Although Everything Changed...

==D==

Several months ago, I unexpectedly encountered my childhood friend Phoenix Wright for the first time in fifteen years. It was not a pleasant reunion. Standing on opposite sides of the courtroom, I attempted to battle Wright with my usual weapons, for he had become a defence attorney. Somehow, and to this day I still cannot fathom the 'how', Wright defeated me in court. Twice. I maintain that on both occasions, he was blessed with rare luck; he is still as simple-minded as I remember him.

It was not the first time I heard from Wright since the DL-6 Incident. Mere months after my prosecutorial debut, I received letter after letter from him. "Hello, Edgeworth," he wrote. "I'm not sure if you remember me. It's me, Phoenix Wright, your old friend from grade school." Incidentally, his handwriting was as cringe-inducing as ever. Wright expressed his concern for my wellbeing and positively begged me to maintain correspondence. I ignored his letters, not because I did not think fondly of him but because I had already distanced myself so thoroughly from the period of my life he belonged to that I was not about to permit any exceptions. Letting him into my life again carried that risk that he would learn of the DL-6 Incident. Knowing Wright, he would put everything else on the line simply to try and "save" me. I was almost relieved in a way to face him as a rival in court. There, I could not let petty feelings serve an obstacle; I would focus my undivided attention towards crushing him mercilessly.

Following my second defeat against Wright, I had a most unusual nightmare which I consider only marginally less horrific than what is conventional for me. I am in court glaring down at Wright as he flashes me an insipid grin. All of a sudden, the Judge declares that he will now read out his sentence: life imprisonment. I turn my gaze towards the defendant box before realising I am the defendant and that Wright is standing next to me. Before I am able to abscond, Wright drapes a red-coloured string over me, which somehow serves the purpose of pinning me to the spot. The dream ended there. I woke up sweating and in great fear for my livelihood.

The dream affirmed one unfortunate fact: Wright's presence in my life was not about to lessen. In spite of his aggravating victories over me, I found myself developing, much to my consternation, unnecessary feelings towards him. Put simply, I was beginning to place trust in his candid nature. He may even have resembled my idealised memories of my father somewhat if his arguments made logical sense and if his cases were not hastily constructed within the span of five minutes. His blind faith in his clients was rather admirable for all its insufferable naiveté.

That I would become a recipient of this was something I could never have anticipated.

==L==

Within hours after my meeting with Robert Hammond, the lawyer's dead body was found in Gourd Lake. The trial to prove my innocence was as harrowing as I could have predicted, and I watched Wright's performance from the defendant box with a mixture of trepidation and knotting fear in my abdomen. I dreamt my usual nightmare about the DL-6 Incident the night before, which robbed the precious little sleep I had managed to accumulate.

On the second day of the trial, Larry Butz was summoned as an indirect witness to testify about the night of the crime. Larry being another childhood friend I had not encountered in fifteen years, I must admit it was something of a strange sight, he at the witness stand to testify about my innocence. It occurred to me that I could even consider this an auspicious sight. I had never required friendship much over the years, yet in the end, I did need it after all. Larry and Wright repaid my abrupt departure from their lives with a keen loyalty I did little to deserve. Much as it pains me to admit, I could not help but feel affected by this display.

Prior to the third day of the trial, I finally came to a private decision. Seeing my friends work so tirelessly for my Not Guilty verdict offered me new insight into the reality of criminal trials. How many defendants sat in the same chair as I did unable to prove their case because an unforgiving man such as I led the prosecution? My narrow-mindedness may have obscured the truth rather than aided its cause. How many defendants were simply in the wrong place in the wrong time and I, in my insatiable quest for the perfect trial as a student of von Karma, prosecuted relentlessly until that Guilty verdict was reached? Little wonder only Wright was willing to defend me. I had defeated every other defence attorney in the country with consistent levels of brutality.

In order to repay Wright, I sought the only possible means: I told him about my nightmares.

As Wright gazed at me in shock and horror, I felt a rather contradictory emotion: relief. I had kept this burden so close to me for so many years; it was if a weight fell off my shoulders when I finally admitted aloud that I was my father's killer. I thought: "No matter how painful it is, the truth must be known." It was a truth I refused to admit, even to myself. Even with my secret laid bare, I knew it was not enough to win redemption. I am a prosecutor and I seek justice.

For that reason, and for that reason alone, on the third day of the trial, I confessed my crime to the court within minutes of being acquitted of the murder of Robert Hammond. Amid the gasps and general uproar I heard within the courtroom, I thought I could almost feel a tranquil lull descend upon me. Almost, yet not quite. A part of me still shied away from the new creed I had committed myself to. That part of me still clung to the belief that my recurring nightmare was not my subconscious expression of the memories my youthful mind had suppressed. That it really was justa terrible dream and survivor's guilt was what caused it to surface.

Because that part of me who wanted so desperately to be innocent lingered in existence, I was unable to ignore my first impulse to what Wright said to me during the recess. Yet again, I felt compelled to believe in the undying faith he held for me.

This is what he said to me: "I'm sorry, Edgeworth. But I don't believe your 'nightmare.' It's just a dream. It's not real. The truth is right here in this Court Record."

==6==

When I was a young boy, my father did not read bedtime stories to me. He tried once, I think, although I displayed far too much relish in pointing out the contradictions and he promptly quit the farce. He preferred to spend his evenings reading and listening to the radio. He usually had a glass of red wine at his side, although at his leisurely rate of sipping he required several hours to ingest the contents. I remember once reaching out for the glass out of curiosity only for him to grab at my hand and to tell me gently yet firmly that it was not legal for me to drink.

I cannot remember a time when I did not want to be lawful. I have always considered the law to be the ideal medium to bring order to society. However, the law is far from perfect. Sometimes, in its bureaucratic approach to equity, the truth is obscured. If the statute of limitations on the DL-6 case expired, then legally, the case never happened. The dark truths swirling around it could be hidden away forever and my father's true killer could never be legally acknowledged. Law would prevail over truth in a way that could never have been intended by those venerable minds who formulated the judicial system as we know it today.

A lawyer is a person who is paid to deal with legal matters and not necessarily with the truth. An experienced lawyer, knowing and being frustrated by the bumbling ineptitude of a complex yet forever imperfect system he works within, could very well take justice into his own hands. He could hide and twist the truth and in doing so may never be held as a criminal. Although I eventually became a lawyer partly as a result of my overwhelming desire to punish myself, I had evaded the scrutiny of the law for so many years. The most qualified person to escape from justice is a lawyer himself.

I realised that as the trial to prove my role in my father's murder ensued. I began to question myself: What was the true, most nobly intended role for the prosecutor? For the defence attorney?

I gave my testimony regarding my nightmare and Wright... he pointed out the contradictions. Then, with an objection tempered with fiery resolve, he stated his belief that the true culprit of the DL-6 was neither Miles Edgeworth nor Yanni Yogi.

Although the murder weapon was fired twice, only one bullet was found and that was within my father's body. The second bullet – and Wright believed this to be one I had fired – was never discovered for a vitally important reason.

The two men fight inside the elevator. Trying to stop them, the boy picks up the pistol at his feet and throws it. The pistol discharges, and the bullet... The bullet goes through the elevator door and hits the murderer outside! The boy loses consciousness... Then the murderer opens the elevator door and sees the men inside...

"Your Honor!" exclaimed Wright. "There is a suspect... one lone suspect!"

Then he went on to state the person's name.

It was von Karma, the name of my mentor.

Wright's reason for linking von Karma to the murder? "Because you took a vacation for several months starting the day after the incident! Yet you pride yourself on a perfect record! Why would you take such a long vacation without any reason?"

It was something I had pondered on myself, yet I certainly never displayed the mental audacity to associate von Karma's vacation with recovery from injury.

I could not quite believe it, not until Wright proved it. He could not prove it, however. My mentor was a perfect man, obsessive even, with how perfect he was. Something as simple as his outfit needed to spun and woven to his almost unrealistic perception of quality before he would fain to wear it. He would not be so foolish as to undertake surgery to remove a bullet; the doctor would be left as a witness.

So what did Wright then do but to produce a metal detector? "There is the possibility that the bullet is still inside von Karma!" he reasoned.

It was ridiculous. It was implausible. And yet...

When I heard the metal beep in reaction, I felt for the first time exonerated of the heavy burden I had toiled beneath for so many years. I was innocent.

I was also furious.

Myriad emotions swirled inside of me yet I tried, just as my father would, to peer through the entanglements of his lies and fell secrets and to press my gaze keenly onto the truth. The man who taught me how to prosecute – why did he do it? Why did he kill my father?

When I heard the cornered von Karma scream with a howl that ripped through the courtroom, I knew Wright's theory to be correct beyond a shadow of doubt. The scream was unmistakable to me. I had listened to it for far too many years. It rang in the back of my mind perpetually, and I often retrieved the memory of its sound even when I was thinking or doing something totally unrelated. When I read the newspaper, for instance, or when I have a shower. Anything. That cursed scream was at my every beckon and call.

"von Karma! It was you who screamed!"

I inwardly denounced him then and there. At least, I wanted to. Manfred von Karma was the man I had worked so hard to please. I was a lonely boy; I simply wanted Father to say he was proud of me. But he couldn't. Not any more. Even as an adult, I never wanted to stop believing in him.

My thoughts at that moment thus took on a simple, childlike simplicity. Attempting to write something eloquent has only resulted in me erasing half a dozen sentences as I formulate them. Yet I wonder sometimes... Is there anything so wrong with a child's temperament and understanding? When I was a boy, I saw the world in black and white. Justice was such an incredibly easy concept to define. Unfortunately, my boyhood ended so abruptly I never had the chance to savour it. It ended because of von Karma, the man who now stripped his civilised facade plainly off of him, just as Yanni Yogi had all those years ago.

In raging tones, von Karma detailed to me his black and twisted motives for doing all that he did. He despised my father for marring his perfect record. He despised me for accidentally shooting him in his right shoulder. He despised the Edgeworth name with every fibre of his perfect being.

"It was a shock like none I had ever known," he explained. "Me? Penalised? It took hours for me to regain my composure. Suddenly, I found myself in the darkness... I was in the court records room. I must have wandered in there without thinking where I was going. The room was pitch black. The lights must have gone out. I went out in the hall and felt my way to the elevator. I pressed the button and nothing happened. Then... there was a noise! I was in pain! A horrible, burning pain in my shoulder! Just then, the lights came back on. The elevator door opened before my eyes. I saw three people inside, all lying unconscious from oxygen deprivation. Much to my surprise, a pistol lay at my feet. I knew then... it was destiny. In his last moments, Gregory Edgeworth was still unconscious. He died, never knowing who had shot him. Later, he spoke through a medium, blaming Mr. Yogi. He was fooled! It was the perfect crime!"

As I watched the authorities take away the now defeated prosecutor, I thought I understood why he took me under his wing. It was an elaborate attempt at revenge against my father, to corrupt that innocent son of his. For that single perverse reason, von Karma showered me with attention. A smirk would play upon his lips when I delivered to him the fruits of my scholarly labours. He seemed so proud, not of me but of himself when I passed the bar exam without dropping a single mark. I was his whimsical pet project; he displayed more interest in me than he ever had in his own daughter.

The ramifications of that day in court were something I would continue to meander upon for months to come. However, for the moment, I was content. The DL-6 nightmare was over and my recurrent nightmares about the incident never returned in such a meaningful shape or form. I was perfectly entitled to begin my stumbling steps forward towards a brighter tomorrow. I was not entirely happy yet, although I continued to hold out for the day I could grasp what I now truly wanted.

When the Judge declared me innocent, I found it nigh impossible to think straight, as if I was suffering from acute oxygen deprivation yet again. It was a different situation, however, and to it, I felt curiously detached. It was as if a different person stood before the court to be exonerated of his charges. A different person felt his heart lift and soar, simply because now he was free of his constraints.

I realise that different person is the "me" who existed fifteen years ago.

== Case Closed ==

I was waiting to use the ATM the other day when I noticed a boy who could have been no older than seven gazing lasciviously at a Steel Samurai themed vending machine. I inspected the vending machine, discovered the pricing was akin to daylight robbery before I... well, I handed the boy my spare change. I do not ever recall performing an act of charity of that kind previously.

I did not get thanked. The boy eagerly accepted the money and proceeded to purchase a Samurai Dog with nary a glance in his benefactor's direction. I ought to have felt indignant about it but I did not. Abruptly, I was reminded of what minor event occurred after I left the courtroom.

I had wanted to thank Wright for defending me. When I eventually did so, I immediately felt foolish. I had never thanked him for anything. Children could be unintentionally callous like that, yet in other ways, they expressed their gratitude so aptly. The boy who happily munched on his newly acquired Samurai Dog was no exception clause to the Act passed down by the order of the universe. (I was not so philosophical when he somehow spilt ketchup on my cravat.)

Not for the first time, I found my thoughts drifting towards my childhood. My lifelong desire to become a defence attorney now vindicated, I had to wonder if there did exist any adequate reason to make a switch. In the back of my mind, the memory of von Karma lingered. A perfect trial could not exist, surely. What von Karma delivered in court was not the perfect trial, although I believe he thought of it as his job, as his duty, to win guilty verdicts. It was what prosecutors were paid to do and he did it... perfectly. In that sense, was he really such a corrupt man? I had poured all of my respect onto him for a reason. Was I to despise my role as a prosecutor because von Karma had been one? Was the prosecutor really the mortal enemy of a defence attorney?

I thought about Wright. I thought about the battles we had shared. I thought about the thread that bound our actions together.

Only one clear path shone before me: namely, the path I had chosen to embrace, even at the cost of my innocence.

So I would continue to walk my path, sparing not a glance behind me, but perhaps I would glance to my left and to my right. There I would find those who had chosen the same destination and route as I. I would see my father and I would see Wright walking in stride, for the three of us were lawyers who had fixed our gazes upon the truth.

Fin

Author's note: Okay, so I didn't want to disrupt the story's flow by sticking in author's notes between chapters. So I'm just going to stick them all here at the end, see? Anyway, thank you thank you so much for getting this far and reading this story. I hoped you liked it. And yeah, you can probably see by now my usual writing style isn't as, er, verbose as it was in this story. Edgeworth's probably one of my favourite video game characters of all time, so I really wanted to try and capture his personality with the first-person POV. Actually, I really personally related to him as a person and his relationship with his father and that... not sure if that came through or not. I'd be kind of embarrassed if it did, haha.

Stylistically, I also saw this story as a bit of an experiment. I'm used to writing lots of action and dialogue, so I wanted to take the time to draw out the descriptions with this one. This is a very atmospheric sort of story, so I'm really sorry if it seems boring to you because it's not really like the other fics you see on this site.

I'm happy to state that this is my thirtieth fanfic and I think it marks a lot of my improvement as a writer over the years. There are so many good writers and reviewers who have inspired me. So thank you again, everyone! I'm really, really grateful!

(Oh, and before you ask, yes that is Cody Hackins at the end there and Edgeworth's dream about the red string is exactly what you think it is. Yeah.)