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.
"Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal."