An Old Friend


Apollo was amazed. It was like Phoenix Wright was a totally different person. He was less cryptic and mysterious. He was not as guarded. The all-knowing aura he usually gave off had vanished completely. The ex-lawyer just seemed overall... younger.

It wasn't difficult to figure out the cause of the change. Phoenix had dragged Apollo and Trucy down to the train station two days ago to welcome her, after all.

When the train arrived, Phoenix had been leaning against a pillar in the station, his hands in his pockets, trying his hardest to appear nonchalant. However, there was no fooling Apollo. He could see that Phoenix's eyes were searching the crowd, trying to pick out the one person he wanted to see. Apollo also got the impression that Phoenix was doing all he could to not crane his neck like a little kid trying to get a good look at the Steel Samurai. Trucy had noticed Phoenix's eagerness too. She and Apollo exchanged smirks as they watched Phoenix struggling to remain "cool".

Finally, a shrill cry pierced the atmosphere of the train station. "Niiick!"

Out of nowhere, a purple blur tackled Phoenix, slamming him against the pillar. Next thing Apollo knew, a young woman with long black hair and a petite body adorned with a purple-and-gold robe was clinging onto Phoenix's neck. Phoenix had pretended to be slightly annoyed and tried to seem as indifferent as ever, but Apollo could see something there in his eyes. Apollo had watched in bemusement as the two exchanged easy banter and then as Trucy piped up at last. She referred to the woman as "Auntie Maya". The woman known as Maya had seemed extremely amused when Apollo was introduced as Phoenix's student ("How can a hopeless dork like Nick actually manage to teach someone?") and took great delight in hearing Trucy's nickname for Apollo. She kept asking "Polly" what the number to the safe was, but she was only answered with Apollo's complete and utter confusion.

As they moved to leave the station, Phoenix had dropped his already faltering facade altogether, and with a wide grin on his face, he enfolded Maya in a crushing bear hug.

Apollo lounged against a doorpost while he watched in amusement as Phoenix chased Maya - who was clutching Phoenix's beanie in her hand - around the cluttered office. Trucy was sitting on the sofa, alternating between watching the magic show on television and watching her adoptive father and her "aunt" act like children. Apollo was completely befuddled by the drastic change in his mentor. He had asked Trucy exactly who the young woman was, but she just replied that Maya used to be Phoenix's assistant during his attorney days. Apollo had the feeling there was lot more to it than that, though... A mere former employee would not be able to induce a complete one-eighty in Phoenix Wright with a simple visit.

"Give that back right now, Maya!" Phoenix shouted, nearly running into Trucy's unstable magic table. It was a wonder that both he and Maya had so far managed to avoid knocking into the death trap.

Maya cackled and vaulted over the sofa. "Ha...! You're getting old, Nick!" she shouted gleefully as Phoenix tripped over the hula hoop Trucy always left lying around.

Phoenix somehow flying-tackled Maya to the couch, almost forming a dogpile on Trucy. Jubilant, he rose with his hat clutched firmly in his right hand, half of his hair spikes completely flattened, and a triumphant grin on his stubbled face. Apollo had seen Phoenix grin more in the past two days than in all the months Apollo had worked at the agency put together. Apollo couldn't fathom Phoenix's obvious deep affection for Maya. Was it friendship... or something more? Was it pure ecstasy of finally seeing her after years of only written correspondence, or was Phoenix like this every moment he was with her? Apollo shook his head in surrender. He would just have to face the fact that he would never be able to understand Phoenix Wright and Maya Fey. Apollo's gaze shifted away from the two and landed on Trucy's face. When his eyes connected with hers, his entire being seemed to soften.

Maybe Apollo understood Phoenix better than he thought.

Remembered Always


Larry Butz sauntered down the busy streets of Los Angeles, on the way to his latest date with a bikini model named Vongole. Man, was she a cutie. He was sure that they were soul mates, that they were made for each other. They were just so perfect together!

In high spirits, he whistled as he walked, his orange jacket flapping in the breeze. Then, something made him stop. He paused in front of an all-too-familiar apartment building. He should remember it—he had gotten arrested for a murder there, after all. However, this didn't register in his (arguably tiny) brain immediately, as he scratched his head wondering what was so familiar about this building, and why he had stopped to look at it.

Then he remembered. Cindy Stone... His angel, his baby, his soul mate (one of them, anyway)... She had lived here. Well, before she was brutally murdered, that is.

He paused, and he stood there, staring up at the apartment building, and he remembered. He wasn't remembering her murder, or the subsequent trial, but the short time he had spent with her. Sure, she had apparently been cheating on him, but he didn't believe a word of it. Nick had told him, after all—she had brought that heavy statue-clock-thing that he made for her all the way to Paris and back. She must've loved him. Or maybe she just really liked that statue of "The Thinker".

He stood, and took a moment to remember.

And then he continued on his merry way to his date with Vongole.



Situated a distance away from Kurain Village, straying from the mountain path, was a little tranquil place surrounded by cherry blossom trees, in the middle lying a snowy white headstone. A young spirit medium with long black hair knelt by it, cherry blossoms swirling gently around her.

She didn't leave flowers—the cherry blossoms made a beautiful enough scene, and she knew that Mia would have appreciated the simplicity of a mere visit.

She just simply knelt there, and remembered.

Remembered how Mia always told her to believe in others, and in herself. Remembered the times when Mia would hold her in her arms, comforting her. Remembered that although Mia was gone, she did not leave her with nothing.

Even if death meant something a little different to those of the Kurain Channelling Technique than to most people, Mia's death was just as real to the young spirit medium as it was to anyone who lost a loved one. A lone tear slipped down her cheek, but she was unsure whether it was an effect of sorrow, or nostalgia, or just the warm memories that Mia left behind.

The young spirit medium finally stood. Beside her, a blue-clad attorney with spiky black hair put his arm around her narrow shoulders. They both gazed once more at the headstone. Neither of them said a word.

They were remembering.



Kay stood by Edgeworth's desk, looking around the office with a reminiscent expression. Everything had changed so much. The tea set and the symbols of Wendy Oldbag's love sitting on the shelf, the superfluously expensive furniture, the frilly mahogany suit jacket framed on the wall, the chess set (with the red knights surrounding a blue pawn)... All of it practically screamed THIS IS THE OFFICE OF MILES EDGEWORTH. There was no indication of the man who occupied the office prior to the magenta-clad prosecutor.

"You know... This office sure has changed since I was here last. Since seven years ago, I mean."

Edgeworth looked up from his paperwork at Kay's words. "I assume you are referring to the fact that this office once belonged to Mr. Faraday?"

"Yeah..." Kay grinned cheekily. "Now this place has been taken over by tea obsessions, excessive Steel Samurai fanboyism, and expensive frilly clothing."

She turned around to face the large window before Edgeworth could make his retort. Looking down at the city from the twelfth floor was as amazing as ever. She stared, her emerald eyes penetrating the windowpane, recalling all the times she had looked through this very window as a child.

She stood and stared, and she remembered.

"The view hasn't changed a bit," Kay finally said quietly.

Miles Edgeworth smiled. "Yes... There are some things that simply never change."



Hanging above the piano cluttered with magic props in the Wright Anything Agency was a black-and-white portrait of a famous magician—Trucy's favourite magician. Apollo knew that she talked to the portrait every day, for "good luck". Which was kind of strange, but Apollo thought that if you had to talk to an inanimate object, a portrait wasn't so bad an option. Especially when it was a portrait of your deceased father.

"I hung that up there so I wouldn't forget what he looked like," Trucy said cheerfully, a bright smile on her face. However, it was only a smile on the surface, and Apollo could see that. He took her gloved hand and squeezed it, a bond of mutual loss running between them. Apollo's own father was dead as well—but he had nothing to remember. He couldn't miss someone he never knew—he could only wonder what could've been. Trucy, on the other hand, had memories to remember, a father she could miss.

And so she did. They stood, and he wondered, while she remembered.



Phoenix Wright hardly ever stopped to realize all the murder cases he had worked on when he was still a lawyer. When he did, however, he usually thought of Mia. Mia, who was many things—his lawyer when he was a snotty-nosed college brat; his mentor and boss, the "Chief", when he was still a greenhorn working at Fey & Co; the victim of only his second murder case; then finally, his eternal friend, surfacing even from death to share with him a fraction of her wisdom. With the mystery of her death long resolved, she was just another victim filed away in the dusty police department records room.

There were many other names in that room, he realized. Many other names filed away, never to be revisited. Some of them he even personally knew before their deaths. There was Gregory Edgeworth, Miles's father. He had unwittingly deeply affected Phoenix's life with his death—in the form of his son. There was Doug Swallow—someone who had suspected Dahlia Hawthorne's true demonic nature, and tried to warn Phoenix of it. Phoenix had even had several (rather unpleasant) conversations with Turner Grey about the weather before he was murdered.

There were countless other names of victims in that dusty records room. Some of them died a hero, like Neil Marshall. Some died in place of another, like Russel Berry. Some died only because they tried to kill first—like Jack Hammer. Many died leaving something—that is to say, someone—behind, like Misty Fey and Zak Gramarye.

Whoever they were when they died, each victim had been something to somebody when they were alive—be it a parent, a sibling, a lover, a mentor, a friend. All those names filed away and forgotten... Each one of them meant something to someone somewhere.

And so he took a moment... and he remembered.

Frozen Jelly



As Alba gets hauled away from the embassy—at last—he looks nothing like the straight-backed and arrogant man who had so persistently fought against their accusations and overwhelming evidence. He doesn't look like the hunched, good-natured ambassador, either. He looks only like what he is—old, pathetic, and broken.

Kay watches him go, wishing she could muster up a feeling of triumph, success, maybe, or even loathing. Instead, she only feels tired. She'd been running on adrenaline and hatred the past few hours. As this finally ebbs, she is left drained. More drained than she's ever been her entire life. Kay waits for the trauma of everything that happened in the past six or so hours (only a few hours? Was it really that short a time?) to finally hit her. It's all long overdue, after all. And when it does hit, it hits her hard—like a sledgehammer to her brain.

"Whoa." She stumbles. An agile hand springs out to steady her. He holds her arm gently and gazes at her, his brow furrowed.

"Kay...?" There is concern in Edgeworth's voice. He had been discussing evidence and facts with Franziska only moments ago. Kay looks around at them—Edgeworth, Franziska, Detective Gumshoe, Agent Lang (hell, even Larry and the old hag)—and wonders how they're still standing.

Jeez, she thinks, as their faces suddenly begin swimming in front of her vision. She feels lightheaded—only Edgeworth's grip stands between her and collapsing to the floor—as images, sensations, whip through her mind. The cold barrel of the gun against her temple, Death's icy fingers brushing her cheek, blood streaming from Lang's leg. A chilling laugh that used to haunt her in every quiet moment. She shivers.

"Kay," Edgeworth says, loudly. She gets the feeling that he's said her names several times now, and she didn't notice. "Kay."

"Mr. Edgeworth," she manages, to let him know she hears him. Jeez, Mr. Edgeworth, she wants to say. Give me a break. I'm not deaf.

She stumbles again, but she's trapped in his firm hold. His steadfast grip on her speaks of warmth, safety, stability. She shakes her head, to clear it. She keeps seeing her father's face.

Dad's everywhere today, she notices. In Gumshoe's worried gaze, Yew's taunts, Edgeworth's protective arms, her imagination...

"Kay," Edgeworth says again. "Kay, let's go home."