[fic update] Piano Man Memory 07: Sympathy for the Devil (part 2/2)

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Title: Piano Man
Author:trenchkamen (via ms_asylum fic-journal)
Fandom: Gyakuten Saiban / Ace Attorney
Genre: General, romance, memory, songfic

narumitsu

October 7, 2026, 12:30 PM
District Attorney’s Office
Miles Edgeworth’s Office

“Miles! We have a trial!”

Edgeworth looked up from his paperwork and arched his eyebrows. Phoenix had bolted to the district attorney’s office as fast as his scrap-heap of a bike could carry him, and he was still panting slightly from running through the entrance and up the stairs. At least Edgeworth’s office was only on the second floor; he utterly refused to place himself in a position where elevators would become necessary. He had managed to maintain his nonchalant, confident persona in front of Apollo and Trucy, as much for his own benefit as theirs, but now that he was out of their presence the panicked realization that the damn trial was tomorrow and he was not ready had smacked him. Hard.

“We have to put that multimedia presentation together. Now.”

Edgeworth sighed and checked his watch. “Why? Can it wait until tomorrow?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Drew Misham died last night. Atroquinine poisoning.”

Phoenix slapped down the copy of the autopsy report Ema Skye had been kind enough to email him—thoroughly against her superior’s orders, of course. Edgeworth pushed his glasses up his nose and picked it up, looked it over. He looked up at Phoenix. Stared for a moment.

“No.”

“His daughter, Vera, is being tried tomorrow as the murderer. There are no other suspects.”

“No, Phoenix.”

“It’s too late.” Phoenix slapped another paper down on the desk, which Edgeworth snatched. “I’ve already assigned Justice to the case. They’re investigating as we speak.”

“…you idiot.”

“…what?”

Miles waved the declaration that the Jury System trial would be given during State v. Misham. “This! You idiot! Do you know what you’ve done?”

“…I… no?”

“We can’t try Gavin in the first Jury System trial. There’s too much vested interest, and everybody knows it. Our opponents will have our necks on this. Unbiased circumstances, my arse!”

“It’s not like this was my idea.”

“Oh, it wasn’t? You’re sure you didn’t persuade the judge to agree to this?”

“Well… I may have suggested it. Lightly. In passing.”

Miles slammed the paper down on his desk. A pencil rattled onto the floor.

“It’s the best example I can think of,” Phoenix said quietly. “Miles, you know the evidence as well as I do. The case fits the criteria for the trial run of the Jurist System perfectly—”

“Was this really your plan all along? To nail Gavin?” Miles stood up and gestured wildly at Phoenix. It had been a long time since he had seen Miles this worked up. “God, Phoenix, we’ve already got him for one murder. Why do we have to do this? Would you really risk everything we’ve worked for just to get your revenge on that bastard? Are you that small a person?”

Phoenix clenched his fists by his sides.

“No.”

“No, you’re right, of course. You wouldn’t think that far ahead.” Miles crossed his arms and started pacing angrily. “You just jump into situations where you think you have a chance in hell without considering the far-reaching consequences of your actions. Politics will not smile favorably upon your courtroom theatrics.”

“I never said I wanted to be a politician.”

“Well, like it or not, you’ve become one for now.”

“Well, like it or not, as Jurist System Simulated Court Committee chair I recognize that this case has the perfect setup to emphasize the power and necessity of a trial by jury, and this is the last chance I have to nail Gavin and clear my name, and I’m going to take it.” He crossed his arms and smirked, triumphantly. “It’s too late to turn back now, anyway. The paperwork’s already been filed. The judge agrees this is a good case for this.”

“Yes. What a convenient excuse. It is better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission, isn’t it, Wright?”

“I accept full responsibility for this trial. I promise I can make sure he’s found guilty for his crimes, and I can get that poor girl off the hook.” He paused. “Miles, you know he’s dangerous. He tried to kill you. God, he almost succeeded. He’s trying to send a blameless girl to the gallows for murdering her own father. He deprived Trucy of her real father. I have more than enough reason to want to rip his throat out. Don’t you see how much self-control it’s taken to wait this long?”

“I assure you that I lack no faith in your abilities. That isn’t what I’m afraid of.”

Phoenix waited for Miles to continue. Miles turned around and sighed heavily, arms still crossed.

“Do you want everybody to think that you set up this entire system just for your own revenge? And there’s a lot more than just your reputation at stake. This—everything we’ve worked for—could be set ablaze. Thrown into an unfavorable light. Be portrayed as an abuse of power.”

“You know that was never my intention.”

“I know that. Who else does?” He paused. “And while you may only content yourself with the approval of those close to you—an admirable trait, to be sure—there’s more at stake right now than just your reputation.”

Phoenix was silent for a long time. Miles sighed and stepped behind him—still favoring his right leg, as Dr. Mask said he probably always would—and clasped his shoulders. Miles was actually two centimeters taller than Phoenix, and the height difference was even more pronounced when he was in dress shoes and Phoenix in sandals, but the way he stood now with his right leg slightly bent to take the weight off his left leg lowered him to Phoenix’s height. It was minute; Phoenix only noticed because he was looking for it and was so intimately related with every aspect of Miles’ physiology, including his usual impeccable posture, and the manifestation of even the slightest trace of the injury felt like a punch to the face.

“Phoenix…”

“…please, Miles,” he finally said. “We have the evidence. You’ve seen it. I know I can pull this off. I know I’ll be able to emphasize the importance of this system and everything we’ve fought for. This trial is perfect for that, and you know it damn well, my biases and involvement aside.” He sighed and paused, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It would be unprofessional to allow my qualms about my own reputation to make me shy away from this. Please. Trust me. I can turn this around.”

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They were up all night frantically weaving the collected video footage and the evidence Trucy leaked from Apollo’s evidence file of the day’s investigation into a semi-interactive multimedia presentation. After several cans of energy drinks and a nerve-wracking computer crash from which their presentation was salvaged, some awkward fiddling with the web camera and an argument about what to call the whole damn thing (Edgeworth refused to call it GLaDOS, and Phoenix had shot back that maybe they should call it something pretentious like “MASON System”—which is exactly what it remained), they stumbled into the courthouse one hour before the trial was set to begin and jammed the disc into the multimedia system. They clambered up the stairs and slid into a dark balcony overlooking all of the juror’s separate rooms through one-way glass ceilings, a strange parody of the Panopticon.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Phoenix groaned. It was painful to watch himself talk against that idiotic pseudo-technological green-screen background they had settled upon as the lesser of all evils last night. He kept the same smug, aloof expression the entire time, which was mostly a sarcastic response to Edgeworth’s order to ‘look more professional’—it was the ironic, deadpan demeanor he adopted in situations he found absurd—but in a twisted sort of retort Edgeworth kept those takes. And the monologue was this painfully-vapid drivel Phoenix had written on scrap paper at six in the morning after they had realized all of a sudden the entire presentation needed some form of narration. It reminded him painfully of being back in law school and having to pretend to take his own half-ironic pretentious bullshit seriously. In front of an audience.

There was still something more painful about having to face himself played-back over a six screens and a speaker system. He buried his head in Edgeworth’s shoulder.

“This is painful.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Edgeworth grumbled. For all that he was exhausted, Phoenix had to admit Miles looked amazingly good unkempt like this. He had fair stubble on his chin, his hair was awry and falling flat, and he was wearing the same white shirt and black vest from last night with the sleeves rolled up and the collar open. “Couldn’t you have at least put on a suit to make this video?”

“I’m supposed to look like I’m speaking for the common people, as the common people.”

“You can still represent the ‘common people’ and not look like a hobo!”

Phoenix smirked and rubbed his stubbly chin against Edgeworth’s neck. “You know you love it.”

“Egh. You didn’t brush your teeth this morning, did you?”

“No. Why? Does my breath smell bad?”

“Yes it does—WRIGHT.” Edgeworth batted Phoenix away as he breathed directly into his nose, lifting his weight off one hip to pull something out of his pocket. “Geh. If you insist on hanging all over me, at least take one of these.”

He pressed a small plastic tab of breath-freshener strips into Phoenix’s palm. Phoenix laughed and slid one out with his thumb, then pressed it onto his tongue and waggled it in Edgeworth’s face. He rolled his eyes and shoved Phoenix’s face away with a splayed hand.

“Hey.” Phoenix caught his wrist and forced his hand down by his side. “You should talk. You haven’t shaved in a while either. It actually looks pretty good.”

“Unlike you, I do not insist upon stubble as some sort of badge of rebellion against the establishment. That probably helps the overall appeal.”

“It’s very virile.”

“Thank you.”

They stared at each other for a moment, Phoenix still pinning Miles’ wrist down next to him on the bench. He grinned impishly and pulled Miles into him, leveraging himself back against the carpeted wall, and kissed him, hard, clumsily cramming his tongue into his mouth. Miles pushed him back slightly and renewed the kiss more softly, dallying, lapping at his lips. They were giddy with exhaustion and the high of imminent victory, and, in Phoenix’s case, strung out on God-knows-how many energy drinks. He finally overbalanced, perched sideways on the narrow bench bolted along the semi-circular wall, and dragged Miles to the ground on top of him. He cracked the back of the head and yelped in pain, vividly reminded there was concrete beneath the thin carpet. Miles smirked and shook his head, and cradled the back of Phoenix’s head.

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you love it.”

Phoenix closed his eyes and allowed the throbbing to subside, resting his head back against Edgeworth’s hand as the latter pulled off his hat and threw it onto the bench, then ran his fingers through his hair, kneading the scalp over the rising bump.

“You need to wash your hair.”

Phoenix did not bother to open his eyes, though he was melting under the ministrations. “I washed it less than two days ago.”

“Your hair is so insanely thick that’s too long.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“No, but it’s so nice when it’s clean.”

Phoenix smiled, leaning further into Edgeworth’s hand.

“Well, when we’re old and senile maybe I’ll still have hair.”

“The Edgeworths gray early, but we do not go bald, thank you very much.”

“You had gray hair in fourth grade.”

“It was brown, thank you very much.”

“It was gray.”

Edgeworth twisted Phoenix’s hair around his knuckles, hard. Phoenix hissed in pain and pulled away a little.

“I didn’t say it was bad! It was actually quite endearing!”

Edgeworth loosened his grip. “Uh-huh.”

“Fine.” Phoenix opened his eyes, smiling crookedly. “I’ll tell you what. We’ll sit through this, however the hell long it takes, go home, take a nice, long, hot shower… and sleep for the next twelve hours. How does that sound?”

Edgeworth groaned and collapsed on top of Phoenix, fingers still tangled loosely in his hair.

“That sounds orgasmic.”

“I don’t have the energy for that.”

“Well, that’s a first.”

Phoenix snorted softly and threaded his hand through Edgeworth’s hair, now just long enough to tie back in a tail (with a lavender ribbon, as though Edgeworth were not already foppish enough), and undid the ribbon, something he was getting more adept at doing with one hand. He pulled off the hair-tie beneath and smoothed his fingers through his hair, and Miles purred low in his throat, felt more than heard, pulled off his glasses, and shifted so that his head rested in the crook of Phoenix’s neck.

They drifted in and out of a semi-conscious sleep like that for what felt like hours, but was only moments—somehow his mind dropped far enough out of consciousness for time to collapse in on itself. Though the floor was hard it was strangely comfortable, even with Edgeworth’s heavy weight resting on him; something in the way he lay helped to stretch out his spine and align his back. It was a strange, paradoxical blessing that something so comfortable and rewarding would seem to last longer than it actually was, and not the other way around.

They were rudely awakened during the trial recess when a runner was sent to ask them how they were doing and if the trial was proceeding satisfactorily from their vantage point. Miles was fairly disgruntled at being found sleeping on a courthouse floor with his lover, by a college intern no less, but Phoenix laughed it off and asked the runner if they could have some coffee. A lot of it, actually. The whole pot would be nice.

It was inevitable when the trial proceeded that it would come to this. Phoenix and Miles knew full well Vera Misham’s connection to the old State v. Gramarye case, so when Klavier Gavin finally made the connection and utterly lost his composure, it did not shock them in the least. Through it all Vera stared intently, almost hypnotized, at him, as she had been the whole trial, though now she looked like she was on the verge of a panic attack. She kept chewing at her thumbnail and looking down when Klavier demanded that she answer him.

“Objection!”

Apollo slammed his hands onto his desk. “Prosecutor Gavin! The defendant is answering all of your questions! Stop badgering her!”

Klavier paused for a long time, staring hard at Apollo, disheveled and with his back to the wall—literally. He had a custom of banging the wall with his fist when he was cornered, and now it looked like the only thing holding him up. Sweat was beading on his brow.

“He’s told you nothing, has he? Your soiled, sullied mentor. Nothing?”

Phoenix felt a sickening knot tighten in his stomach. He knew damn well what was coming. He had gotten used to it in the past seven years and had gotten damn good at hiding behind an indifferent mask. None of that stopped the nausea he felt every time somebody cut deeper.

“Sullied…” Apollo looked genuinely confused. “…who?”

“Phoenix Wright! Who else?”

That name. His name, being spit like an insult, like something distasteful, sliced through his gut. He stared at the screen, back straight, though he knew full well nobody but Edgeworth could see him right now.

He would never again hide in shame. No matter how much it hurt.

“…Daddy?”

Trucy’s voice cut through his heart. It was not venomous, but had a pain all its own, sharper and cleaner. His hand shook around his Styrofoam coffee cup.

“He never told you about the trial, seven years ago? About how he came to lose his attorney’s badge?”

Apollo stayed silent.

“It was a certain piece of evidence that decided his fate, you know. A certain diary. On the back, it bore the mark of a silk hat.”

He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable outburst from Apollo, which was not long in coming. He did not realize he was shaking so badly until coffee sloshed from the cup and scalded the back of his hand.

The familiar smash of hands on a desk.

Edgeworth’s fingers interlaced with his free hand and gripped, hard.

“Vera! You must tell us! The evidence you made was used in a trial seven years ago. Who asked ‘Drew Misham’, you, to forge that evidence?”

Phoenix squeezed back.

“…For all of our sakes, who was it?”

Vera gnawed on her thumbnail. She could not tear her gaze from Klavier. She stared at him as though he were a ghost.

“…we… met only once.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, but the courtroom was so silent it carried to the microphones. Apollo stared, even more intent.

“You… you met the client? Well, who was it?”

Vera kept staring at the demon she saw in Klavier. The color was progressively draining from her face.

“…it was…” she whispered, barely audible. “…it was…”

Trucy leaned over to whisper something to Apollo. Klavier looked like absolute hell.

“Yes, what? Is there something about me?”

She chewed. Her hand was staring to shake.

“…I remember clearly… I remember who gave me the book… the diary…”

She paused. Apollo barked, “Who was it?”

Vera stared at him for a moment, and suddenly made an anguished, strangled noise. She clutched at her throat. Her face was chalk-white.

Whatever demon was chasing her in Klavier’s guise finally caught her, and her pupils contracted in terror.

“Ve…Vera!”

The whisper should not have been audible. Somehow, Phoenix was certain of what she said as she crashed to the ground.

“The… De… vil…”

-------------------------------------------

The report from the hospital was bleak. Vera was suffering from atroquinine poisoning, of which there were no known survivors to date, yet was somehow still holding onto life in the ICU. The doctors were doing everything they could. Nobody had any idea how she had gotten the poison—it was relatively fast-acting, with a fifteen-minute kill time, and she had been under the direct custody of the court the entire morning. She had even been on the witness stand, in plain sight of God and country, longer than the toxicology would permit her to have been poisoned before taking the stand.

Atroquinine was an oral poison. Though it had a vanishingly low lethal dose at 0.002 mg for an adult human, not a drop of liquid, nor a crumb of food, had touched her lips the entire time, not even court-provided water.

After receiving the report on Vera’s status, Phoenix rushed to the green-screen camera setup along the curved balcony he and Edgeworth had inhabited and managed a rather smooth segue from Vera’s collapse to the footage of the trial from seven years ago and the investigations involved therein. He was shocked at how smoothly and confidently he managed to sound; he wondered if anybody watching was fooled into thinking that he had everything planned out—even this recent catasterfuck. Ten years ago he would have been transparently rattled. Once they had set the tapes to air the rest of the footage they had compiled so far—hell, they had the jurists until 5 PM, and they might as well make use of their time as the trial was suspended for the duration of the day—they rushed into the courtroom lobby where Phoenix met with Apollo and Trucy while Edgeworth collapsed onto one of the benches and rested his head back against the wall.

“This is insane,” Edgeworth mumbled when Phoenix collapsed onto the bench beside him.

“No shit?”

“Nothing but her own nails touched her lips the entire time. This doesn’t make sense—”

They both stopped cold and stared at each other. Their eyes widened in mutual realization.

“Miles, you’re brilliant.”

Phoenix kissed Miles—hard and fast, just on the lips—to an annoying catcall from across the lobby that sounded suspiciously like Trucy, and stood up, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“We have to go to Drew Studio and the Prison. Now.”

“…now?”

“That yellow envelope.” Phoenix started pacing. “Bushel was sure he saw it. I know it’s the one that was in Gavin’s cell. I know it. We have to get it.” He paused for a moment. “Yeah. I’d bet anything Bushel’s at Drew Studio trying to dig something up. He was practically creaming himself on the witness stand over this story. We have to talk to him. The bastard knows far more than he’s letting on.”

“Don’t you think that will be obvious when the jurors see that he was involved with Zak Gramarye?”

“Exactly.” Phoenix was getting giddy with excitement. “It’s all linked. Miles, everything is going to come together, and that nail polish is the last piece of the puzzle. Past, present, everything.” He snapped, suddenly remembering something. “We need to talk to Valant Gramarye. We need to go by Sunshine Coliseum.”

Miles sighed heavily and drew his hand over his eyes. Good God, here he goes. I wish he wasn’t always so damn right so I did not have to indulge him.

“Phoenix, I haven’t slept in thirty-six hours. I don’t think I can survive the drive downtown, let alone to Lancaster.”

“Then… well… shit, who else drives?”

“Most people over the age of sixteen drive.”

“Yeah, I’ll get my license when this is all over, but who the hell can we get to drive us all the way out there?”

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Detective Gumshoe had finally been roped into driving them across Los Angeles and halfway to hell in his rusted clap-trap of a Japanese car. He had originally wanted to take one of the police cruisers so he could blare the siren and push the speedometer to its limits the entire time, but given that he was planning on leaving Los Angeles he could not take the car out of its jurisdiction, and when he asked to borrow a car from Highway Patrol, he was laughed at.

Gumshoe was every bit as annoying as Edgeworth had feared he was going to be. He babbled ceaselessly the entire time about how impressed he was with their jury system, sir, and how much he was sure it was going to help the police department and the justice system at large, and how did he figure that poor girl had gotten poisoned, and what kind of monster would want to poison such a sweet little thing, etc. The idiot did not even take frosty silence as an answer to his incessant questions as a hint, though Phoenix, being too polite as usual, would indulge him in conversation and encourage him. Originally Gumshoe had insisted on taking an active role in the investigation, offering any and all services he could possibly think of in a manner that reminded Miles of Pess when she wanted the opportunity to do something good to get a treat. He finally gave it up when Edgeworth snapped that his presence would compromise the integrity of the investigation, as these men would talk to Wright and Wright alone, so sit down, shut up, and stay in the car.

The drive to Drew Studio was short and sweet, and Gumshoe had the audacity to remain silent while Edgeworth was recording Wright’s video footage, huddled up with his laptop in the back seat, until Phoenix emerged from the studio flushed but determined. He was daintily sipping a rather atrocious hot tea Gumshoe had insisted on getting for him from the 7-Eleven down the street, along with various other high-fructose corn-syrup semi-edible atrocities he had procured as a makeshift lunch. As unpalatable as it was, Edgeworth could not bring himself to chuck the cup out the window, especially not when he kept catching Gumshoe watching him, satisfied, out of the corners of his eyes. Phoenix tore thankfully into one of the packaged cherry pies with genuine gusto as they started driving to Sunshine Coliseum, mumbling that he hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Gumshoe offered Edgeworth a Nutella bar, saying that he knew Mr. Edgeworth had European sensibilities and Nutella was European and all, and well, he just put two and two together. Edgeworth mumbled a ‘thank you’, which seemed enough to make Gumshoe beam until they were done with Valant and well out of the LA area.

That was the easy part. The two-hour drive to the State Prison was hell. Phoenix sat up front with Gumshoe and chatted as much as his tired brain would allow, though it was obvious he was lost in thought most of the time. His silences were punctuated by various seventies rock bands from his mp3 player, often played too damn loud. Edgeworth had stretched out in the back-seat with his laptop and was frantically splicing and organizing the evidence and footage Phoenix had collected at Drew Studio. Under normal circumstances this would not have taken so long, but his fatigued brain ran at half-speed at best, and his eyes were getting bleary from staring at the screen. They finally pulled past the security checkpoint a mile out from the prison and parked in front of the solitary block, in the same damn parking space Edgeworth had taken up just about a month ago. It was just as well; he was getting to the point that if Gumshoe made one more goddamn joke every time he saw directions to Phoenix at freeway intersections, he was going to gut him.

The sun had just set; there was still a purplish glow on the desert horizon, and the day’s warmth was still radiating from the ground. Phoenix straightened his hat and made a cursory check of his video equipment before kissing Edgeworth quickly and stumbling into the prison.

This was their last chance. Everybody in the car knew it.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Sorry, sir. Prisoner Kristoph Gavin is currently ‘occupied’.”

Phoenix’s stomach dropped in sheer excitement. He thought he heard—more felt, somehow—Edgeworth’s breath catch from across the air. He faintly heard Gumshoe yell “Score, pal!” before shushing immediately in a way that suggested Edgeworth had given him the Demon Prosecutor glare.

“I see...” He managed to keep his expression nonchalant. “Do you know when he’ll be finished?”

The guard—the same woman who had chatted Phoenix up earlier—scratched the back of her head uncomfortably.

“Ah, erm. Well…”

“Could you go find out?”

“Ah…” The guard shrugged. “Certainly, sir. Please wait here a moment.”

She should have known better than to leave him unattended in Gavin’s cell. By all rights he should not have been allowed to go through Gavin’s things. He chalked it up to his insane luck—it was either excellent or terrible, but never much in-between.

Everything was the same as it had been the last time he was there, save for a yellow envelope on Gavin’s writing desk. Phoenix made a beeline for it and checked the sender. Drew Misham.

“If this is the last letter that Drew Misham wrote…” He spoke more for the benefit of the camera in his hat than for himself. “…then there’s something I need to do. The last thing I need to do, in fact.” He took a deep breath and fished a small spray bottle out of his hoodie pocket. “Here goes! Let’s see if this atroquinine spray finds anything…”

He sprayed the envelope. A volatile, acrid smell filled his nose, and the bottle got cold. The edges of the stamp glowed vivid, ice-blue.

“So this was Drew Misham’s ‘messenger of death’. It was this stamp alright! No mistaking it! And his last letter… was sent to Kristoph Gavin.”

He opened the letter and read it over carefully, giving the camera plenty of time to soak in every word. Edgeworth mumbled that he had captured a clear still of the image. His lips curled into a satisfied, vengeful smile.

“Gotcha,” he whispered. “Finally… decisive evidence!”

“What’s this? A burglar… in jail?”

“…Gavin!”

Though he had been expecting that voice, it still made his stomach drop out. But it didn’t matter anymore. He had everything he needed. Nothing Gavin could do now would stop that.

He slowly folded the letter, slid it back into its envelope, and turned around, the letter still in his hand. Gavin was smiling at him coldly, as sticky-sweet and poisonous as ever. His hair looked slightly damp, and Phoenix could smell soap on him.

“I didn’t know you moonlighted in larceny, Wright.”

“Gavin… there’s something I have to ask you.”

“ ‘Can I steal your stuff?’ The answer is ‘no’.”

Kristoph’s eyes were glued to the envelope. Though there was no need to keep the original now, Phoenix’s hand tightened slightly around it. He felt as though somebody had written ‘My hat is a camera’ in Sharpie on his forehead, and it suddenly felt clunky and conspicuous. The hat seemed to be the last thing on Kristoph’s mind, though.

“My apologies,” he finally said, straightening and pushing his glasses up his nose, “but there’s not much I care to discuss.”

This may be the last time he was alone with this man, or even in the same room with him. There were countless things he wanted to say—that Miles Edgeworth had survived his cowardly attack and was helping to orchestrate the final blow to his plan, that he could scarcely imagine the scum who would murder two fathers to save his own arse, that tomorrow his adoring younger brother would see the full extent of his true colors, as would the entire court.

“Vera Misham hasn’t received her verdict yet,” he finally said. He stared, hard. “You follow me, Gavin?”

Gavin’s mouth twisted into a sickening, relaxed smile.

Just as every cop is a criminal
And all the sinners, saints
As heads is tails
Just call me Lucifer
'Cause I'm in need of some restraint

“There are no known survivors of atroquinine poisoning. But, it never hurts to hope.”

It took every ounce of willpower Phoenix possessed not to punch Gavin in the face. He clenched his fists inside his hoodie pockets and stared, hard. Gavin stared back, still smiling, though the corners of his mouth were curling in distaste.

“…okay.” Phoenix turned on his heel. “I’ll be leaving now, then.”

“Wright. Wait.”

Phoenix froze.

“Would you mind leaving that letter? It’s private.”

Phoenix paused for a long time before turning. Kristoph was holding out his hand, still smiling, though the longer Phoenix merely stared at him, the more his eye started to twitch. Phoenix turned fully and slapped the envelope into his palm, smiling himself.

It was a genuine smile.

So if you meet me
Have some courtesy
Have some sympathy, and some taste
Use all your well-learned politesse
Or I'll lay your soul to waste

As soon as he got to the car, after copious hoots and being swung around in a bear hug by Detective Gumshoe and an intensely satisfied, proud smile from Edgeworth, he called Apollo Justice and asked him to watch his inbox for a rather large video file.

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And the rest of the trial is well-documented history. Once the identities of those first six jurists became declassified, many studies had been made of how Phoenix Wright’s selection of those six particular people may have affected the fate of the right to a trial by a jury of one’s peers in the state of California. As of October 10, 2026, nobody could be denied that right any longer. Klavier Gavin’s words at the end of that trial, “The law isn’t absolute. It’s filled with contradictions,” became a mainstay party-line for pro-jury activists, young and old, rebellious and conservative alike. The courage and purity he displayed in being able to face his elder brother’s crimes earned him a near-iconic status. He became a paragon of street-wise justice, a rebel for free love and rock and roll with a pure heart, and his cult following grew even after the disbandment of the Gavineers.

Though the inclusion of Thalassa Gramarye, nee Lamiroir, as a jurist was considered by some a gross conflict of interests, others concluded that since she had no connection to the Misham family her inclusion was warranted, even brilliant, given that her memory was restored and she was eventually reunited with her two children, Apollo Justice and Trucy Wright. Apollo was a legal adult by the time this came to light, and though Trucy was still a minor Thalassa’s ten-year disappearance meant that she had long-since been deemed legally dead, so as far as the courts were concerned, Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth were still Trucy’s legal guardians unless they wanted to relinquish custody. Thalassa would need intensive therapy for quite some time, so she left her daughter in the care of the two men though she spent a great deal of time catching up with her children. Her psychotherapist said that her condition and outlook improved greatly every time she got to see them, though she was pained by the fact that she had missed both of her children growing up. She was proud of what honest, strong, and resourceful adults they were becoming, and every time Apollo defended an innocent or Trucy wowed crowds with her magic, she would gush proudly to anybody who cared to listen.

The Wright-Edgeworth patchwork family became even larger and stranger. Though Apollo was too close to Phoenix’s age to really consider Phoenix a surrogate father he found himself spending more and more time with his half-sister and her strange, adoptive father, who had finally gained his trust and respect. That was expected. Even Vera Misham’s frequent visits for dinner given that she was now also alone were not unexpected, nor was the way Apollo grew increasingly flustered in her presence, nor the way Trucy ever let him off the hook for that.

The sudden and frequent inclusion of Klavier Gavin was not expected, but no less welcome. And the resulting obvious conflict Apollo felt concerning him and Vera left the poor kid deeply confused and made Phoenix laugh at him. Regularly.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You realize you’re going to re-take your Bar now.”

“Hmm.”

Phoenix looked across the courtroom lobby to where Apollo and Trucy were being interviewed by a crowd of reporters, foremost and most pushy of whom was Bushel. Klavier Gavin, who had won even Edgeworth’s grudging respect over the course of the morning, was surrounded by his own knot of reporters. Had he less experience with paparazzi Phoenix would have expected him to have a meltdown right there on live television, but he handled their questions with shocking grace and poise. Even the judge was accosted on the way out of the courtroom, and he glowed under the attention.

In an effort to avoid the same treatment, Phoenix and Edgeworth were watching the proceedings from behind the glass walls of the balcony around the lobby. A few reporters had turned to take pictures of them, though they were blissfully kept from proceeding up the stairs by security. Phoenix grasped Miles’ hand and waved when another reporter pointed her camera at them, and Miles pulled out of his grasp.

“Phoenix, we are on camera.”

“Exactly. Smile, or they’ll think we’re having a lover’s spat.”

“I fail to see how it’s any of their damn business whether or not we’re having a lover’s spat.”

Phoenix laughed. “Are we?”

“Stop changing the subject. You’re re-taking your Bar.”

“I’m a bit rusty for that.”

“You’ll study. I’ll make you study.”

“I was considering maybe really learning how to play piano now that I have more time on my hands.” He paused. “Besides, I’ve been a piano player longer than I’ve been a lawyer now.”

“Oh, shut up. You never stopped being a lawyer. You can learn all the piano you want, as far as I’m concerned. You’re still going to re-take your Bar.”

A familiar voice inside Phoenix’s head said ‘He’s right, you know.’ And Phoenix turned.

The hallway was empty. Phoenix felt—strongly—that there was somebody there, watching him, nonetheless. The presence was overwhelming. His heart started pounding.

“Phoenix? What’s wrong?”

“Shhh.”

He held up his hand for silence and stared harder. Maybe something in the quality of the air changed, fluctuated, but he still saw nothing.

And then, as though something else had reached down through his nerves, he grabbed the magatama in his pocket.

The breath caught in his throat. He gasped.

Mia Fey was watching him with her arms loosely crossed, dressed in the skirt suit and scarf she always wore in court. Diego Armando stood behind her with his hands in his pockets, hair dark and wild and dressed in the red shirt he used to wear as a defense attorney. He was giving Phoenix a rueful, but begrudgingly proud smile.

They both looked happy. Phoenix could feel the closeness between them. Their smiles were infectious; they tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Phoenix?”

Phoenix grabbed Miles’ hand, and Miles gasped. His pupils fixated on where the ghosts stood, and they contracted in shock. His breath caught.

Mia giggled behind her hand at Miles’ reaction. Diego placed his hand on her shoulder and leaned down to whisper in her ear, and she laughed even harder.

“Hey—” The confusion dissipated from Edgeworth’s face quickly. “What did you say to her?”

The ghosts started laughing harder, and Phoenix was now cracking up as well. Miles rolled his eyes and shoved his free hand in his pocket.

“What do they want, then?”

The ghosts disappeared. Miles’ jaw dropped again. He stuttered.

“Would you calm down?”

Phoenix was still laughing. It had been a long, long time since Edgeworth had seen him so thoroughly happy and uninhibited.

“I think they just wanted to say that they’re proud of us.”

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“Phoenix.”

Phoenix and Clockwork looked up at the door. Professor Edgeworth was standing there, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe. He had an unfathomable expression, tinged with nostalgia and the weight of memory, though the corners of his mouth were slightly upturning, and the smile had already reached his eyes. Phoenix wondered how long he had been standing outside the door eavesdropping.

“I was wondering why I was not being assailed by your infernal noise.”

“You’re damn right it’s infernal.”

Phoenix stuck out his tongue and gave Miles the devil horns. Clockwork started laughing and gathered up Clover, who curled up, kneading her skin like any normal cat, and fell asleep in her palm.

“Right.” Miles rolled his eyes. “I was under the impression I was married to a man in his fifties, not committing statutory rape.”

“Oh, Miles, this is Victoria Clockwork; she’s a PhD candidate in, uh, history of, uh—”

“History of evolution of social systems.” She stood and held her hand out to Edgeworth, who took it. “You’re Professor Edgeworth, aren’t you?”

“Yes. You have an appointment with me tomorrow, if I recall correctly.”

“Oh, good. I can get your side of the story and see how it compares to Professor Wright’s.”

“Oh God,” Phoenix mumbled.

“Oh, I’d be glad to give my side of the story.”

“Excellent. Thank you, sir.”

She turned to Phoenix, having just spent what became an intensely frank and intimate afternoon, and held out her hand, which he took warmly.

“Thank you so much for all of your time, sir. This—what you’ve told me is absolutely perfect. Just what I was looking for.”

“No problem.”

She excused herself and left, leaving the two men alone in Phoenix’s office. Phoenix sighed and sat back, taking a deep drink from his water bottle.

“We’re late to dinner.”

Phoenix thought for a moment, looked at his desk clock, and sputtered when he realized that it was already almost seven. Miles pulled his coat off the hook on his door and threw it at him.

“You’re going to be the one to explain to Maggey why we’re late.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“I’ll leave you to fend for yourself with Gumshoe the entire night. I don’t care how much he’s had to drink.”

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“What do you think, Kitten? Do you think that could have been you had you still been alive?”

In the physical plane, in Phoenix’s office, Miles sputtered indignantly and said that Phoenix would not dare do that to him. Though their physical manifestations were only necessary for the sake of communicating with those still-living, even in metaphysical space Mia was doing the equivalent of laughing behind her hand.

“Hm? I’m sorry, what?”

“Revolutionizing the court system, returning power to the hands of the people?”

His consciousness merged with hers, caressed it, in a way that was equivalent to kissing slowly up her neck. In death they found themselves in a state of perpetual loving euphoria akin to a lazy Sunday morning after a mind-blowing Saturday night, though they could easily phase into an orgasmic sort of union should they so desire.

“There’s really no way of knowing if I would have been in the right position at the right time to do that. Life’s strange like that. But I do think the fact that he never wanted to be in that position means it was quite fortunate that he was.”