Miles had saved his life. 

In that moment, it hit him that this was what it meant to be a defense attorney. It was about defending the innocent from injustice. It was about standing up for someone the world had turned against. It was about righting wrongs, maintaining fairness, and reaching out a hand to someone so down-on-their-luck that they had no one else to help them. 

Pride welled in his chest, and he wondered if this was how his father felt every time he won a case. 

This feeling did not stick with him for long. Tragedy struck only a few months later, and Gregory Edgeworth died on the floor of an elevator, taking Miles’s faith in the court system with him. 

He had only been nine-years old back then. Now that he was twenty-four – now that he understood how cruel life truly was – he could see his childish idealism for what it was. 

The purpose of a trial was not to clear the innocent, but to sentence the guilty. It was to prove without a shadow of a doubt that the culprit had, in fact, committed the crime, thus ridding the world of one more criminal and protecting the public from further harm. 

That was how they fought against injustice. That was how they gave the victim closure and peace of mind. Defense attorneys were as corrupt as anyone else; Miles only wished it hadn’t taken his father’s murder for him to see that. 

Miles had not thought about the class trial in a long time. He would have been content to never think about his old life again, to leave the past in the past where it belonged, and yet, the memory returned to him unbidden on the morning of the Fey trial. 

Miles stared into the eyes of Phoenix Wright and looked for any trace of the wonder and awe he saw back then – and then, failing that, for any trace of the fury and hatred he used to see in his mentor, Mia Fey’s – but whoever stood across from him in the courtroom that day was not the same boy he remembered. 

No, this Phoenix was different. This Phoenix looked at Miles with a fierce determination he seldom saw across from him, jaw clenched and hand laid flat on the defense bench. This Phoenix wouldn’t take false accusations lying down. 

If he recognised him at all, it didn’t show. 

The most significant moments in one’s life could seem so insignificant while they’re happening, but that was not the case here. Even at the time, Miles could feel the weight of fate (if he dared believe in such a thing) pressing down on them. A storm was brewing in the air, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was about to change. 

Phoenix Wright was the most inexperienced, blundering, and unprofessional excuse of a defense attorney Miles had ever had the displeasure of facing. From the second he had first found out that Wright was leading the opposition, Miles had wondered why he had become a lawyer, but now that he had seen him defend, he realised the better question was how. 

Wright fumbled through the proceedings like it was the first time he had ever stepped foot in a courthouse. He objected to statements before he knew what he was objecting to, he pressed the witnesses on every innocuous statement, and he continuously presented evidence that barely related to the case – evidence that Miles should have been told about, if the police force in this country wasn’t so inept. Wright should never have been admitted to a law programme, nevermind given a license, and yet…. 

And yet….

His Honour’s gavel hit the block with a resounding BANG. The not guilty verdict rang in Miles’s ears like he was struck with the aftereffects of a bomb. 

His perfect record was gone, just like that. His first official loss, and it was to a rookie attorney with no more than two cases under his belt. 

Miles gripped the edge of the prosecutor’s bench to steady himself. He played back the past two days over in his mind, combing through the trial for what moves he could have made differently – for any checkmates he might have missed – but no, he had played everything perfectly. There were a few moments where Wright had caught him off guard, certainly, but that was because Gumshoe had stupidly slipped him information during his investigation. Miles could hardly be blamed for the incompetence of his underlings. 

And even if there was something he could have done differently, he couldn’t have stopped Redd White from confessing to several crimes on the stand anyway – not when White hadn’t warned him ahead of time about the skeletons in his closet. If White had been more cooperative during his interrogation instead of throwing his weight around, then none of this would have happened. 

Yes, it was White's fault that he lost. This black spot on his record was a fluke and nothing more. It wouldn’t happen again. It couldn’t happen again. He wouldn’t allow it. 

…But Wright had been innocent, and so had Maya Fey. If Miles had won, then….

Miles shook the thought from his head. The stress of the trial was getting to him, that's all. He needed air. 

As soon as he was no longer beholden to the bench, Miles packed up his things and began to take his leave, only to be stopped by an all too familiar voice. 

“Edgeworth! Wait!” 

Miles whipped around to face Wright, and levelled him with his sharpest glare. Wright stopped dead in his tracks. Behind him, Maya Fey – who, from a distance, looked shockingly like her deceased sister – watched on. 

“I have nothing to say to you,” Miles hissed through his teeth. 

“It’s been a long time, I just thought–….”

“Thought what? We could catch up? We’re not friends, Wright.”

Wright pressed his lips into a thin line as if he was biting something back. “I guess not.” 

Before Wright could say anything else, before he could mess with his head any further, Miles spun on his heel and stalked out of the courtroom.

Franziska, predictably, had left a voicemail the second the news of the Demon Prosecutor’s first loss had reached her. 

“What sort of foolish fool foolishly loses a trial to an even more foolish fool? A rookie, Miles Edgeworth? You let a rookie ruin your perfect record? Do you even understand the shame you have brought to the von Karma name after such an embarrassment? Pick up the phone this instant and explain yourself!” 

Sending Franziska to voicemail was a rare mercy to himself, even if he knew she would only berate him for it the next time they talked. However, while he didn’t care if he pissed Franziska off, he knew her father would never forgive such insolence if his call went unanswered. 

The silence on the other end of the line was more damning than any judgement Manfred von Karma could have made. Miles felt like he was ten-years old again, blinking back tears at his mentor's feet as he tried to explain that he and Franziska hadn't meant to break his antique vase. 

“I did everything I could, given the circumstances.” Miles pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, and held the phone to his ear with the other. “The detective had fed information to the defense, the witness confessed to numerous crimes he had neglected to mention in our interview, and….” He sighed, and steeled himself. “The defendants were innocent, sir.” 

“Bah! Fool! Have you learned nothing?” Miles flinched as von Karma’s voice boomed down the line. “Whether a defendant is ‘innocent’ or ‘guilty’ is determined by the court. If they were declared ‘innocent’, it was because you failed to do your job and secure a guilty verdict.”

“Right.” Miles shut his eyes tight. “Of course, sir.” 

“You are a disciple of the legendary Manfred von Karma. This behaviour is not befitting of one of my students. When you fail, it reflects poorly on me, and I will not accept anything less than perfection going forward. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, sir. It won’t happen again.”

“Hmph. See that it doesn’t.” 

When the call ended, Miles’s gaze drifted to the framed photo on his desk. His father’s dimpled face smiled up at him, his eyes kind and proud. His attorney’s badge flared in the light. 

His father’s picture gave him a lot of comfort in times of stress, but he derived no comfort from it now. 

Miles laid the frame face down on his desk, and headed directly to bed. 

As if the world wasn’t cruel enough, Will Powers – the Steel Samurai himself – was charged with murder. Worse again, the victim had been none other than his own co-star Jack Hammer, the actor behind the Evil Magistrate. 

It was true what they said. Never meet your heroes. 

Miles had been assigned to prosecute the case, and regardless of his own personal feelings of the people involved, he was determined to win it. That resolve only hardened once he found out that Phoenix Wright had agreed to defend. 

Ever since their last case together, Miles had been… confused. There had always been a part of him that doubted von Karma’s teachings, but usually that part of him was easier to ignore. Nowadays, however, there was a little voice in the back of his mind (one that sounded suspiciously like his father’s) asking questions he didn’t want to answer and raising concerns he didn’t want to face. The only method he could come up with to shut that little voice up was to face Wright again in court. 

If Miles could defeat him, then he could prove to himself that his first loss really was a fluke – that Wright had just gotten lucky – and he could stop combing over every trial he had ever prosecuted for signs that he was on the right side. 

It didn’t matter what had happened on the set of the Steel Samurai that day. Miles needed to prove that Will Powers was truly guilty, and that he deserved whatever sentencing he got. 

The blow to Miles’s pride still stung, and as much as he wanted to leave his singular loss in the past, he couldn’t help but watch Wright closely during the trial in an attempt to understand how someone so inexperienced had managed to best him. 

There was a method to Wright’s madness, as much as Miles loathed to acknowledge it, and once it hit him what that method was, it knocked his entire world off its axis. 

At first, the proceedings seemed to unfold in the same erratic manner as their last. Wright fumbled with evidence, wasted everyone’s time with inane questions, and made arguments like he had been piecing his points together as he spoke them out loud. It wasn’t until Wright had painfully dragged everything out to the third and final day that Miles finally saw what made him so different. 

Dee Vasquez stood on the witness stand with the cool indifference of a woman who was confident she wasn’t going to be arrested. Miles had called her to the stand with that same confidence, but even he had to admit that Wright’s arguments against her made sense. He selfishly didn’t want them to be true – if Vasquez was guilty, then that meant Miles was hurtling towards another loss – but now that all the cards were on the table, he could see the outcome plain as day. 

Miles sighed, and resigned himself to another black mark on his perfect record. 

But then….

Vasquez took a long drag of her cigarette, and slowly blew out the smoke. “That is only a possibility. Proof is another thing altogether. You lack decisive proof, Mr. Wright.” 

She was correct, of course. Wright hadn’t proved anything, but if there was anything he had learned from this trial and their last, it was that Wright had a talent for turning things around. It didn’t matter how efficiently Miles had cornered him; Wright always seemed to find a way out. 

Miles had expected this to be no different. Wright attempted to press her further, but Vasquez convinced His Honour that there was nothing to gain from testifying again. He watched as Wright consulted Maya Fey, and waited for them to find that one tiny angle that would dig them out of this hole. 

Any second now, Wright would raise an objection that would tilt the scales back in his favour.

When that second passed without fanfare, the judge cleared his throat. “As it seems there are no further questions… I would like to end the cross-examination of the witness, Ms. Vasquez." 

Across the room, Maya was growing increasingly distressed, and Wright’s expression was tight and desperate. 

Oh god. They actually didn’t have a way out of this. Vasquez was going to get away with it. 

Proving Vasquez’s guilt was not Miles’s responsibility. Von Karma had drilled it into him over and over again that his only goal in the courtroom was to prove that the defendant had been responsible for the murder. Agonising over morality was a pointless endeavour when ‘guilty’ and ‘not guilty’ were nothing more than legal terms that determined who had won the trial. 

…But that’s not what his father had believed, and it wasn’t what Phoenix Wright believed either. 

Phoenix Wright had unwavering faith that his clients had truly done nothing wrong. He was standing behind that bench because he was dedicated to defending the weak and helpless, and because he believed that the only path to true justice was through uncovering the truth. He didn’t care about winning for winning’s sake, but because he didn’t want his clients to face the consequences of a crime they didn’t commit. This wasn’t personal for him. He had nothing to gain from winning the trial. His intentions were nothing but selfless. 

Deep down, Miles had known that people like him existed, but somewhere along the way, his perception of the world had grown so twisted that believing such felt childish and naive. 

His father had stood for those same ideals once. Miles himself had wanted to stand for those same ideals once too. 

Dee Vasquez inspected her nails without a care in the world. The judge readied his gavel. Phoenix Wright gritted his teeth and clenched his hands into tight fists, his expression pained as if he was the one who would be going to jail if Vasquez was allowed to leave the stand. 

Fuck, he was really going to do this, wasn’t he? 

Before he could change his mind, Miles let his voice ring out across the courtroom. 

“OBJECTION!” 

He had no plan for what he was doing. He had no idea what he was even objecting to. All he knew was that he needed to toss some sort of lifeline to give Wright a fighting chance. 

God, was this how Wright felt when he blundered through his defense? How awful. 

It took one false start and an embarrassing stumble, but eventually he found the angle that would allow the trial to continue. Vasquez glared him down with disgusted fury, Maya’s jaw had hit the floor, and yet all Miles could see was Wright’s bewildered brown eyes, wide and stunned. 

Just don’t squander the opportunity I’ve bought you, you imbecile. 

And Wright didn’t. 

When the judge declared Will Powers not guilty, Miles pushed down the nausea churning in his stomach. 

“However. In retrospect, it would have been better had we not met. Thanks to you, I am saddled with unnecessary... feelings.”

“Unnecessary feelings?”

“Yes. Unease... and uncertainty.”

“Aren't those kind of necessary?”

“They only serve to get in my way. You listen to me, Phoenix Wright. Don't ever show your face in front of me again. That's what I came here to tell you.”

When the outcome of the trial hit the papers, Franziska left him another scathing voicemail. 

Von Karma didn’t call him at all. 

Miles hadn’t felt this lost since his father died. He was a ship, unmoored and untethered, floating through the ocean without aim or direction. 

It was pathetic, really, how one man had knocked him so offkilter. Wright wasn’t even that good of a lawyer, winning trials through sheer dumb luck alone. Hell, the only reason he won that last case was because Miles had intervened at a pivotal moment. Will Powers would have been sentenced to life in prison if he hadn’t shirked his prosecutorial duties. 

And wasn’t that the crux of his problem? 

Miles couldn’t stop thinking about it. If it had been anyone else facing him in court that day, he doubted he would have pushed for further testimony. He would have gunned for that guilty verdict just as he had been taught, and wouldn’t have given Will Powers a second thought beyond it’s a shame what this case will do to the Steel Samurai’s legacy. 

There could have been an innocent man in prison because of him.

There was no telling how many innocent people had already been sent to prison because of him. He couldn’t even bring himself to think about those who had received harsher sentences. 

One man, one stupid brilliant man, and Miles had spiralled into a crisis of conscience so severe he didn’t know how he could – or even if he should – continue to practice law. 

It didn’t help that the anniversary of his father’s death loomed ever closer, and he could feel his ghost haunting him like a shadow. 

Some son he turned out to be. Are you proud of me now, father? Would you still love me if you knew what I had become? 

There was no easy solution to his dilemma, no obvious answer as to how to move forward from here. Until he could figure it out, he would allow the sea of time to carry him onwards, and hope that wherever the waves took him, he wouldn't be dashed against the rocks. 

It had all happened so fast. One moment, Robert Hammond was alive and well, and the next he was tumbling into the lake. 

The pointblank gunshots rang in his ears. Miles didn’t see Hammond point the pistol at himself, but there was no other way he could have been shot when theirs was the only boat on the lake. He had stupidly picked up the gun in his shock (this was going to bite him in the ass, he could sense it), and it was still warm and smoking. 

But why would Hammond drag him all the way out to Gourd Lake just to shoot himself in front of him? And what was all that talk about revenge? 

Miles waited a few minutes to make sure Hammond wasn’t going to resurface, and then rowed back to shore. Someone must have reported the sound of gunfire as the police were already searching the park by the time he had stumbled across the beach. 

“Mr. Edgeworth!” Gumshoe shouldered through his underlings and barrelled towards him. “Mr. Edgeworth! Are you okay?! What happened?!” He must have been in a sorry state as Gumshoe took his arm and sat him down on the benches by the hot dog stand. 

Miles recounted everything he saw to the best of his ability. It was embarrassing how frazzled he was, but for all his many faults, Gumshoe was the one the person he could trust not to think any less of him for it. 

“Start combing the lake for bodies, and send a search party into the woods! If there are any other shooters on the premises, I want to know about it!” Gumshoe barked his orders, and then turned to Miles with a salute. “Don’t worry, sir! We’ll get to the bottom of this in no time!” 

As the police scattered all around him, Miles stayed on the bench with his head in his hands. He should probably be giving orders of his own, but it was taking everything in him just to keep himself together – especially when Gumshoe returned some time later with the news that a body had washed up on the shore. 

Hammond was dead, and mere days before the statute of limitations had run out on the DL-6 incident. It didn’t feel like a coincidence. Miles had hoped that this case would finally be behind him for good, but it seemed some nightmares never ceased. 

When Miles closed his eyes, flashes of that terrible day cycled through his mind on a film reel. A desperate man begging for air. A scared boy wanting to make the arguments stop. A gunshot. A scream. 

When he opened them, Gumshoe was fighting with one of his subordinates. “Watch it, pal! Mr. Edgeworth has done a lot for us over the years, and I’m not going to stand here and listen to you accuse him of a crime he didn’t commit! Keep searching those woods! There has to be somebody else around here!”

“What’s going on?” Miles staggered to his feet. 

Gumshoe stood to attention. “The boys want to bring you in for murder, sir, but don’t worry! I know you didn’t do it! We just need widen the perimeter and, then–”

“Detective Gumshoe.” A wave of resignation washed over him, and Miles felt a strange sort of peace. “If I’m the only suspect, then you have a duty to arrest me.”

“S– Sir!” 

“It’ll be all right. The truth will come out in court, one way or another.” 

Gumshoe’s face fell. With how ruthless the prosecutors in this district were, and with how rare it was for a defendant to be cleared of all their charges, they both knew the chances of Miles walking free were slim. 

Still, Miles allowed himself to be cuffed, ignoring Gumshoe’s passionate protests all the while. He wasn’t one to believe in fate or karma or any of that spiritual nonsense, but this felt destined, somehow – like the scales of justice were swinging back into balance. 

He may not have killed Hammond, but he still had much to atone for, and this was only the start. 

Manfred von Karma looked down at him with a disappointment Miles hadn’t seen from him since he forgot to reference Tort Law in a practice bar exam question he attempted as a teenager. It hurt that he had agreed to prosecute him, but it wasn’t a surprise. Miles may have been his pupil, but he would never be a true von Karma. 

“Bah! It was a mistake ever taking you in as my disciple.” 

Miles didn’t disagree, but whether that disagreement was born out of the shame of letting down his mentor or a regret for his chosen path in life, he couldn’t quite decide. 

Of course Wright would offer to defend him. Of fucking course. 

Miles hadn’t wanted him anywhere near this case. His opinion of Wright was growing increasingly complicated, and that was the last thing he needed to deal with during a case that would no doubt result in the worst day of his life being dredged up for all to see. Frankly, he would have been content with never seeing Wright again, but Wright’s relentless need to protect the innocent knew no bounds apparently for he wouldn’t leave Miles alone. 

It didn’t matter what Miles said or how much he insulted him. Wright just kept coming back, that hard determined look in his eye never fading. 

Miles didn’t understand where that faith came from. He had never been particularly kind to Wright, and surely he must have heard the rumours about him. Forging evidence. Manipulating witnesses. They weren’t true, of course, but Wright didn’t know that. What part of that screamed ‘good person’ to him? 

Yet, against all odds and logic, Wright believed in his innocence to a degree that Miles didn’t even believe himself. 

When Wright pressed a picture of Misty Fey against the glass wall in the detention centre, Miles knew that trying to get rid of him was a lost cause. The investigation had barely started and he had already found out more than Miles had ever wanted him to know. He didn’t believe for a second that Wright could clear his name – he may have been undefeated thus far, but luck always ran out eventually. However, when no one else would take the case, there was little sense in fighting against the tide. 

“It pains me to ask you this now….” 

Maya lit up. “I know! You want us to defend you!”

“Yes…. Will you?” 

Wright smiled, and the world gained a little more colour. 

If Miles thought watching Wright from the prosecutor’s bench was painful, then watching him from the defendant’s chair was a cruel torture bordering on inhumane. Wright’s penchant for talking first and thinking later was far more stressful when it was Miles’s future that was on the line. At this rate, his poor heart would give out before the judge had a chance to declare a verdict. 

(“A– are you sure?! …D–Dad!”

“Dead certain, Keith!”)

However, for all Miles criticised (and would continue to criticise) Wright’s abilities, he had to concede that he wasn’t a completely terrible lawyer. Between the bluffs and the fumbles, he had these flashes of sharp brilliance that knocked even von Karma onto the back foot. He was smarter and more perceptive than any defense attorney Miles had faced before, even if it took a bit of thinking out loud for him to get there. 

(“‘Almost Christmas’ means it wasn’t Christmas! Do you realise what this means? When he heard the gunshot, it was still Christmas Eve!”)

He didn’t know how to feel about Wright’s unending faith in him. Miles’s opinion of himself was at an all time low, and the longer the trial went on, the less he thought he deserved such a passionate defense. 

It wasn’t just Wright either. Gumshoe insisted upon his innocence every chance he got. Larry Butz had sprung out of nowhere to give testimony. Even Maya Fey – who had every reason to hate him considering he had prosecuted her for the murder of her own sister – had stood up for him, even when she knew it would result in her being held in contempt of court. 

All these people were coming together for him, and he didn’t deserve one iota of their kindness. 

(“Your Honour! The defense would like to take Mr. Von Karma up on his proposal!” 

“On his… proposal?” 

“Exactly, your honour! I would like to cross-examine the witness’s pet parrot!”)

The nightmares had plagued him for a long time. He had written them off as mere dreams, the result of the traumatised imagination of a boy raised in murder scenes. He didn’t want to believe there was truth in them, but the more he thought about it and the more they learned of that dark day, the more convinced he became. 

Miles had shot his father. 

Yanni Yogi had been innocent all along. 

With the statute of limitations about to expire, he couldn’t let this injustice stand any longer. He had let too many injustices stand for too long. Regardless of what the others said, this was the only thing he deserved. 

Miles stood up and confessed to everything. He fixed his gaze on the back of the courtroom, and didn’t look at Phoenix Wright at all. 

The defendant’s lobby was tense in the wake of his confession. Gumshoe paced back and forth, refusing to believe anything Miles had said. Maya bit her lip and fiddled with her bracelets nervously. Miles himself was tired and ashamed and struggling to meet anyone’s eye. 

They all understood how hopeless everything was – that Miles was a dead man walking.  

Well, almost all of them.

“Nick? What are you doing?” 

Miles had been so focused on explaining the situation to Gumshoe that he hadn’t noticed that Wright was combing through his files until Maya had addressed him. “Huh? Oh… I was just reading through the Court Record once more. I’m getting my case ready.” 

Maya was as confused as he was. “Your case… for what?” 

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to prove that Miles Edgeworth is innocent.” 

Wright said it so matter-of-factly, as if proving his innocence was not only possible but achievable too. Miles could only stare at him in disbelief. 

How could Wright still believe in him so firmly? How could someone be that naive? 

“What are you talking about, pal?! He just admitted that he did it!” Gumshoe exclaimed, saying what they were all thinking. “He confessed that he did! In court!”

But Wright wasn’t deterred. 

He stood up from the bench, tidying away his papers into their manila folder. He stepped up to Miles, ignoring Gumshoe entirely, and looked him dead in the eye. “I’m sorry, Edgeworth, but I don’t believe in your ‘nightmare’.” 

“Wh– what?” Miles choked out. 

“It’s just a dream.” 

Wright’s gaze was as unwavering as his resolve. Miles couldn’t have looked away if he tried. 

“It’s not real. The truth is right here in this Court Record. In any case, tighten your belts. The real fight is just beginning. I’ll prove you’re innocent. Trust me.” Wright clapped his shoulder, and with one gentle squeeze and a meaningful look, he swept back towards the courtroom. 

Miles was so stunned that he didn’t move to follow him until Gumshoe had ushered him forward. 

Wright was serious. He really believed he could do this. Even after Miles had confessed on the stand, even in the face of Yanni Yogi’s testimony and the immutable facts of the case, Wright still believed that he didn’t shoot his father. 

It didn’t make any sense. No matter how hard Miles tried, he couldn’t understand how Wright had such strong faith in him. 

Miles had given up. He had accepted his fate and his guilt. He had been ready to face his retribution. How was Wright still fighting? Why would he? What could he possibly have seen in him that it alleviated all doubt? There was no good to be found in Miles Edgeworth. Why didn’t Wright see that? 

Miles was on autopilot as he took his seat in the defendant’s chair. Wright shuffled and organised his notes, Maya loyally at his side behind the bench. When he caught Miles watching him, he flashed him a confident smile. 

Slowly, the image of Phoenix Wright he had held in his head began to shift, and Miles knew that no matter how this trial ended, he would never see Phoenix the same way again. 

Everything after the verdict was a blur. 

Miles remembered awkwardly thanking Phoenix in the defendant’s lobby, and embarrassing himself in front of Maya and Gumshoe. 

He remembered being escorted back to the detention centre to fill out the myriad of forms necessary for his release. 

And he remembered calling Franziska to break the news – it was better she heard it from him over somebody else, especially when he didn’t trust her father to give an accurate account – and the way she screamed and cried and cursed him out until she hung up the phone with a slam. 

“No! Shut up! This is all your fault! If you hadn’t done something as foolish as getting yourself arrested, then– then this never would have happened! I… I never want to hear from you again, Miles Edgeworth!”

Miles couldn’t blame her for being so angry. He wasn’t particularly fond of von Karma himself at the moment, and he couldn’t imagine how much worse it was for her (which was saying something considering it was pretty fucking awful for him). As much as he had respected his mentor, Miles had never idolised him the way Franksika had her father. 

It was going to take a while for either of them to move past this, but with the way the trial began, Miles was just relieved that this whole ordeal was in the past at all. It didn’t seem real that his fifteen year long nightmare had finally come to an end. 

Miles floated dreamlike through the rest of the day, accepting congratulations and condolences in equal measure. He felt light headed, dizzy almost, like he was having an out-of-body experience. He had struggled under this weight for so long that he didn’t know how to exist without it. 

Perhaps that’s why, when Maya and Gumshoe had insisted he join them all for celebratory drinks, he agreed to tag along. 

“You didn’t actually become a lawyer because of that class trial, did you?” 

While Maya, Gumshoe, and Larry were locked in conversation about god knows what, Miles somehow found himself sitting next to Phoenix in a booth, as isolated as they could be in a busy restaurant. (Gumshoe had driven them to a bar at first, but Miles had to put his foot down – partly because Maya was underage, partly because he would rather spend another night in the detention center than step foot into the dilapidated fire hazard Gumshoe had picked out. Honestly, how that place hadn’t been shut down from a health code violation was beyond him.)

Phoenix shrugged, his cheeks pink from the alcohol. He had discarded his suit jacket, loosened his tie, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows in a display of informality Miles wasn’t comfortable with even outside the courtroom. He didn’t know where to look. “Why not? I’ve made stupider decisions over less.” 

“I don’t doubt that,” Miles scoffed. Still, the question bothered him enough that he couldn’t let it go. “But what was it about that trial that stuck with you? As I recall, you were always more interested in art than in law.” 

“Poking holes in my arguments even now, eh Edgeworth?” 

Miles cut him a look. 

Phoenix laughed and toyed with the label on his beer bottle. It took him a minute to piece together what he wanted to say. “...It wasn’t so much the trial as it was everything that came after.” 

“After?” 

“Yeah. I saw the articles about you in the paper.” Phoenix smiled. There was something about it that didn’t read sincere. “Has anybody ever told you that you are terrible at getting your picture taken? You didn’t look like you at all.” 

A feeling of guilt and shame twisted in his stomach, the one that made it so difficult to look Phoenix in the eye. Miles knew that, as a legal professional, Phoenix must have read those publications but it was another thing to hear him confirm it. “What about those articles?”

Phoenix’s attention returned to his bottle. “...They just didn’t make sense to me. I mean, the kid I knew never would have forged evidence. I wanted to get to the bottom of it, and I tried writing to you at first, but….” 

Miles never wrote him back. 

He remembered those letters. Ever since the “demon prosecutor” articles started popping up, there had been a constant stream of them sent to his office from concerned members of the public calling for his resignation. Miles remembered reading the first few and then shredding the rest. If Phoenix had sent him something amidst the trash, then Miles had likely never seen it. 

Hell, even if Miles had read his letters, he probably would have shredded them without responding anyway. He had no interest in reconnecting with childhood friends back then, and would not have taken to Phoenix reaching out kindly. 

That feeling of shame deepened. 

“Most adults are not the same person they were when they were nine. People change, Wright.” 

“Sure,” Phoenix shrugged, “but they don’t change that drastically – at least, not without good reason. I didn’t believe the rumours for a second, but if they were true, then I wanted to know what that reason was.” 

“And that’s why you became a lawyer? Because some so-called journalists wrote a few halfbaked articles about me?” 

“And if I did?” Phoenix took a swig of beer from the bottle, and peered at him over the rim. 

If he did, then that meant that Phoenix had altered the entire course of his life because of him – Miles had passed the bar at twenty; Phoenix would have already been in college if the articles were truly why he decided to pursue law – and Miles didn’t think he could tolerate being around him knowing that someone he had tossed aside had cared about him that much. He was already itching to run far, far away at the mere thought. 

“Then I take back every kind thing I’ve ever said about you, and you really are as idiotic as you look.” 

Phoenix laughed almost nervously. “Good thing I was just messing with you then. It would be a shame if you had to take back all of the two compliments you’ve given me.” 

“I beg your pardon?!” 

“Mia was why I became a lawyer,” Phoenix amended with a plastic smile. “It’s a long story so I won’t bore you with it, but she’s what sent me down the path of wanting to help people. If I can be half as good a lawyer as she was one day, then I'd be doing pretty damn good.” 

Miles didn’t buy it. The immeasurable respect Phoenix had for his mentor was more than clear so there was likely some truth to that statement, but Miles didn’t think she was the reason – or at least, not the sole reason – for his choice in career. Why go to the trouble of telling him all that tripe about the articles if there wasn’t a kernel of truth in it? Why tell Maya that he had become a lawyer because of the class trial if it was really because of her sister? Phoenix could play it off all he wanted, but it seemed he really did become a lawyer because of him. 

Miles had to wonder if Phoenix would have told him any of this sober, if there were aspects of his motivations that Phoenix still wasn’t telling him even now. Perhaps he was better off not knowing. It was hard enough making eye contact with him as it was. 

“I never should have tried talking to you about this when you were drinking,” Miles grumbled. 

Phoenix only laughed. 

It was strange returning to normalcy after everything he had been through. His day-to-day activities hadn’t changed, but he no longer felt like the person he was before Phoenix had barged into his life. He didn’t think it was possible for him to be that person again either – not with what he knew now – but murder cases waited for no one, and someone had to prosecute them. 

Miles was just no longer certain that he was the right person for the job. 

The Prosecutor’s Office was in a flurry following von Karma’s arrest. Its reputation was at an all time low as rumours of corruption rose to an all time high. As his former student, Miles took the brunt of the criticism. He was bombarded on all sides with accusations that he was as vile and dishonest as his mentor, and old rumours of forged evidence from a long closed case had been dredged up for the sake of “proving” that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. 

Miles tried not to let it bother him. He knew the accusations were false. He knew he had never forged any evidence. So what if he had modelled his entire career after a man who viewed justice as a competition, and due process as an obstacle that needed to be overcome? That didn’t mean he was inherently corrupt too… did it? 

It was that thought that had thrown him so off-centre. Miles had swallowed von Karma’s rhetoric as sweetly as a spoonful of sugar. How many of his skewed morals had he internalised over the years? How many of his missteps had he willingly followed? Miles may not have done anything technically illegal, but he still couldn’t silence the little voice in the back of his mind that wondered if his detractors were right, if the district would be better off if von Karma’s pupil resigned. 

It was an idea that was becoming increasingly desirable the longer such doubts ate at him, but the problem was that there was no Miles Edgeworth without the law. This job had been his life for so long. His entire identity and sense of self had always been tied to his work. Who was Miles Edgeworth if not a prosecutor? Would he still have a place in the world if he quit? 

Until he could figure out a path forward, until he could figure out a way to do what he loved without hating everything that he was, he would continue prosecuting as he always had. He would take cases, he would file paperwork, and he would try to be someone his father could be proud of. 

Someone Miles himself could be proud of, if such a person could exist at all. 

The King of Prosecutors award was a slap in the face in light of everything the department had been saying about him. Miles had half a mind to hurl it out of his office window, and might have done so if he thought it wouldn’t kill someone. What a farce. What a cruel, humiliating joke. 

“Aww, sir! You don’t need to be so modest!” Gumshoe clapped him on the back, brimming with pride. “You’re the best damn prosecutor I know! No one deserves this more than you!” 

If only that were true. 

The body in the trunk of his car was a surprise – the suspect behind the murder even more so. 

Miles had always liked Lana Skye. The other prosecutors were always complaining about her cold and unfeeling nature, but he didn’t see why that was such a bad thing. She was fair and professional and got the work done. What more could he ask for in a superior? 

Whether or not she was a murderer was another question. Miles had certainly never suspected her of anything, but he had never suspected von Karma of anything either, so what was his judgement worth, really? He had no choice but to put his trust into evidence and testimony, and considering they had a reliable witness who was adamant she had witnessed Ms. Skye stab the victim, then that was what he would believe for now. 

Given that no one else was willing to prosecute the case, the responsibility had fallen onto his shoulders. It was far from the first case he had taken since his trial, but it still felt significant. 

For one, there were a lot of eyes on this case. The chief prosecutor murdering a detective had kicked the rumour mill into a frenzy, and Miles found himself at the centre of it all. The fact he had relationships with two corrupt prosecutors could not be a coincidence, he was told, and his work on the SL-9 incident with Ms. Skye – another case that had been fraught with forgery allegations – was further proof of his alleged corruption. To make matters worse, many were accusing him of only taking the case because he was gunning for the Chief Prosecutor’s job – as if he would want it when the reputation of the Prosecutor’s Office was so abysmal. Let some other poor sap deal with that mess. Miles barely trusted his own morals as a prosecutor; he didn’t need to be put in charge of every other prosecutor in the district as well. 

However, the other far larger reason this case was so important to him was because it was the first time since the Powers case that he would be facing off against Phoenix Wright. 

It was pathetic how desperately Miles wanted to prove himself to him. For months now, Phoenix had been the cause of so many of his most confusing feelings, and time had done nothing to ease them. He wished Phoenix had listened to him when Miles had told him to get out of his sight. His life had been so much simpler before Phoenix Wright had confidently strided into it, and Miles wouldn’t be tearing himself apart like this if he had just stayed away like he was supposed to. 

Miles wished he cared about Phoenix’s opinion of him half as much as he did, but the truth was that he struggled to think of something he cared about more. He wished he was the person Phoenix thought he was, but he wasn’t. He didn’t think he had the capacity to be that person either – not when he had been complicit in so much evil. He had wanted their next trial together to come after he had figured out how he wanted to tackle prosecuting from now on, but time, as it often does, had run out. 

Whether he was ready or not, he was going to face Phoenix again in court. All Miles knew was that he couldn’t be the sort of person who prioritised winning over justice when he did. 

He would not allow himself to convict another innocent. Never again. 

Chief Prosecutor Lana Skye tilted her chin up and sat up straight in the defendant’s chair. Her expression was impassive, and her eyes dead and empty. 

“Drastic crimes require drastic measures. That’s just the way it is.” Her clear voice cut through the thick silence of the courtroom. “We did what we had to in order for Darke to get the verdict he deserved.” 

Her gaze flickered to Miles for a second.

“Even if it involved ‘forging’ evidence.” 

“Edgeworth!”

Miles was distantly aware of Phoenix calling out to him as he stormed out of the courtroom. His mind was racing and his heart was pounding, and he needed to retreat into the safety of his office as soon as possible. 

Ms. Skye had tampered with a crime scene during the SL-9 case. Two years ago, Miles had secured a guilty verdict on the basis of falsified evidence. 

Everything the rumours had said about him were true. 

“Edgeworth, wait!” 

A firm hand clasped around his wrist, sharply tugging him to a stop. 

Miles yanked himself from Phoenix’s grip, and glared him down. He wasn’t surprised that he had followed him out of the courtroom, but he wished he hadn’t. “Don’t you have an investigation to continue?” 

Phoenix ignored him. “There was no way you could have known that Lana had tampered with that evidence! …Right?” 

“Of course I didn’t know!” 

“Then whatever happened back then was not your fault!” 

It was even less surprising that Phoenix was taking this stance. Miles was getting a little sick of his blind and naive faith in him. 

“It is my responsibility as a prosecutor to verify the authenticity of any evidence presented in court. If forged evidence was used to obtain a guilty verdict, then it is most certainly my fault.”

“Not if you had been deliberately misled to believe it was real evidence, it’s not!” Phoenix argued, his eyes alight with determination. “Edgeworth, you can’t beat yourself up over this. I know you. You wouldn’t–”

“You don’t ‘know me’,” Miles snapped. “You think you know me because of some idealistic platitudes I spouted as a nine-year old, but I am not that person anymore. Your inability to accept that is not my problem.” 

“Edgeworth–”

“I have done many terrible things, Wright. Presenting forged evidence is another item on a long list of injustices that were carried out by my hand in this very courthouse. I may not have known the evidence was forged, but if I had–....” 

He might have presented it anyway. 

That was the part that was bothering him the most. It wasn’t that he had unknowingly presented forged evidence; it was that he didn’t trust himself to not have presented it if he had known. 

Von Karma had taught him to achieve victory by any means necessary. If it meant sentencing a serial killer for good, then the old him would have found a way to justify bending a few laws. Even if he hadn’t forged evidence then, he would have forged something eventually. He was sure of it. It felt as inevitable to him as the sunset. 

He didn’t expect someone with a moral backbone as firm as Phoenix’s to understand. 

Miles turned back towards the exit. “...If you’re so desperate to comfort someone, then perhaps you should turn your attention to your teenage assistant who has just witnessed her sister admit to committing a felony before a judge.” 

Phoenix pressed his lips into a thin line and said nothing. When Miles walked away this time, he didn’t try to stop him. 

To whom it may concern,

Everyone has the right to a fair and honest trial. The courtroom, as an institution of justice and impartiality, must be protected. I believe it was Aristotle who once said–

Ugh. Too self-righteous. 

Miles flicked to the next page and tried again. 

To whom it may concern, 

There comes a time in every man’s life when he must reflect on who he is and where he is going, and if his chosen path is truly the right one for him–

Miles winced. Too personal. 

To whom it may concern,

I, Miles Edgeworth, hereby resign from my role as prosecutor effective immediately–

When Phoenix walked in with Ema Skye in tow, Miles ripped the page from his pad, scrunched it into a ball, and threw it onto the floor. He had hoped tossing it would mean Phoenix wouldn’t see what it was, but of course the two of them were incapable of snooping and they found the letter anyway. 

The kicked puppy look on Phoenix’s face was as irritating as it was heartbreaking. He didn’t understand why Phoenix cared so much. He understood even less why he cared about what Phoenix thought. 

It was too much. It was all too much. Miles wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. 

On the third day of trial, Miles faced off against Phoenix Wright in court for what might be the final time. If there was ever a case to end a career on, it was this one. Whether he won or lost, the reverberations would be felt for years to come. 

Phoenix had intended to take down Damon Gant, the most powerful man in the police force, and if they didn’t play this perfectly, then there was a solid chance they could both lose their jobs before Miles even had the chance to quit – and that wasn’t getting into the effect the verdict would have on the perception of their legal system. 

If it had been anyone else standing at the defense bench, then Miles would have written off Gant’s “innocence” as a foregone conclusion. Phoenix, however, had once dethroned a forty year legacy by pressing a metal detector against Manfred von Karma’s chest – another powerful man Miles once thought untouchable – and now there was little doubt in his mind that Phoenix could win any trial he set his mind to. 

A lesser lawyer, too afraid of the repercussions, would have given up without even trying. 

Phoenix Wright was no ordinary lawyer. Phoenix Wright would not let a few threats stand in his way of finding the truth. 

If anyone could topple Gant, it was him, and Miles intended to do everything in his power to help him. 

(“That being the case, the prosecution will allow the defense to call forth all further witnesses.”)

The forged evidence hung over his head like a guillotine. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he might have done if he had known the crime scene had been tampered with – what he might have done in a later case if Phoenix hadn’t given him a new perspective. 

Miles was not proud of the person he used to be. He didn’t want to be that person anymore either, but how could he be someone better when corruption was so deeply woven into his history? Was it even possible for someone like him to change? 

Miles didn’t know. There was so much he didn’t know, but regardless of the shame swirling inside him, he still had a case to prosecute. 

There was nothing he could do about his past, and little he could do about his future, but right now, in the present moment, he could follow Phoenix’s lead and fight for the truth. 

For Lana’s sake, for Ema’s, and for his own. 

(“Just sit back, relax… and enjoy the sound of the noose tightening around your own neck.”)

For years, Miles had treated the courtroom like a battleground where his only goal was to mercilessly and ruthlessly defeat his opposition. The cause they were fighting for mattered less to him than the fight itself. It had never occurred to him to work with the defense instead of against them for victory was his only objective. 

Teaming up with Phoenix now was… exhilarating. 

Phoenix was smart, quick thinking, and adept at rolling with the punches. It didn’t matter what Miles threw at him; Phoenix would catch it and run with it every single time. If Miles went left, then Phoenix went right. If Miles stepped forward, then Phoenix stepped back. It was a dance, an elegant waltz between two people so perfectly in sync that they could twirl across the ballroom without words or guidance, two halves of the same whole. 

Miles had never matched wits with someone like this before. Phoenix wasn’t his rival in that moment, but his equal. His partner. 

When they finally finally finally cornered Gant and pinned him to the wall, he experienced a headrush he hadn’t felt since he was nine-years old and had made his first objection in that fateful class trial.

Up until a few months ago, Miles had thought he was doing the right thing by always pushing for a not guilty verdict. Now that he had helped take down a truly corrupt individual, he realised how wrong he was. 

This was what it meant to be a prosecutor. This was what he should have been doing the whole time. 

A current was running between him and Phoenix, charged and electric. Miles wondered if Phoenix felt it too. 

Just as Miles was beginning to change his mind about resigning, Gant turned to him.  

“You despise criminals. I can feel it. You and me… we’re the same.” 

Gant’s eyes were wild, and his grin sharp. A shiver ran down Miles’s spine. 

“One day you'll understand. Oh, believe me, you will. You're just one man. You'll see what it really takes to bring them down once you try to go it alone.”

And with that chilling reminder of the person Miles truly was at his heart, he plummeted right back down to Earth. 

After the trial, Miles slipped into the defendant’s lobby with everyone else involved in the case. He didn’t know what he had hoped to achieve by doing so, and he regretted it the second Ms. Skye drew all attention towards him. 

“Mr. Edgeworth, I hope you don’t blame yourself for what happened. We were the ones who acted corruptly, not you,” she reassured him. 

Despite facing charges for obstruction of justice, she looked happier, lighter, and more at peace. Miles couldn’t imagine what that felt like. 

“It’s too late for me.” He sighed, and explained everything he had been thinking about lately – that he couldn’t undo his past mistakes, that he was no better than Gant, and that he didn’t trust himself not to fall down the same corrupt path he did. He knew what kind of person he used to be, and it was terrifying to think what he might have done if things had gone a little different. 

Ms. Skye, to her credit, tried to change his mind. She and Phoenix both pointed out that he didn’t have to face anything alone, and it was only through their teamwork that they had managed to prove Gant’s guilt at all. 

It made sense, he had to admit, but even so, he couldn’t continue on as he was. After everything he had done and everything he was feeling now, he couldn’t bring himself to face a woman he respected, and a man he… well, he was still figuring that part out. 

“Whatever you do,” Phoenix said, “just remember. You can let what happened kill the prosecutor in you, or you can let it help you grow. In the end, it's up to you.” 

Kill the prosecutor in you. Now wasn’t that a thought?

“I know... It seems I owe you my thanks too, Wright. But what I face now... is my problem.”

Phoenix frowned. He was watching him like he thought if he allowed Miles to step through that door, then he might never see him again. “Edgeworth... I'll be waiting for you in court.”

All the nerves in his skin alighted at once. 

Miles turned his back, muttered a quick but meaningful farewell, and retreated out of the room before Phoenix could say anything else. 

A few days later, a bellboy would arrive at Miles’s office to deliver his usual tea service, and find a short handwritten note on his desk. 

Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death.

“Miles Edgeworth! What is this foolish nonsense I hear about a note you left in the Prosecutor’s Office? Was it not enough to sully the von Karma name by losing your record? Must you resign in shame as well? And to think, all of this because of a foolish rookie. Pathetic. If I ever meet this Phoenix Wright, I will make him wish he had never been born.” 

“Why are you not answering my calls, Miles Edgeworth? There is a rumour circulating that you apparently killed yourself, but I don’t believe you would ever do something so foolish. What hovel have you sequestered yourself into like a little rat? There’s no sense in hiding from me because I will find you, one way or another. The next time I call, I expect you to answer. Do not disappoint me further – unless, of course, you want to taste the end of my whip.”

“There’s no way you’re dead. I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it. You’re alive. I’m sure of it. You have to be. If I lose both Papa and you, then–.... ARGH! You better hope you’re dead because if you’re not, then I’ll kill you myself, you foolishly foolish fool who– foolishly–… fools–… FUCK!” 

“ANSWER ME.”

“Fine. If you’re going to insist on being a child about this, then I, as your big sister, will simply have to clean up your mess as always. I will face this Phoenix Wright in court, and I will beat him to a bloody pulp for everything he has done to the von Karma name. Mark my words, Miles Edgeworth. I will crush him beneath my heel, and once I do, I will be coming for you next. See you soon!” 

“Hey, Edgeworth. It's Phoenix– uh… Phoenix Wright. I got your number from Gumshoe. Hope that's okay. Um… what's up with that weird note they found in your office? ‘Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death’? I know you didn't mean that literally, because they would have packed up your office if you-… you know…. So uh… what does that mean? You're not actually quitting the law, are you? ‘Cause I keep telling you, the forged evidence was not your fault. There's no need to do anything dramatic. Just… call me back, okay?” 

“Hey, it's me again. Phoenix. I uh… left you a voicemail last week, but I haven't heard anything back, so I just wanted to check if you got it…? I heard about the note you left in your office. Rumour has it you moved to Europe or something? Look, I know it can't have been easy going through everything you went through, but you don't need to do… all of this. Just call me back. Maybe we can figure something out.” 

“Okay, my calls are still going through, so I know you're getting these, and that you're deliberately ignoring me. I don't know why I'm surprised, really. It's not like you ever wanted to talk to me before. I just thought things were different now after your trial, and–.... Nevermind. Just… call me back. Or don't. Whatever.” 

“Would it kill you to answer your fucking phone?” 

RING RING. 

RING RING.

RING RING. 

CLICK.

“Oh thank god you’re okay sir! The Prosecutor’s Office was saying they couldn’t get through to you, and after that note you left….”

“Ah. I see you've heard about my sabbatical, Detective.” 

“Sabbatical?! Sir, people think you’re dead!” 

“Well, I hate to disappoint, but I am very much alive. I just need… a little time away, is all.” 

“That’s one hell of a way to announce a vacation! You’ve got half the district running around like headless chickens trying to figure out what happened! You know, Mr. Wright asked me earlier if I knew where you went.” 

“...Wright has been asking about me?”

“Sure has! He’s pretty torn up about the whole thing too. Keeps muttering about your note and poking his head into your office. With the way you two go at each other in court, I didn’t realise you were so close!”

“....”

“...Uh… You still there, Mr. Edgeworth?”

“...Detective Gumshoe, I need you to do me a favour while I’m out of the country.” 

“Sir?” 

“First, I want you to keep this and all future correspondence a secret. Tell no one you’ve heard from me or where I’ve gone.” 

“S– Sir!” 

“Secondly, I need you to keep an eye on Wright for me. Keep me updated on his career. I want to know about every case he’s taking, no matter how unimportant. Can I trust you, Detective?”

“Uh… yeah, of course! You can always count on me, sir! …Can I ask you one thing though?” 

“Yes?” 

“Is… Is Mr. Wright the reason you left?” 

“....”

CLICK. 

“Ms. von Karma showed up at the precinct today, and uh… she’s real pissed at you, sir.” 

“That’s hardly news. Franziska would lose her temper if I so much as looked at her funny.” 

“I don’t know, sir. It feels different this time. I’ve never seen her like this before. She’s real gung ho about getting ‘revenge’ on Mr. Wright, and I don’t think she’s even met the guy! If I can be honest, sir… I’m kinda worried about her. Hell, I’m worried for Mr. Wright too. They’re supposed to be facing off against each other in court tomorrow, and I don’t know what will happen if he beats her. Ms. von Karma is a talented woman, but she doesn’t like it when she doesn't get her way.” 

“....”

“… what’s so funny, sir?” 

“Nothing of any concern to you, Detective. I don’t think you need to worry about Franziska.” 

“I don’t?” 

“Not at all. In fact, I think a taste of defeat would be rather good for her. My only regret is that I won’t be there to see it.” 

“Well… His Honour announced the verdict.” 

“And?” 

“Not guilty. Ms. von Karma lost, sir, and she isn’t taking it very well at all. Poor Mr. Wright is going to be recovering from those welts for weeks!” 

“....”

“Well, at least you’re laughing, sir.” 

Miles Edgeworth did not need therapy. He would solve his problems as he solved everything else: through facts and logic. 

For the past year, Miles had travelled through Europe, and had studied as many different court systems as he could access. He did some consulting work on the side for Interpol, but did not and would not stand behind the prosecutor’s bench until he found the answer to the question that had been haunting him the most. 

What did it mean to be a prosecutor? 

Up until recently, Miles had thought their purpose was to punish the guilty. Family tragedy had instilled in him a deep loathing of criminals and distrust of anyone who wished to defend them. He had believed that the best way to fight against injustice was to lock away those who sought to carry it out. He had happily ate up von Karma’s teachings for they served a narrative he had already begun to spin for himself. If he procured a guilty verdict, then he could systematically rid the world of criminals one murder case at a time.

The flaws in that mindset were now obvious, in hindsight. Innocent people were frequently being charged with crimes they didn’t commit. If he pushed for a guilty verdict in every trial, then innocent people would lose their freedom – or worse. 

But that realisation only raised further questions. How could he, in good conscience, prosecute someone he believed to be truly innocent? If the role of a prosecutor was to punish criminals, then wasn’t he actively working against his goal in such cases? What was his purpose as a prosecutor at that point? 

For a while, it felt as though he would circle back to that question endlessly without ever coming to a satisfying answer, but there was something – or rather, someone – he could not cast out of his mind. 

Phoenix Wright. 

It was annoying how often that man occupied his thoughts as of late, but there was a perfectly rational explanation. Given how Phoenix was the instigator of Miles’s ongoing crisis, it was only natural that his mind kept drifting back to him as he attempted to straighten out his current feelings. 

There were two of Phoenix’s cases in particular he found himself returning to – Lana Skye’s and his own – and for much the same reason. 

Closure had only been granted because Phoenix had drawn out the truth. 

For years, Miles had been plagued by nightmares of that day in the elevator, convinced that his father had died by his hand. In the SL-9 incident, the fear that Miles may have convicted an innocent man on falsified evidence was comparatively short-lived, but no less torturing. The reason he could breathe easy again was not necessarily because von Karma and Gant were proven guilty (though that certainly was a part of it), but because he now knew what had really happened. Even Lana Skye, who was currently serving time for the part she played in Gant’s scheming, was smiling again now that the secret she had been keeping for so long was out in the open. 

Maybe that was the purpose of the courtroom. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. 

He hadn’t fully understood it at the time, but this was what made working together with Phoenix in that last case so exciting. Trials weren’t a competition, and the defense wasn’t his opponent. It was exactly as Ms. Skye had tried to tell him – they were only able to take down Gant because they had worked together to find the truth. 

That was his goal as a prosecutor. That was how they fought against injustice. It didn’t matter if he lost the trial as long as the right person was convicted in the end. 

It was that realisation that finally brought the understanding Miles had been looking for. He tentatively took a case for Interpol with this goal in mind, and it felt good – like he was finally doing the right thing.

Like he was finally morphing into someone his father would be proud of. 

The sins of his past could never be erased. His former self would always hang on him like a noose around his neck. But, as Phoenix so succinctly put it the last time they spoke, Miles could let what happened kill the prosecutor in him, or he could let it help him grow. 

And Miles was ready to grow. 

By the time Gumshoe called him to inform him of Franziska’s latest loss, Miles had made up his mind. He was going to return home, he was going to show off everything he had learned, and he was going to try his damndest to be the person Phoenix had always thought he was. 

Once he achieved that, maybe then his mind would finally stop being so fixated on Phoenix Wright and he could finally move on. 

Miles had initially gone to the precinct to meet Gumshoe and familiarise himself with the Engarde case. He hadn’t expected to run into both Franziska and Phoenix quite so soon, and certainly not at the same time. 

Franziska was ripping into Gumshoe when he arrived. Miles only caught the tail end of their one-sided argument, but it seemed that whatever Gumshoe had done this time had been the last straw and Franziska was giving him the sack. (That was unfortunate. Gumshoe was the only detective Miles even halfway trusted, and it was going to be a headache and a half getting him reinstated.) This level of rage from her was not unusual, but it didn’t bode well for how their reunion was going to go. 

Phoenix, on the other hand… looked terrible. His suit wasn’t dishevelled, per se, but his collar was sticking up and his tie loose. His hair spikes were drooping at the back like he hadn’t put as much effort into sculpting them, and there were dark bags under his eyes from a lack of sleep. He had a different little girl with him that Miles had never met – presumably a relation of Maya’s judging from her outfit, but Maya herself was strangely absent and this girl was far too young to be Phoenix’s assistant. It wasn’t clear from a glance what was going on, but regardless, it wasn’t any of his business. 

Miles squared his shoulders, raised his head, and made his grand entrance. 

“Quiet!” Franziska barked. “If it weren’t for traitors like you–”

“‘I would’ve won’. Is that what you want to say?” 

Immediately, all four heads snapped in his direction. 

Gumshoe, at least, seemed pleased to see him, but he couldn’t say the same for the others. Franziska’s eyes narrowed into a sharp glare, and Phoenix… well, Miles couldn’t tell how Phoenix felt, but his shock was palpable. 

“Edgeworth?”

“It’s been a long time… Wright.” 

Phoenix gaped at him for a moment, and then his jaw snapped shut and his expression shifted into something hard and severe. It wasn’t exactly the warm welcome Miles had been hoping for, but he could deal with him in a minute. 

“What am I going to do with you?” Miles turned to Franziska. “Still blaming others when things go wrong? You haven’t changed a bit.” 

Franziska grit her teeth and clenched her fists with barely withheld rage. “Y–... You… How dare you show your face to me without a shred of shame upon it?! You've soiled the Von Karma name, dragged it through the mud... You even ran away with your tail between your legs like the ill-bred dog you are!”

Ah. She was still mad at him for losing to Phoenix, it seemed. Very well, if this was the road she wanted to go down….

“Are you talking about the Von Karma family creed? ‘To be perfect in every way’? Then let's hear it, Franziska. How are things going?”He tilted his head in faux curiosity. “I hear you are having a rough time maintaining perfection in this country.” 

Franziska’s eyes flashed, her teeth grinding into stumps. “Y– You!” 

“You seem to be getting crushed under the weight of it all.” Miles shrugged. “That's why I came back.”

As expected, that struck a nerve. Franziska’s fuse finally burned to its end and she exploded.  “Keep your assumptions to yourself! I... I haven't given in yet! I won't lose! This case is mine! I'll never hand it over to you! Never!” She spun on her heel towards Phoenix, redirecting her ire towards him. Phoenix was unphased. “Mr. Phoenix Wright! I will see you tomorrow... In court. It will be a clinical lesson on the meaning of ‘total victory’!”

With that, Franziska stormed out of the precinct like a rampaging bull. The sound of her whip echoed down the hall. 

Miles knew there was no world where she was taking her losses well, but it was another to see it in person. Still, the end of her perfect record would ultimately be good for her in the same way losing was ultimately good for him, even if it was going to take years for her to see it that way. Franziska was an extreme perfectionist and twice as stubborn. Her mindset wouldn’t be changed so easily. 

When Miles turned his attention back to Phoenix, he found him glaring at him with a vitriol that rivalled Franziska’s. 

Huh. Phoenix had never looked at him like that before. 

“I thought you, the Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth, had gone and died!” he spat. 

The little girl gasped. “Mr. Nick!” 

“I... I never wanted to see you again!”

Bitterness laced his tone like venom. Phoenix had never spoken to him like that before either. Even when Miles had lashed out at him, had called him names, and had tried every trick in the book to make Phoenix leave, he had never been this mad at him. 

Had Miles’s sabbatical really affected him this much? But why? It wasn’t like they were friends. Why would Phoenix care? 

“I think that's enough of a ‘warm welcome’ for someone you haven't seen in a year.” Miles crossed his arms. 

Phoenix rolled his eyes, and didn’t dignify that with a response. “Are you going to run tomorrow’s trial?” 

“You heard her, right? Franziska hasn't given in yet, it seems. So, no, I don't think I'll be making an appearance.” When Phoenix continued to glare at him so incessantly, Miles added, “Your hatred for me is quite unhealthy. Not to mention one-sided.”

Phoenix huffed, acting more childish than the literal eight year old standing next to him. 

Whatever. Miles had come to offer his help, and he would still help Phoenix, even if he insisted on being a brat about it. 

When the conversation turned towards the von Karmas, Phoenix asked, “One year ago, you could not establish guilt in a few cases…. Are those losses the reason you suddenly disappeared from the Prosecutor's Office? Did you leave because you had lost your ‘perfect win record’...?”

It wasn’t wrong, but there was something about the acidic way Phoenix said it that gave him pause. Was that why Phoenix thought he left? Because he was a sore loser? 

When he hesitated for a little too long, Phoenix scoffed, “To think your motivation for prosecuting trials was so selfish…. It'd be better for everyone if you never came back from the dead, Edgeworth!”

Miles barely suppressed a wince. 

He knew Phoenix was just lashing out at him the way Franziska always did when she was upset, but he didn’t understand why. Franziska was the closest thing to a sibling he ever had, and for all the shit they gave each other, she was practically family – the only family he had left at this point. He could understand why she might be frustrated with his decision to disappear for a little while. 

But what was he to Phoenix other than a former childhood friend who hadn’t treated him particularly well? Phoenix’s opinion of him had never made any sense, but this was something else entirely. Where had this anger come from? 

“... I see,” Miles replied slowly. “Then let me ask you something: why do you stand in the courtroom? What is your reason?”

Phoenix stood up straight and proud. “I stand in the courtroom to defend my client. ...To save their lives. Those who think only of their own ego-driven goals….” He show Miles another sharp look. “Those kind of prosecutors are reprehensible to me. Even if they’re a ‘prodigy’... or someone like you, Edgeworth.”

Someone like him.

Is that why Phoenix had turned on him all of a sudden? Had he finally realised what sort of person Miles Edgeworth used to be? 

It was funny. Miles had spent so much of their first year working together wishing Phoenix would recognise that he no longer held the same views as when he was a child, but it wasn’t until he had swung back towards a desire to help people that Phoenix had finally opened his eyes to how much he had changed – and not in the way Miles now wanted. 

When Miles had returned home, he had done so with the intention of showing Phoenix how much he had grown. He had wanted to prove to him that he cared about truth and justice, and that he no longer believed that winning was all that mattered. A year ago, Phoenix had believed him capable of change, but Miles’s abrupt departure had created a rift between them and now whatever respect Phoenix used to have for him was dead and gone. Proving himself was going to be a harder uphill battle than he had anticipated. He would still fight it – the idea of Phoenix thinking so little of him was unacceptable for reasons he still didn’t understand – but it wasn’t going to be easy. 

Miles sighed. “It looks like there is still a lot you have yet to learn.”

Phoenix gaped at him. “‘A lot I have yet to learn’? Me?” 

“The time when you will see is coming soon enough.”

Miles would make sure of it. 

“If it’s any consolation Mr. Edgeworth, I’m happy you're back!” 

“...Don’t you have a desk to clear out, Detective?” 

“...Yes, sir.”

On his way to watch the trial, Miles ran into Franziska on the courthouse steps. They were early – Miles wanting to squeeze in some work before it started, Franziska likely intending to speak to the witness again before they were called to the stand – yet she seemed to be in a hurry. 

“Franziska!” 

At the sound of his voice, Franziska cut him a look but kept walking. “What do you want?” 

“Can’t I wish you luck before your trial? Given how much you struggle to defeat Wright, I think you could use some.” 

As expected, the jab at her precious win record was enough to stop her in her tracks. Miles wouldn’t rile her up so much if she didn’t make it so so easy. 

“I don’t need luck, and I especially don’t need any from you!” she barked, hands balling into fists at her side. “This case is open and shut. I will need no more than twenty minutes to prove the defendant’s guilt – or must I remind you that I’m a prodigy?” 

“As if you would let anyone forget,” Miles grumbled. 

Unfortunately, Franziska was right. Engarde’s guilt was clear cut. It was a shame as Franziska needed to learn the same lesson he did – that a selfish obsession with ‘perfection’ helped no one but themselves, and the path to true justice could not be found in her father’s teachings – and satisfying her petty grudge against Phoenix would only set her back. It wasn’t that he wanted Franziska to lose, necessarily; he just felt it was a necessary step towards shaking the spectre of her father that hung over her, and assuming Phoenix didn’t pull off another miracle, she was unlikely to lose today. 

“You seem to have forgotten, or you wouldn’t be looking at me like I’m some foolish little girl wearing her father’s suit.” Franziska tilted her chin up, straightened out her back, and used the extra few inches of height the steps had given her to appear taller than she was. “Phoenix Wright may skirt through life with nothing more than fool’s luck and a subpar intellect, but I’m different. Better. Perfect. Just because you ran off like a frightened mouse doesn’t mean that I will. I'm going to succeed where you failed, and I’m going to grind that hapless fool into dust. So wipe that smug look off your face, Miles Edgeworth! I’m going to win this trial, or my name isn’t Franziska von–”

BANG!

A gunshot rang out across the courtyard. 

For a moment, Miles was nine-years old and trapped in an elevator again, his father’s body bleeding out at his feet, but he was quickly snapped out of his flashback by an ear piercing scream. 

Franziska had been flung to the ground. She curled up in pain on the steps and clutched her shoulder as crimson red bloomed through her white blouse. 

Miles’s hear dropped. Someone had shot his sister. 

“Franziska!” 

Miles fell to his knees. Franziska’s eyes and jaw were clenched tight, her breathing shallow. Gently, he pried her hand away from her shoulder and hissed at the ravaged flesh peeking through the tear in her clothes. He had investigated far too many murder scenes to be squeamish, but he had never liked bullet wounds. 

Panic threatened to seize his chest, and he had to force himself to stay calm and in control. He had already lost his father to such a tragedy; he wasn’t losing Franziska too. 

“She needs a hospital.” He looked up and made direct eye contact with one of the few bystanders who hadn’t scattered at the sound of gunfire. “Call 911! We need an ambulance!” 

“NO!” Franziska bellowed. 

“‘No’?!” Miles turned to her in disbelief. “What do you mean ‘no’?!” 

“I’m not going to the hospital!” She weakly shoved him away, and then used the rest of her strength to sit up, gritting her teeth through the pain. “I have a trial, Miles Edgeworth! I’m not going to let that pathetic puppy dog of a man best me again!” 

Miles was gobsmacked. He couldn’t believe she was even thinking about standing in court in this state. How did she expect to make objections when she was in so much pain she could hardly speak? Franziska had always been stubborn, but this was ridiculous even for her. 

“You are out of your mind if you think I’m going to let you prosecute with a bullet in your shoulder!” 

“And you are out of your mind if you think you have any say in what I can and cannot do!” Franziska attempted to stand up, but stumbled in her weakened state and would have fallen down the steps if Miles hadn’t caught her. He managed to lower her back to the ground despite her struggling against him. “Unhand me! I have a trial!” 

“Franziska, you are far far too smart to be acting this stupid.” He shrugged off his suit jacket and pressed it into her shoulder to stanch the bleeding. She hissed at the sudden pressure. “Unless you want to bleed out in the middle of the courtroom, you will go to the hospital!” 

“NO!” Franziska blinked over and over like she was fighting back tears. “I need– I need to go to court, Miles Edgeworth! I’m not losing another trial! I can’t– I can’t let him beat me again! I can’t!” 

With how successful her career had been, it was easy to forget how young she was. He hadn’t seen her this openly distressed since she was a child. 

They had never had the kind of relationship that involved touching or gentle sentiments, but seeing her unravel like this was painful and he couldn’t help the softness that seeped into his words. “There will be other trials, Franziska. You can’t throw away your life for some misguided idea of revenge.” 

“I don’t– I can’t– I don’t want to go to the hospital!” 

“I know.” 

“I was going to win! It’s an open and shut case! I– I was going to beat him this time!” 

“You probably were.” 

Awkwardly, and with all the grace of a man who had never comforted a woman before, he wrapped a stiff arm around her. Surprisingly, Franziska didn’t fight him. 

“I– I’m a better lawyer than you, Miles Edgeworth! I am!” 

“No one is saying otherwise.”

“I–.... I–...” 

Unable to form the words, Franziska collapsed into his side. Miles politely pretended not to notice the tears soaking through his shirt. 

Miles rode in the ambulance with her to the hospital, and stayed by her side until she was taken in for emergency surgery. With Franziska out of commission, Miles had volunteered to prosecute in her absence (one would think an armed gunman outside the courthouse would be cause for postponing today’s proceedings, but apparently not), and so he swung by his hotel to grab his spare suit jacket, and walked into the courtroom just in time for the trial to start. It was going to be hard to concentrate while he was worried about Franziska’s health, but perhaps a spirited debate was the distraction he needed. 

Phoenix looked even worse this morning than he had the day before. His eye bags had darkened, his hair was stuck up at odd angles from running his hands through it all morning, and his face was unusually serious (and unusually nervous). He was joined by a new assistant – a woman in pink robes with an uncanny resemblance to Mia Fey – and neither Maya nor the little girl from yesterday were anywhere to be seen. 

At first, Miles had thought that perhaps Phoenix had come to the same conclusion he had about Engarde's guilt and was stressed about his upcoming loss, but once the trial started, it became immediately clear that something was horribly wrong. 

This was not the Phoenix Wright he remembered. 

Phoenix stormed through the proceedings like a man possessed. He had always been single-mindedly determined to clear his client’s guilt, but this was a level of desperation Miles had never seen on him before. He tore into Adrian Andrews – a woman Miles was certain was innocent (and in whom he saw far too much of himself) – with uncharacteristic ruthlessness, and was refusing to allow the trial to end even when it would have been to his client’s benefit. 

When Ms. Andrew refused to testify any further and His Honour had no choice but to suspend the trial another day, a wild panic flared in Phoenix that spoke of something more than a simple passion for justice. “Please wait, your honour! That’s not necessary! The trial… Please continue the trial!” 

“What are you sweating for…?” Miles had to ask. “Your client is getting one more day to live, isn’t he?” 

“This isn’t about that, Edgeworth!” Phoenix snapped, his eyes wide and pleading. Fear rolled off him in waves. “I know you know who the real killer is! Please… let the trial continue! If I don’t get the verdict, then Maya–....” 

Maya. 

Is that why Phoenix was acting so strangely? Was Maya in danger? Miles didn’t see how she could have possibly got caught up in this, but Phoenix clearly believed otherwise. 

From the perspective of a prosecutor, there was little to be gained from forcing Ms. Andrews to testify. The more she talked, the more she incriminated herself, and it would be better for his case if he let the trial pause here. 

…But, as Miles was learning, he trusted Phoenix more than he trusted himself. If Phoenix needed the trial to continue, then perhaps pressing Ms. Andrews further was the right thing to do. He didn’t like it. It put unnecessary risk on his case, and he was beginning to doubt that Phoenix’s loyalty lied with the law. But, if Maya was in danger, could he live with himself if he had done nothing to help? 

Against his better judgement, Miles raised an objection and insisted the trial should continue. 

It wasn’t until Miles had cornered Phoenix in the lobby of Franziska’s clinic that he finally understood the full breadth of what had been going on behind the scenes. 

Maya Fey had been kidnapped by Shelly de Killer – the same assassin that had likely killed Juan Corrida – and would not release her until Phoenix had secured an acquittal for Matt Engarde. 

A case with Phoenix Wright could never be fucking simple, could it? 

The one silver lining to all of this was that it had alleviated all doubt as to the real culprit behind the murder. Engarde’s guilt was now clear as day – why else would the key players go to such lengths to keep him out of prison? – and proving such should be a cinch. Maya’s safety was an unfortunate complication, but now that he knew she was in trouble, he could make use of his resources to put together a rescue team before the verdict became a problem. 

The way forward was obvious. Miles thought that Phoenix would be on the same page, and yet….

“Stop trying to console me, Edgeworth! I don’t need your pity!” he snapped, eyes ablaze. “There’s one only way I can save her. I… I have to get an acquittal somehow! It’s the only way!” 

Even after everything, Phoenix still insisted that Engarde had to be innocent. Miles had tried to talk some sense into him, but Phoenix wouldn’t listen. 

It was startling to see someone he had grown to respect so deeply make the same mistakes he had. Phoenix’s reasoning was arguably more noble, yet he still fully intended to push for a verdict his client didn’t deserve. His desire to see Maya safe had clouded his judgement, and now the needle on his moral compass was spinning. 

Miles had gone through an entire crisis of conscience because of this man. He had thought that Phoenix had held the same principles he now did – that it was their job to find out the truth no matter how much it might hurt – but the cracks in Phoenix’s logic were starting to show. 

It had been easy for Phoenix to stand for truth and justice and a fair trial when his clients were innocent. Now that he was forced to defend someone who wasn’t, he was struggling to reconcile those beliefs with Engarde’s guilt. How could he fight to protect the meek and helpless if his client was anything but? 

Miles couldn’t answer that question for him. Phoenix was stubborn to a fault, and he wouldn’t accept reality until it had struck him across the face. Miles could offer direction, but ultimately this was a journey that Phoenix needed to undertake for himself. 

The problem was that it was not a journey that Miles had thought Phoenix would need to go on at all. He had built him up to be this paragon of true justice in his head, and Miles hadn’t realised he had done so until the pedestal had started to crumble. Phoenix was as fallible and as human as he was. For all he complained about Phoenix blinding himself to Miles’s flaws, Miles had done the same to him. 

Franziska refused to look at him. “Why are you here, Miles Edgeworth? Have you come to chastise me some more?” 

Miles carefully approached the bed. She was very alert for a woman who had just had surgery, but perhaps that was to be expected. They had both been raised to show no weakness, and not even a bullet wound was a justifiable reason to rest. 

“I thought you might be interested to hear how the trial went.” 

And I had come to check on you, he didn’t say. 

Franziska huffed. “So you’re here to gloat then.” 

“You didn’t exactly give me anything to gloat about, what with that irresponsible deal you made with Adrian Andrews. It is beyond me why you thought that was a good idea.” 

“I thought you said you weren’t here to chastise me.” Franziska crossed her arms, petulant. Her gaze never left the window. 

Miles sighed. This was going nowhere. 

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to bring himself to tell her all the openhearted sentiments that had been running through his mind all day – I’m glad you’re safe, I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d lost you, you’re the only family I have left – but the chains of their upbringing were still tight and the words refused to come out. 

Miles awkwardly set the brown paper bag he had been carrying on the bedside table. Franziska, despite herself, looked up. 

“It’s black forest cake. I… thought you might want to eat something that wasn’t cheap or mass produced.” 

Franziska pressed her lips together and turned away. “Call it by the original German name if you’re going to buy it for me.” Her soft tone betrayed her gratitude. “And I don’t need your sympathy, Miles Edgeworth.” 

“I know.” 

All of their unspoken words hung in the air between them until Miles stiffly wished her a goodnight. The bag crinkled from a hungry hand as he left the room. 

The atmosphere in the courtroom the next morning was thick with tension. The high stakes of the trial were weighing down on all of them, but none more than Phoenix Wright. 

Facing him was a bit like handling a live bomb. Miles didn’t know what he was going to do – and from their last conversation on the matter, he didn’t think Phoenix knew either – and one wrong move could cause the whole case to blow up in their faces. They were caught in a delicate balance of dragging the trial out long enough for Gumshoe to find Maya, but also

establishing Engarde’s guilt without him or de Killer figuring out what they were up to. At any point, Phoenix could succumb to the pressure, and it would all be over. 

Miles didn’t envy him one bit. He didn’t know what he would have done if it was him behind the defense bench (not that he had any close friends for a deranged assassin to kidnap), but he had to trust that Phoenix would make the right decision whatever that decision turned out to be. 

“I’m on a mission and no one can stop me now, sir! No one! I’m pulling out all the stops and running every red light!” 

Tires screeched, horns honked, and a deafening crash crackled down the line. 

Miles could only stare at Phoenix with matching horror as Gumshoe’s phone went dead. 

“Calling me mid-trial, Miles Edgeworth? How unprofessional.” 

“Franziska, We need your help.” 

“Oh? Is that so? You stole my case and now you’ve come begging for my assistance? You’re a real piece of work, Miles Edgeworth. If you think I’m going to–”

“Franziska. Please.” 

“....”

“...Please.” 

A sigh. 

“...What do you need me to do?” 

Even as the words were leaving his mouth, Miles regretted agreeing to this whole charade. A gambit this desperate was the kind of stunt Phoenix would pull. Miles had thought he was above such absurdity, and yet…. 

“The witness is… it’s um….” 

His Honour leaned forward expectantly. “Yes?! Go on?! Who is it?!” 

“The man himself,” Miles forced out, “Mr. Shelly de Killer.” 

This case was shaving years off his life. Every time they gained a little bit of ground, de Killer would say something to sweep the rug out from underneath their feet. 

They were rapidly running out of time. De Killer was dangling Maya’s life in front of them like a carrot on a stick. Engarde was openly gloating on the witness stand. Phoenix had reached the end of his rope, and there was no telling what he would do if they didn’t put an end to this and fast. 

When there were no more straws to grasp onto, His Honour requested Phoenix’s final statements. 

Miles watched as he hunched over the defense bench, stressed and broken to the point he could no longer hold himself upright. His eyes were wild and desperate, and his hands fidgety and restless. 

“My client… Matt Engarde is….” 

“OBJECTION!” 

The doors to the courtroom flung open, and in strode Franziska von Karma, her heels clacking on the tile as she went. 

Say what you want about her: Franziska knew how to make an entrance. 

“Did you bring them?” Miles asked. “The final pieces of evidence…. Do you have them?” 

Franziska deposited a bundle of items wrapped in Gumshoe’s familiar green coat on the prosecutor’s bench. “You should know better than to ask me that, Mr. Miles Edgeworth. A von Karma is perfect in every way!” 

She smiled, proud and smug. 

Seeing her act more like her overconfident self was as big of a relief as anything else. 

When His Honour banged his gavel and announced his guilty verdict, Phoenix collapsed onto his bench in a heap. 

Going to dinner after a particularly big case was becoming something of a tradition, it seemed. A newly freed Maya Fey was starving, and insisted everyone in their little group – including Will Powers and that journalist Miles didn’t like – returned to the Gatewater Hotel for a feast. 

Franziska was the only one who didn’t tag along. Phoenix taking his first loss gracefully was the death knell for her fragile mental state, and no matter how clearly Miles explained that winning mattered less than finding the truth, she wouldn’t hear it. With a blast of insults, Franziska’s temper exploded and she stormed off into the sunset. 

It was worrying to see her toss her whip aside like that, but Miles had been in her position once too. If he had come through the other side of this turbulence in one piece, then so would she – even if her only goal was to prove that she was stronger than him. 

At dinner, Miles found himself wedged between a thankfully intact Dick Gumshoe, and a surprisingly forgiving Will Powers. He had hoped to snag a seat by Phoenix as there was much he had wanted to discuss, but Maya and Pearl had stolen his attention and Miles didn’t have the heart to split them up. After everything they had been through, the three of them deserved this carefree night of peace, and it wouldn’t be right for him to get in the way of their happiness. 

Miles only wished he could have had a taste of that happiness too. 

It was embarrassing – pathetic, really – how much he was aching for the kind of close friendship Phoenix had with Maya Fey. It was selfish of him to see a woman get kidnapped and think I wish someone cared for me as deeply as all of these people cared for her, but Miles was a selfish creature and he had been alone for so very long. 

Miles had gone his whole life thinking he didn’t need friends, that close bonds like Phoenix and Maya’s would only hold him back and get in his way. It was easier to believe that when he hadn’t witnessed firsthand what he was missing. 

There was nothing complicated about their relationship. They exchanged affection as easily as they breathed. They laughed without shame, touched without fear, and paid compliments without daggers hidden behind backs. Miles hadn’t had a friendship like that since…. 

Well. Since he and Phoenix were nine-years old. 

He wondered if it was possible for them to have a friendship like that again. 

It didn’t seem possible. Phoenix hated him these days, and even if he didn’t, Miles was too cold and closed off. What self-respecting person would put up with him long enough to build a friendship like that? A life of loneliness was inevitable for men as impossible to love as him, and it was better if he accepted that now so he wouldn’t be disappointed later. 

Still, in a rare fanficful moment, he wondered. 

As Miles waited outside the Gatewater Hotel for a cab, Phoenix found him. “Good. You haven’t left yet.” 

“Not quite. Is something wrong?” 

“No, no. I just… wanted to thank you again for your help today.” Phoenix rubbed the back of his neck, smiling wearily. “I don’t want to think about what might have happened if you hadn’t stepped in.” 

Miles softened. “Then let’s not.” 

Phoenix stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. Now that the adrenaline of the day had worn off, he looked tired, the past few nights of no sleep finally catching up to him. 

Silence fell between them, but Phoenix made no move to head back inside to the others. Miles took the opportunity to ask a question that had been on his mind all day. 

“What were you going to say earlier? About Engarde’s guilt, before Franziska interrupted with the evidence.” 

Phoenix let out a small bitter laugh. “Does it matter?” 

“Maybe not to you, but… I know what it’s like to question if you’re doing the right thing. I want to know where you landed.” 

Phoenix looked up at the darkening sky, deep in thought. “...You were right. About Engarde’s guilt. About our purpose in the courtroom. Everything. My clients always deserve fair representation no matter how much of a bastard they are, and sometimes finding the truth means defending a guilty client. I know I was a little slow on the uptake, but… I understand now what you were trying to tell me all this time.” 

He had sidestepped the original question entirely, but he had still, in a way, given Miles the information he was looking for. 

They were back on the same page about how best to fight against injustice. Miles had respected him before, but that respect only deepened now that Phoenix had experienced one of the most harrowing cases of his career and came out the other side a better lawyer, a better man. Miles understood all too well how he was feeling, and he hoped the knowledge that he had battled with a similar crisis of conscience was as comforting to Phoenix as it was to him. 

Miles had thought he had understood Phoenix Wright, and Phoenix had thought he had understood Miles Edgeworth, and perhaps for the first time in their long acquaintance, both statements were actually true. 

“To be fair, I had a long time to think about it.” 

“Is that what you were doing in Europe? Thinking about it?” 

Miles nodded. “I was.” 

“You could have done that here.” There was an edge to Phoenix’s voice he couldn’t quite place. 

“No,” Miles said softly, “I couldn’t have.” 

Phoenix pressed his lips together and turned away. 

Something in the air shifted. Miles got the distinct impression he had said something wrong, but he couldn’t fathom what. 

Phoenix wasn't still upset about that silly note he had left, was he? Miles didn't fully understand why it was bothering him, or even why it had bothered him in the first place. It wasn't like his decision to leave for a while affected Phoenix in any way, so what did it matter to him if Miles self-reflected here or in Germany? That implied a level of care Miles just didn't believe Phoenix felt towards him – not after the way he had spoken to him upon their reunion. It didn't make any sense.

“Are you going back to Europe after this?” Phoenix asked after a beat, his voice carefully even. 

“I have to. I still have responsibilities to attend to in Germany, and… there’s nothing keeping me here, Wright.” 

Miles’s heart panged at the reminder, and then again when Phoenix’s shoulders sagged in a mixture of disappointment and resignation. “I guess there isn’t.” 

An air of finality punctuated the end of their conversation. 

They stood in silence until the cab arrived, and Miles climbed inside with a stilted goodnight. As the cab pulled away from the curb, he watched as Maya stepped out of the hotel in search of her friend, and Phoenix’s expression lifted. 

In an airport, at a gate for a flight to Germany, Franziska balled her hands into fists as her eyes welled with tears. “Don’t think I’m going to walk in your shadow forever. Our battle begins now… so you had better prepare yourself, Miles Edgeworth!” 

Miles opened his arms, and like a stray cat who had never had a home before, Franziska hesitantly stepped forward and then fell into them all at once. 

It was a year before Miles saw Phoenix again. He hadn’t meant to be radio silent for so long, but he was kept more than busy overseas, and their relationship had always been so tied to the courtroom. With Miles not taking cases in California, there was never any reason to reach out. He had thought about it – he had thought about it more than what might be considered normal for two respected colleagues – but his pride had kept him from picking up the phone. 

In his defense, Phoenix had made no attempt to reach out either. He tried not to think about what that meant. 

There was no telling how much time might have passed before one of them made contact, or even which of them would have made contact first. In all honesty, Miles had accepted that he wasn’t likely to hear from Phoenix again until whenever he had decided to return home. If things had gone differently, then another year might have passed before either of them set eyes on the other. 

What Miles didn’t expect, and what he never thought to expect despite the fact he really should have known better by now, was Larry. 

“Edgey! Get up! It’s an emergency!” 

There were many things Larry could have been referring to – none of which Miles would have ever classified as ‘an emergency’ – but luck had never been on his side, and Larry said the one thing that had him out of bed and ready in a heartbeat. 

“It’s Nick! H- He took a really nasty spill! His life is in danger!” 

Miles’s heart dropped, his blood went cold, and he instantly regretted never making that call. 

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

The flight back to California was agonisingly long. Miles had tried to sleep through some of it, but his frayed nerves wouldn’t allow him to drift off for more than minutes at a time. Larry had been too focused on the latest unfortunate woman he was enamoured with to give any real details on Phoenix’s condition, thus leaving Miles to fixate on the worse case scenario. With no cell service aboard the plane, for all he knew, Phoenix already could be dead. 

What would he do if Miles lost him? They weren’t close and they hardly talked, but Phoenix remained a steadying force in Miles’s life all the same. It had been a comfort to know that Phoenix was back home practicing law, a distant lighthouse that would one day guide him back to shore. Miles had grown complacent in his belief that Phoenix would always be there, waiting for him to return. Past experience had taught him that such a reunion would not be welcomed warmly, but at least a Phoenix that hated him was a Phoenix that was alive and well. 

Please let him be alive and well. 

When the plane finally landed, Miles took a quick detour to his empty house to drop off his bags, and then immediately rushed to the hospital. His heart was pounding the entire walk up to Phoenix’s room – though the fact there was a room for him to walk to at all was a good sign – and was at risk of giving out entirely by the time he reached the door. 

Phoenix laid in his hospital bed, still and unmoving. A myriad of wires protruded from his body, connecting him to a heart monitor and an IV bag. He was wearing a standard hospital gown and a non-standard white hood with a purple cord around the neck. It looked spiritual, but Miles hadn’t known Phoenix to believe in a higher power, and this wasn’t a religious hospital – a gift from Maya, perhaps? It wasn’t immediately obvious why he had been admitted, but he looked deathly pale and flushed all at once. 

Miles lightly knocked on the door. “Phoenix?” 

Phoenix stirred at the sound of his voice, and blinked wearily up at him. “Edgeworth…?” He squinted, his gaze distant and unfocused. “Am I hallucinating? I’m hallucinating, aren’t I?” 

Simply seeing him awake was enough to quell Miles’s deepest worries, and a wave of relief washed over him. “No, you’re not hallucinating. I came as soon as I heard the news.” 

“That’s exactly what a hallucination would say.” 

The immediate suspicion threw him for a loop. “I–... what?” 

Phoenix pushed himself up into a sitting position with more effort than such a simple action should have required. “Hang on. Come over here. I need to see something.” 

Miles shut the door for privacy and hesitantly approached the bed. Whatever he was expecting when he came in here, it wasn’t this. 

As soon as he was within arm’s reach, Phoenix snatched his wrist with a hand that was both ice cold and sweaty. “Holy shit, you are real.” His eyes widened to an almost comical degree

“Of course I’m real!” Miles yanked his hand back. His cheeks burned from the embarrassment of being so afraid for someone who was so clearly fine. His skin continued to tingle long after Phoenix let go. “Why wouldn’t I be? Have you been seeing things?” 

“No, I–” Whatever he was about to say was cut off by a fit of coughing – the kind one felt deep in their chest. 

There was a fresh jug of water sitting by the bedside, and so Miles poured him a plastic cup. As Phoenix drank it and settled himself, Miles gave him another once over. 

There were no visible injuries, but he was still very sick. His skin was pale and clammy, his voice was hoarse and nasally, and his eyes had trouble focusing like he wasn’t fully aware of where he was or what was going on – pneumonia, if Miles had to guess. While serious, he did have to wonder why Larry had been so convinced of imminent death. 

Then again, maybe that was on him for expecting that Larry of all people would have given an accurate account of the severity of his condition. 

Once Phoenix had calmed back down, he shot Miles another look. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be in Europe?” He said that with such disgust that one would think the entire continent had personally offended him somehow, but Miles was fairly certain Phoenix had never left the country before, if he had ever been on a plane at all. 

“I was, until your friend Larry Butz called me and insisted I come home because you were on death’s door.” Miles sat down in the chair by his bed. It was all he could do to calm his now pointlessly racing heart. 

Phoenix gaped at him. “You came back for Larry?!” 

“No, you idiot. I came back because I was led to believe you were dying. What happened to you? Why was Larry so panicked?” 

Phoenix furrowed his brow, struggling to remember the precise details in his addled state, until all of a sudden….

“Maya!” He sprung up, frantically grabbing Miles by the wrist. “Edgeworth, you need to help Maya! And Iris! They’re–” He was struck by another coughing fit. 

Miles fetched him another glass of water, and then, once the coughing had ebbed, painstakingly extracted the truth from a rambling, delirious patient. 

Phoenix had been chaperoning Maya and Pearl on some sort of spiritual training when it happened: a fellow guest at Hazakura Temple was found dead in the courtyard with a seven-branched sword sticking out of her back. This had immediately sent him into a panic. Maya had been meditating in a separate temple at the time. What if the murderer had fled in her direction? The temple could only be accessed by a decaying rope bridge, and so there would be nowhere for her to escape. 

Fear had pushed Phoenix to book it towards the temple as fast as he was able, but his rescue attempt had been waylaid by the second tragedy of the night: the rope bridge had caught on fire. 

Phoenix had known attempting to cross it would be dangerous. The bridge had already been at risk of falling apart before any of this happened, and now the rotting wood and fraying ropes had been weakened further by the flames. Still, all he had cared about in that moment was Maya, and he would have done anything to see her safe. 

Without giving it a second thought, Phoenix had dashed across the bridge, and had only made it a few feet before it collapsed out from underneath him. The last thing he remembered was the freezing river swallowing him whole. He woke up hours later here, in this hospital room, with the worst cold he had ever caught in his life. 

Miles wished he could say he was surprised that Phoenix had done something so stupid, but he wasn’t. This was the exact kind of life-threatening stunt he had learned to expect from a man who consistently bent over backwards to protect the people he cared about. As much as Miles wished he had put even an ounce of thought towards his own safety, he wouldn’t be Phoenix Wright if he wasn’t so foolishly selfless. 

It was one of the many reasons he had become so exasperatingly fond of him. 

“Edgeworth, I need you to do me a humongous favour.” Phoenix looked at him with the clearest eyes he had all day. “Larry told me they arrested Iris for the murder. I need you to help her.” 

Iris, if he understood correctly, was one of the nuns who worked at Hazakura Temple. Larry was clearly taken by her, but Miles was still working out what significance she held for Phoenix. 

“Help her how?” 

Phoenix grabbed something off his bedside table, and pressed it into Miles’s hand. “I need you to defend her in court.” 

In his palm was a little golden badge. Its paint had chipped from overuse, but it was no less shiny. 

Miles’s stomach lurched. 

“You must be joking.” He tried to give it back to him, but Phoenix pushed his hand away. “I’m a prosecutor, Wright! Not a defense attorney! I can’t just walk into a courtroom and defend someone with no plan!” 

“Sure you can! I do it all the time!” 

That was not the comfort Phoenix thought it was. 

“Besides,” he continued, “if you leave right away, then you’ll have plenty of time to investigate and gather evidence. You’ll come up with a plan before tomorrow! …Probably!”

Miles pinched the bridge of his nose. This was ridiculous. He couldn’t believe they were even having this conversation. “How do you know this Iris is even innocent? You’ve been holed up here since the murder, and unless there’s a key detail you forgot to divulge, there aren’t many other suspects.” 

Miles had expected Phoenix to passionately and valiantly fight for his client’s innocence as he had done many times before, but instead what he got was a long pause and a furrowed brow. 

“I don’t know if she’s innocent,” Phoenix admitted, his voice carefully neutral. “There’s… a lot I don’t know about Iris actually. She reminds me a lot of someone I used to know – or the someone I thought that someone was – but….” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Look, if you’re that worried about it, you can use this.” 

Phoenix handed him another object from his bedside table – a smooth round stone that emitted a soft green glow. It was the same shape as the necklace Maya always wore. 

“This is my magatama. Maya gave it to me a while back, and Pearls infused it with spiritual energy. It allows the holder to see the secrets in a person’s heart. If you ask someone a question and they’re lying or hiding something from you, then psychelocks will appear around them. If they’re telling the truth, then there’s no effect. You can use it to get the truth – or at least, what she believes to be the truth – out of Iris.” 

Okay, now Miles knew for sure that Phoenix was out of his fucking mind. It made such little sense that Miles was struggling to comprehend what he was even trying to say. Psycho-locks? Secrets in a person’s heart? What children’s fairytale had he pulled that from? 

“You don’t seriously believe in this mystical nonsense, do you?” 

“Not at first, but I do now.” His conviction was staggering. “You will too, once you see what it does.” 

“I highly doubt that,” he scoffed. 

Phoenix rolled his eyes as if Miles was the unreasonable one here, but didn’t push the matter any further. “Even if she is guilty, you still have to defend her. Everyone deserves a fair and honest trial, right? You taught me that.” 

Something in Miles’s chest softened. “I was merely imparting the same lessons I had learned from you.” 

“And that’s exactly why you have to be the one who defends her.” Phoenix ducked his head slightly to hold his gaze – not that Miles could have looked away even if he had wanted to, “You care about finding the truth as much as I do. You’re not like Franziska or Godot. You’re not going to walk into that courtroom with ulterior motives. You’ll fight for Iris no matter what suspicions you might have of her because it’s the right thing to do. She needs someone like you in her corner.” 

“The last time we reunited, you called me selfish and ego-driven,” Miles pointed out. “You said you hated lawyers like me.” 

“That was before I saw how much you’ve changed,” Phoenix said matter-of-factly, his eyes bright and jaw firm. He wasn’t confused anymore. 

Miles’s stomach flipped like he had gone down the drop of a rollercoaster. He rolled Phoenix’s badge between his finger and his thumb over and over and over.

“You are not the same person you were two years ago. I can’t imagine that Edgeworth ever hopping on a private jet just because he heard that I caught a little cold.” A lopsided smile tugged at Phoenix’s lips. 

“I was told you were dying,” Miles stressed, feeling a little hot under the collar all of a sudden. 

“And that Edgeworth would have never prolonged the Engarde trial just because I had asked him to, and he certainly wouldn’t have helped me build an argument against Damon Gant at the cost of losing the case. You’ve been through a lot these past few years – we both have, I think – and maybe this is the cold medicine talking, but… I’m really proud of you.” 

Those words coupled with Phoenix’s earnest expression was too much, and Miles had to look away. His chest was tight, and his heart was beating a mile a minute, and he needed to run far, far away so he could disentangle all the complicated feelings that were suddenly tumbling around inside of him. 

But Phoenix wouldn’t relent. 

“I know you think you can’t defend Iris because you’re a prosecutor or whatever, but if you managed to crawl out from underneath von Karma’s thumb, then I think you can do whatever you set your mind to. You are a better lawyer than he ever was – hell, you’re probably a better lawyer than I am too.” Phoenix let out a weak laugh. “God knows what would have happened with Matt Engarde if you weren’t there to talk sense into me.” 

“I was only able to do that because you talked sense into me first,” Miles insisted. 

Phoenix waved him off. “I didn’t do anything except my job. You changed on your own merits; I had nothing to do with it.” 

“Wright–” 

“Look, it doesn’t matter who talked sense into who when it was probably a bit of both. That’s what the courtroom is for, right? It’s all checks and balances. I call you out on your shit, you call me out on mine, and then together we arrive at the truth. It’s a give and take – a partnership, if you want to call it that – and there’s no one I’d rather be partners with than you.” 

Miles swallowed around a lump in his throat. Goosebumps prickled all over his body. He was not getting out of this trip alive. 

“But the point is… Iris needs a defense attorney, and you’re the only person I trust to do it right.” 

Trust.

Even after everything he had done, Phoenix trusted him. 

That meant more to him than what could be put into words. It was proof that everything he had worked so hard for these past couple of years wasn't for naught. He was a better lawyer now, and Phoenix saw that and respected it. He had faith Miles would do the just thing when the chips were down – so much so that he was willing to entrust a client into his care. 

Despite their turbulent beginnings, Phoenix saw him as an ally, a confidant…

And a partner. 

Miles thought back to that trial during Lana Skye’s case where they had worked together for the first time to pin down the real culprit. The atmosphere in the courtroom that day had been electric. They had moved effortlessly around each other, two celestial bodies caught in the other’s orbit, rotating in perfect synchronicity. 

Had Phoenix felt that energy too, he wondered? Was he as inexplicably drawn to Miles as Miles was to him? Could he feel that magnetic pull always tugging them closer even when they were continents apart? 

It was as exciting as it was terrifying. Miles was only just now coming to terms with the true depths of what that meant, of how he felt towards his long lost friend. He wasn't quite ready to label those feelings, but it was impossible to ignore them now that he had realised they were there. 

There was no one he would rather be partners with indeed. 

“You’re serious about this then? About me defending Iris in court?” 

“As a heart attack.” Phoenix grabbed his hand, and closed Miles’s fingers around the badge and the magatama. His gaze never wavered. Miles’s skin tingled under his touch. “Please, Edgeworth. You’re the only one I can trust with this.” 

It was hitting him that he would do just about anything that Phoenix Wright asked of him, no matter how ill advised. He may have even ran across that stupid burning bridge. 

“All right. I’ll see what I can do.” 

Phoenix smiled. 

When Miles made his way out of the hospital a few moments later, a little piece of his heart was left behind. 

Sister Iris of Hazakura Temple was oddly familiar, but he couldn't place how he knew her or where he may have seen her before. Stranger again was her relationship with Phoenix, and the way she spoke of him so intimately despite allegedly only meeting him for the first time a few nights before. 

“Mr. Edgeworth?” Iris looked up at him with her big doe-like eyes. “What is Mr. Wright to you?”

It was a question he was beginning to ask himself, but not one he was ready to answer. 

“...He is a very dear and indispensable friend.”

Iris furrowed her brow like she didn’t believe that was the whole truth. 

If Miles was honest with himself, he didn’t believe that was the whole truth either. 

On the morning of the trial, the golden badge sat heavy on his lapel. It was such a small change to his usual dress, and yet he hardly recognised himself in the mirror. 

In another life, Miles would have pinned an identical badge to his jacket every morning, his father’s hand proud on his shoulder. Part of him believed he could feel the phantom weight of it anyway, and see a ghost of a smile on his father’s lips behind him. 

As a prosecutor, Miles technically wasn’t supposed to be defending clients in court, and so a few favours had to be called in to make this reckless charade work – a request for a judge who didn’t know him, and a request for a prosecutor who would be all too willing to go along with it even though she did. 

“I had expected to face Phoenix Wright today,” Franziska said as she sized him up from behind the prosecutor’s bench. “But looking at you now… maybe this is what I have been waiting for all this time. Miles Edgeworth! I will not allow this chance to crush you slip through my fingers!” 

Who would have thought that the two of them would have ended up here? Given they had been moulded to be prosecutors in their mentor’s image, it was unfathomable to think that one of them would ever stand for the defense, and yet, Franziska was right: this felt like the natural evolution of the competition that had defined their relationship for so long. Miles had learned to let go of any desire to prove he was better than Franziska, but for her, their old dynamic was not so easily shaken. The cards had always been too stacked against her, the chip on her shoulder etched in too deep. That mindset did not go away overnight. 

She had changed in other ways though, Miles noticed – and in ways that were more important than dampening her competitive spirit. While she was still clinging to futile aspirations for perfection by her fingertips, she had shed the shadow of her father and was now forging her own reputation independent of his. If Franziska had her way – and Miles sincerely hoped she got it – the name von Karma would be deserving of the respect it garnered, and would become the symbol of justice she had always believed it to be. There was still a long way to go, of course, but her perspective was shifting by the day. 

Miles was proud of her growth – not that he would ever say as much, of course. Franziska would have never accepted that type of kindness from him anyway. 

The trial itself, meanwhile, was giving him a new appreciation for Phoenix Wright. He hadn’t realised how biased the court was against the defense until he had stood there himself. Some amount of hostility from the prosecution was to be expected given Franziska’s entire personality, but the judge, witnesses, and even the gallery piling on only bolstered his realisation that their legal system was in desperate need of reforming. Phoenix truly was a saint if he was willingly putting himself through this level of disrespect every time he stepped foot into a courtroom. 

It felt good though, defending. Working as a defense attorney was a dream he had given up on a long time ago, but it was strangely fulfilling to live it now, even if only for a day. It was almost like he was nine-years old again, screaming out objection at the top of his lungs in righteous indignation that his fourth grade classroom was not adequately adhering to legal procedures. 

A lot had changed since then. As much as Miles cared about the law, he couldn't help but feel his younger self’s passion for truth and justice had died somewhere along the way. 

There had been a time when Miles had big dreams about bettering their legal system. Instead, he had spent years of his life engaging in the kind of corruption that nine-year old kid had wanted to fight against. Miles wasn’t that person anymore, but he wasn’t the person he had envisioned he would be at this age either. 

Perhaps Franziska wasn’t the only one who still had a lot of growing to do. 

Eventually, after what was easily the worst cross-examination he had ever had the displeasure of being involved in – if Miles saw Larry Butz again after this, it would be too soon – he managed to extend the trial by another day. As personally enlightening as his venture into defending was, he was relieved at the prospect of never having to do it again. 

“I hope you’re not mistaking this for a victory, Miles Edgeworth.” Franziska sidled up to him, arms crossed. “This doesn’t count as a win.” 

“And I suppose if the prosecution does secure a victory tomorrow, then that will count as a win against me, would it?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Franziska scoffed. “Whether that prosecutor wins or loses is none of my concern. When I finally defeat you, it will be through my efforts and mine alone.” She held her head up high, an overconfident smirk tugging at her features. 

Miles rolled his eyes, affectionately. As proud of her as he was for changing, he was silently glad she hadn’t changed too much. 

Franziska flicked her hair. “Who even is this Godot anyway?” 

“I don’t know,” Miles mused. “It’s strange. I keep a close eye on the up-and-coming prosecutors, but yesterday was the first I’d ever heard of him.” 

Franziska hummed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter whether he has talent or not. Phoenix Wright and his infinite luck will defeat him regardless.” 

Miles huffed a small laugh. He wouldn’t call it ‘luck’ necessarily, but….

“I’m sure he will.”

After the flight Miles had, stressed and unsure about what state he would find his old friend in when he landed, it was a comfort to see Phoenix out and about. Phoenix was still delirious with a fever and Miles was concerned he would collapse at any second, but still, anything was an improvement to being laid up in a hospital bed. 

By the time the second day of the trial rolled around, his eyes were brighter, more focused, and ready for anything. Miles happily handed over the reins, and took a set as close to the defense bench as he could manage, Franziska by his side. 

For all the times he had seen Phoenix perform in court, this was the first in which he was watching him from the gallery. In some ways, he was even more helpless than when he was the defendant, unable to affect the proceedings in any meaningful way, and yet he couldn’t say he minded. The circumstances had gifted him the rare opportunity to simply sit back and watch Phoenix do what he did best. 

And watch, Miles did. 

Even running on the unconscionable amount of cold medicine that he was, Phoenix was magnificent. 

Step-by-step, he slowly and methodically dismantled every argument the prosecution threw at him. It didn’t matter how many walls Godot backed him against; Phoenix always found his way out. Every new twist, he bent to meet it. Every new setback, he picked himself up and kept going. Even when the trial took a turn for the fantastical and upended everything Miles thought he understood about the laws of life and death, Phoenix faced it head on without hesitation. Like a bloodhound on the trail of a scent, he never lost sight of his goal. 

Phoenix Wright was a passionate man. Once he set his mind to something, he saw it through to the end. He was principled, and just, and far far smarter than anyone – himself included – ever gave him credit for. He fought for the people he loved with every essence of his being, and there wasn’t a soul in this world that could stop him from protecting them. 

He was brilliant. Irrevocably and profoundly brilliant. 

This observation was not new. It was a fact of life as immutable as the passage of time. Miles had accepted this truth long ago – begrudgingly at first, and with open arms later – but it was taking on a different colour now. 

Miles didn’t know if he was still reeling from the relief that Phoenix was alive and well, or if these scales had simply reached their inevitable tipping point, but the true nature of his feelings had finally fallen into the light.

Oh god, he thought through a swooping stomach, I’m in love with Phoenix Wright. 

There was no specific moment that triggered this revelation – at least, not one he would be able to pinpoint when he combed over the trial again later. In reality, Miles had always known and pretended he didn’t, but the luxury of seeing him in his element from an outsider’s perspective had been the final nail in his proverbial coffin. 

Miles Edgeworth was in love with Phoenix Wright, and had been in love with him for perhaps his entire life. 

He didn’t know when it started. It probably wasn’t love in fourth grade. It definitely wasn’t love when Phoenix had defeated him in court for the first time.  

But, that recess during his own trial, when Phoenix had looked him dead in the eye and told him he hadn’t killed his father? That he would do everything in his power to prove it? When he unravelled the truth behind the DL-6 incident, almost single-handedly ending the lifelong nightmare that had haunted Miles’s every step, and gave him the closure he thought he would never receive? When he changed everything Miles was and everything he thought he could be? 

That was love. He didn’t know it then, but he knew it now. 

Miles was in love with Phoenix Wright, and probably always would be. 

It felt like everything and nothing had changed all at once. This was something new and old at the same time. He didn’t know what it meant or even if it could mean anything at all. 

What did it matter how he felt if Phoenix didn’t feel the same? Even if he had, Miles wasn’t sure he would want a relationship with him anyway. He had been alone his entire life. He didn’t know how to be with another person, and certainly not in the way someone like Phoenix deserved. 

No, whatever this was, it had to stay under lock and key. His burgeoning friendship (partnership?) with Phoenix was fragile enough as it was without Miles ruining it with something as fickle as feelings. Just because he was acknowledging his heart didn’t mean he had to think with it. It would be better for the both of them if things stayed exactly as they were. 

In the wake of this new understanding, Miles stared long and hard at Phoenix’s face all throughout their celebratory dinner. He didn’t know what he was expecting to find – weren’t there supposed to be fireworks or some other mushy tripe? – but no, he was still the same Phoenix Wright he always was. 

His eyes still glittered with mirth, even with drooping eyelids from his lingering stress and illness. One corner of his mouth still rose higher than the other when he smiled. His laugh was as sonorous as ever. If Miles looked at him – really looked at him – then he could also appreciate the firm cut of his jaw, the gentle slope of his nose, the tiny scar on his bottom lip… but he had noticed all of these things before, hadn’t he? Miles had long memorised every inch of his face, and could replicate it in perfect detail down to the pore if only he had the artistic skill to do so. 

No, all this little exercise had proven was that he had always thought Phoenix was roguishly handsome; he just hadn’t allowed himself to think of him in those terms until now. Phoenix Wright hadn’t changed, and neither had Miles Edgeworth. He had simply allowed the wool to fall from his eyes, and see the world for what it truly was. 

Phoenix was never going to stop shifting his worldview, it seemed. How irritating. How exciting. 

Miles was not one to miss the forest for the trees usually, but somehow in all his staring, he hadn’t noticed that Phoenix was staring back until he spoke. “Uh… is there something on my face? Why are you glaring at me?” 

Miles snapped out of it, and busied himself with a sip of his wine as if to prove he hadn’t been staring at all. (As awful as the food in this French establishment was, at least the wine was tolerable.) “I suppose I should congratulate you on another victory. You’re the only person I know who would think to accuse the witness of being possessed by the ghost of a convicted murderer.” 

Phoenix wasn’t satisfied with that answer to his question if the face he made was anything to go by, but he gamely followed along with Miles’s train of thought anyway. “Never thought I’d see the day when the logical Miles Edgeworth admitted to believing in ghosts.” 

“As if I could argue otherwise after what happened in court.” He rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to believe it, but he could hardly ignore the facts, no matter how comforting ignorance could be. He was learning that lesson a lot lately. “What led you to that conclusion?” 

“I’d seen Maya channel spirits before.” 

Miles shot him a look of disbelief, and Phoenix smiled, lopsided and puckish. 

“Pearls too. Honestly, I don’t think you can pat yourself on the back about your investigation skills anymore if you never once noticed her changing from a nine-year old girl into a twenty-seven year old woman in the middle of court.” 

The idea that the woman who looked remarkably like Mia Fey might actually have been Mia Fey was something Miles was resolutely not thinking about. 

“Why on earth would I have ever thought they were the same person?!” 

“Because they were?” 

Miles huffed an indignant breath and turned away. Phoenix’s laugh echoed in his ear, and a familiar warmth spread through his chest. In hindsight, he should have identified his feelings much sooner. 

“Thanks again for helping me out with the trial yesterday,” Phoenix added, softer. “I wouldn’t have been able to pull any of this off if you hadn’t filled in for me. I know I was asking a lot, but… there’s no one else I could trust to do it.” 

“Well… it was not a path I had ever thought I would walk, but… all that matters is that Maya is safe.” 

He glanced across the table at where Maya was sitting with Pearl and Franziska, joking and laughing about something or other. She had perked up considerably once she had ate a warm meal, but her usual bright energy was still noticeably subdued. It would take a while before she and little Pearl could fully move on from this ordeal, but she was strong – stronger than he was at her age certainly, and with a kinder support network too. The two of them would recover just fine. 

“You’re telling me.” Phoenix’s shoulders sagged with relief. “At this point, I’m half-tempted to wrap her in bubblewrap and lock her in the office where it’s safe, but knowing our luck, she would still get accused of murder somehow. I swear, that kid’s going to be the death of me one day.” 

She almost was, Miles didn’t say. He took a longer sip of his wine. 

“But you’re right,” Phoenix sighed, “as long as she and Iris are safe, that’s all I care about.” 

Right. Iris. Miles was still wrapping his head around her part in all of this. 

He had suspected she was someone important to Phoenix and vice versa, but the exact nature of their history was… troubling, to say the least. He wanted to ask Phoenix how he felt about all of that – how he felt about her – but Miles wondered if he was better off not knowing. The thought that Phoenix might still harbour a flame for her made his insides twist for reasons that were ugly, selfish, and unfair. He didn’t want to hear how much he might have loved another. 

…Unfortunately for him, however, the one thing he was good at was torturing himself, and so the question burst out of him anyway. “Do you intend to keep in contact with Iris while she’s in prison? She seems… important to you.” 

“I think so? I mean, yeah, probably?” Phoenix ran a hand through his hair, not sounding particularly sure of himself. “I mean… there’s a lot we need to talk about, at least. We’ll see what happens after that.” 

Miles should probably say something encouraging. A good unbiased friend would say something encouraging. “Well… from our brief interactions, I’ve surmised that she still cares deeply for you. If you wanted to extend an olive branch or even pick up where you left off, I have good reason to believe the offer would be well received.” 

“...You do?” 

“I do. You deserve to be happy, Wright. If Iris would make you happy, then….” 

Without looking, Miles could tell that Phoenix was staring hard at the side of his face. He briefly wondered if there were psycho-locks all around his head right then, but he quickly wrote the idea off. 

Nothing he said was technically a lie. He just didn’t want to believe it was true. 

“Sure,” Phoenix replied non-committedly, and then, out of nowhere, added, “Are you going back to Europe after this?” 

Why was he always so concerned about Miles’s work in Europe? What did that have to do with the current conversation?

“We’ve been through this. I have responsibilities in Germany I am still beholden to,” Miles reminded him. 

“Right. Yeah, that’s… right.” 

Phoenix’s shoulders drooped as a sigh escaped his lungs, tired and resigned. If Miles didn’t know any better, he would have thought he was disappointed. 

“But… perhaps I could stand to return home more often.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could process them. When Phoenix perked up, he couldn’t bring himself to take them back. 

Is this how things were going to be from now on? Phoenix would bat his eyelashes like a kicked puppy, and Miles would bend over backwards to put a smile on his face? Ugh, why did people wax poetic about being in love? This was awful. Life was so much simpler when Phoenix was nothing more than a colleague to him. 

“Really?”

Miles shrugged with a nonchalance he didn’t possess. “I have to, if I want to keep my license to practice law. It would be irresponsible to let that expire.” 

Phoenix grinned at him knowingly, and Miles wished he found that arrogance far less attractive than he did. “So irresponsible.”

“There’s also my office to think of. I was only allowed to keep it under the expectation I would still make use of it occasionally, and I would prefer it wasn’t given away to someone who would not appreciate it.”

“That would be terrible.”

“And I still have a house here – and a car. It would be a waste to let them sit unused.” 

“Of course. Wouldn’t want that fancy car to get dusty.” 

Miles cut him a look. “Would it kill you to be less annoying?” 

“It might.” Phoenix propped his chin on his hand and smiled, annoying. 

Miles didn't dignify that with a response. 

Phoenix chuckled to himself. He toyed with the label on his beer bottle, and the look in his eye softened. “But if you stay… it’ll be nice to face you in court again. These other prosecutors aren't as fun.”

It struck him suddenly how easy a friendship with Wright could be. They had come a long way since that first trial all those years ago. The chasm that had yawned between them had narrowed to a crack, and reaching across no longer felt insurmountable. The only thing standing in their way was distance, and Miles was already committing to returning more often. 

They could be partners fighting against injustice and corruption together. It was Romantic in the only way someone like him could understand. Miles wouldn’t dare ask for more when this alone would be enough. 

For the first time in living memory, the future felt bright. Miles had forgotten what hope felt like. 

“I’m looking forward to it.”

It was a shame it didn’t last.