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"It was you, wasn't it, Ms. Teneiro? I hate to say this, but this suitcase that you designed... ...it hasn't sold very well, has it?" Miles said.
Rhoda fell silent. The truth was painful. Although he hadn't intended to hurt her feelings, he had to point out her refined taste—she was the only person who had bought one of the suitcases. Rhoda was a bad liar; the price tag still on the suitcase contradicted her explanation. If she had actually been using it for a long time, the tag wouldn't have been there.
"You saw how poorly this design that you poured your heart into was selling... ...and were deeply hurt. That's why you wanted to make it look like it was selling by buying it yourself. Isn't that right?" Miles continued.
Rhoda lowered her head slightly. She didn't want to hear this—especially not from him. She hated that Miles figured out the truth about the suitcases. She looked away, trying to look anywhere but his handsome face. She had already heard others making fun of her enough times. She thought that buying her own suitcases wouldn't be so obvious. A sigh escaped her lips.
"I-I'm sorry! A-All I really have is my job... I... I was overjoyed when my design was chosen... I thought that maybe... maybe I had finally accomplished something..." Rhoda confessed sadly.
She spent every free moment she had working on the suitcase designs, despite how exhausted she was after every flight. Designing was her hobby. She wanted to prove she was capable of more than just being an ordinary flight attendant—and perhaps even receiving a small promotion.
She handled not only her own duties but Cammy’s as well. Sometimes Rhoda really felt like the only flight attendant on board. She was overworked, yet the captain naturally didn't care. Cammy was everything to him; that explained why she hadn't been fired for failing to do her job. Rhoda wasn't jealous. She simply wanted to feel appreciated.
Rhoda felt like the happiest woman in the world when her design was selected. For the first time, she felt happy in her job. But now? Designing the suitcases had backfired. It turned out that neither her suitcases nor her artistic skills were actually that good. Perhaps her suitcases really were that ugly.
“But the suitcases didn't sell,” Miles remarked.
“It's because of the design, isn't it? All because it's as you put it, "hideous",” Rhoda said, recalling his earlier words. She crossed her arms, tilted her head slightly to the side, and sighed, her hands gently rubbing her forearms.
“We weren't selling a single one, and they were just sitting there collecting dust. I felt so bad seeing them there, day in and day out. So I decided to buy one for every flight I worked,” Rhoda added after a moment of silence, her voice beginning to crack. She had felt compelled to buy them because she heard the talk that GoYou planned to pull her suitcases from the store. Ever since these suitcases appeared in the store, no one has bought them.
Rhoda had hoped things would change, but they hadn’t. Every time she walked through the onboard shop, the number of suitcases remained the same. Other items were sold out, but not those suitcases. All Rhoda could do was wipe away the dust gathering on them with a cloth.
“You buy one every single time you work a flight!?” Miles asked.
“Yes. And here is my receipt for that purchase,” Rhoda said, showing it to him. A smile played on her lips—the smile of an overworked flight attendant whose design taste had been misunderstood and poorly received by others. It was the same smile she gave passengers; she had to stay professional, no matter what.
Miles also noticed that Rhoda was bothered by something. Her smile wasn’t genuine; besides, he looked into her eyes. He noticed the way she blinked, trying to hide eyes that were welling up with unshed tears. A sense of guilt washed over Miles. Had he been too harsh? He had only wanted to know the truth; no matter how painful or hurtful it might be.
The sight of a hurt Rhoda standing before him reminded him of a specific “incident”. Miles winced as flashbacks began to flash before his eyes. He realized he had been too quick to judge Rhoda’s design skills while forgetting his own artistic abilities—or rather, his lack thereof. It was a childhood memory he wished he could erase completely.
Miles remembered it as if it was yesterday. He had made quite a scene back then. That day, his class had an art lesson dedicated to origami. Along with physical education, it was another subject he really disliked.
Miles sat at his desk. He gritted his teeth as his hands folded the paper. The teacher had told everyone to start by making a crane, and once someone completed the task correctly, they could move on to other origami projects. Miles looked around.
Each student was already working on their next sculptures. Somehow, Larry managed to fold the most paper origami figures. Miles never imagined that, of all people, he would find himself admiring Larry. Larry excelled in art and PE, but that was where his good grades ended; he wasn't exactly a top student when it came to subjects that actually required studying and using brain cells.
His gaze shifted to Phoenix. He had already folded a crane and was busy shaping the paper into another form. Miles felt tears welling up in his eyes. He glanced at the crane he was folding and sniffled. His own abomination bore no resemblance to what the other students had made, nor to the crane the teacher had put on display.
Miles placed his hand on another sheet of paper, but then a sob escaped his lips. He couldn't do it. Origami was beyond his capabilities. Before he knew it, tears were streaming down his face. Edgeworth buried his face in his hands. His body trembled as he tried to silently weep the bitter tears of defeat. It didn't take long for someone to notice. Miles flinched when he felt a pat on his back.
"Edgey! Are you done yet?" Larry asked with a grin. Miles didn't answer; he simply shook his head. Larry’s smile faded as he slowly realized that something was wrong.
"Edgey? What’s wrong? Are you sick?" Larry asked. His tone grew increasingly panicked with each question. The corner of his mouth twitched as he waited for a response.
"No... I'm fine," Miles whimpered.
"But you're crying! Edgey?" Larry noted. He then turned around and called out, "Nick! Edgey's crying!"
Phoenix walked over to Larry. He looked at the crying Miles and asked with concern, "Miles, what’s wrong?"
"Nothing," Miles said. He wiped away his tears with his hand, but a moment later, fresh streams of tears began to flow once again.
"Larry, what did you do this time?" Phoenix asked him.
Larry placed his hand on his chest. His eyes widened in shock; he didn’t expect Phoenix to think that he was the reason why Miles was crying.
"Me?! Nothing! Why are you accusing me!?" Larry shouted indignantly.
"Well, the last time he cried, it was because you were drawing in his notebook, and he had nowhere left to write," Phoenix pointed out.
Miles shot a glare at both of them. Of course. They had to remember that. Larry had drawn a few pictures on the last page, leaving no space for notes on his notebook. It had ended with Phoenix lending him a sheet of paper, and Larry getting a reprimand for drawing in a classmate's notebook. At least no parents were called. Miles had a feeling they wouldn't forget what was happening today either.
"Hey, Edgey! And where's your crane?" asked Larry.
Miles sniffled. He pointed at the sculpture he had been trying to make. The “crane” he created didn't even look like a shrimp—or anything else. Miles had tried to fold the crane so many times that the paper was crumpled, further disfiguring his "handiwork."
Larry gasped. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. He was speechless by what Miles tried to fold and his lack of origami skills. "You don't mean that?" he asked.
"I can't do it," Miles said. He was breathing through his mouth now, as his nose had become too stuffy. Miles looked at Larry and Phoenix. Wiping away his tears, he whined, "Why do we even have art class in school? It’s... useless. It’s a subject that relies entirely on talent that I don’t have, just like P.E."
Larry was about to say something in defense of his favorite subjects, but Phoenix stopped him. He couldn't understand how anyone could dislike art, while Miles couldn't grasp what folding some pieces of paper was supposed to teach him or how it would be useful later in life. Phoenix took a clean sheet of paper. He also brought over a chair and sat down across from Miles.
"Look, Miles. I’ll teach you," Phoenix said.
Miles reluctantly picked up the piece of paper. Phoenix began to explain slowly, showing him step-by-step how to properly fold an origami crane. Miles followed each step at his own, slower pace, mimicking Phoenix's hand movements.
"You know, I’d like to study art when I grow up," Phoenix said, his fingers creasing the paper.
"A nonsense. Why would you do that?" Miles asked, annoyed.
Phoenix smiled softly. "I just... I’d like to help more people like you," he said, folding the paper one last time.
Miles made the final fold as well. And there, in his hand, sat a nearly perfect paper crane. For the first time that day, he smiled.
"You did it, Edgey!" Larry congratulated him.
"I—I... I actually did it," Miles said, still in slight disbelief. With Phoenix’s help, he had folded the crane in five minutes—whereas he had spent most of the lesson struggling with it on his own.
Miles had expected that day to be forgotten, but to his dismay, both Phoenix and Larry remembered everything. They reminded him of it whenever the chance arose. The crack of a whip and a sharp pain shooting through his body snapped Miles out of his reminiscing.
"Miles Edgeworth! We need to investigate the cargo hold," Franziska said, gripping her whip tightly.
"Of course," Miles said, realizing he had been lost in thought. "I was just thinking about—"
Franziska swung her whip and struck Miles. "Only the guilty makes excuses. Now," she paused for a moment, gesturing toward the door leading to the cargo hold, "let us continue the investigation."
After saying this, Franziska was the first to enter the cargo hold. Miles, however, stayed behind. Rhoda was still there, too.
"Ms. Teneiro? I’m afraid I jumped to conclusions too quickly," Miles said.
"What do you mean, Mr. Edgeworth?" Rhoda asked, looking flustered.
A faint smile played on his lips. He could hardly believe what he was about to say, but he couldn't bear the thought of Rhoda feeling hurt because no one was buying her suitcases.
"I am interested in owning one of your suitcases," Miles said.
A surprised gasp escaped Rhoda’s lips. "Mr. Edgeworth... Really? You want to buy my suitcase?" She asked, her cheeks turning red.
Her heart began to race. She had already taken a liking to Miles during the flight. When she first saw him in the lounge after the turbulence—just after they had discovered the body—she had felt a flutter in her stomach. She was captivated by him. It had been a long time since she felt this way. She regretted having suspected him back then.
"Yes, but after the investigation," Miles replied. He planned to stow the suitcase in his car's trunk the moment he received it, before anyone could spot him with that unique masterpiece of a suitcase. For a moment he returned to the words Phoenix said to him that day, about planning to study art. That man would surely appreciate to see a suitcase like this, even though he became an attorney instead of an artist.
Rhoda smiled—genuinely this time. Her eyes seemed to sparkle with happiness; the simple purchase of a suitcase had quickly lifted her spirits. It clearly meant alot to her—far more than Miles had realized.
"Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth!" Rhoda said, a warm smile on her face. She bowed to him, then added joyfully, almost squealing. "That’s a sales record! Two suitcases sold in a single day!"
The moment between them was interrupted by the clicking of heels. Franziska had returned from the cargo hold area, with anger written all over her face. "Miles Edgeworth. Are you waiting for a special invitation?" She pouted.
Miles shook his head before answering. "I was merely asking Ms. Teneiro an additional question."
"Hmph," Franziska scoffed, crossing her arms. "You seem to care a lot about that foolish flight attendant for an unknown reason," she said, as her lips were twisting into a smirk. She wagged a finger at him, adding, "Perhaps I should remove you from the investigation."
"I assure you, no unnecessary feelings are involved, and even if they were, they wouldn't cloud up my judgment," Miles remarked.
"Time will tell, little brother. But for now, let the investigation begin," Franziska said, gripping the handle of her whip. Her whip landed on his body once more, eliciting a painful groan from his lips. "And let's not waste time on a foolish chatter!"