Somewhere between the skyscrapers and glossy towers of America, there was a place that remained untouched by the quick pulsing of modernization.

There was this cute, tiny café situated in the middle of the American metropolis. It was on the verge of being demolished, because at this time and date, cafés built out of wood were considered obsolete. America had no place for the wooden café. It didn't look right, being placed in the center of the city where buildings brushed the stars every night.

The bell hung upon the door opened with a vibrant chiming. Entered a blue-haired, whip-wielding young girl.

"Hello, Ms. von Karma."

The owner of the café smiled at one of her regular customers. Franziska von Karma began dropping by the café every time she had a case. It was just a convenient walking-distance from her home. It made the café reachable, most especially when she wanted to unwind after a long, grueling day of court and endless cases. Also, just to get away from the world once in a while. Think of it as her sanctuary.

And the owner was really kind to her.

"I'll have the usual."

The woman behind the counter grinned, her sunglasses gleaming and her once-black hair slowly graying away.

"One espresso, then. Coming up."

Franziska made her way to her usual seat, only to find someone else seated there. The man was a prosecutor, just like her. His magenta jacket lay on the table, as well as an untasted cup of strong black coffee, three packets of white sugar and a plate of banana cake. He seemed to be so enamored with the book he was reading. No time to notice the beautiful stranger standing right before him.

"Miles?"

Indeed it was the Demon Prosecutor, Miles Edgeworth. His eyes shifted to the young woman in front of him, his eyes analyzing her mature figure.

"Ah..." His eyes narrowed, as if trying to recall a scene.

"Franziska. You forgot?" A scowl graced her lovely face, her arms crossed over her chest.

The male prosecutor chuckled. "I'm not getting any younger now, aren't I?"

Franziska took the seat across Miles. "Age has a price to pay. It looks like you're paying up quite nicely."

He nodded in agreement. It was true. He wasn't getting any younger. But what about the woman before him? Her face still remains rosy and vernal. The same way she looked seven years ago, as if she had almost never aged. But he hadn't intended to tell her that, after noticing her whip still in her hands.

He's spent half his life with her, as he would always hear her bicker and squabble about her ambition of perfection. Although in his observation, she was a passionate and resolute figure. Well, his observations didn't fail him because he was talking to her right now.

Her performance in court made Franziska seem like a goddess thrown into this world to wage war. But for him, it was true; she did seem like a goddess. Forbidden. Unreachable. Flawless and enticing. Hers was a life meant to be lived in the limelight.

Well now, how did he know so much about her? Was it all through his observations while he had been taken in her household under the tutelage of his mentor? (His best friend Larry called it voyeurism but he just slapped the younger man's head upright.) He was sure about one thing. Seeing her in front of him right now made her more human, far from the goddess everyone claims her to be. Seeing her up-close allowed him to trace the lines on her face, to see signs of aging, to notice her blue eyes had a slightly innocent feel to it, and to hear her voice with a tiny, kittenish edge much clearer, contrast to the tiger-like defensive voice she has when she talks in court.

...

And what did she know about his true self? Well, they had spent half their lives together, forbidden to initiate conversation by her father. He liked books (obviously). Does he like sports? All men love sports, don't they? While all the other prosecutors in the courtroom preferred to keep their feet on the ground, he enjoyed the thrill of flying and free-falling from the sky. Perhaps that made him different from the others.

He knew so much about her, and she had no idea who he really is.

"So..." They said at the same time.

Of course, Miles, being the gentleman he is, gave Franziska the chance to talk first. "Go ahead."

"It… was nothing. I just planned to break the silence."

"Same here," he stated coolly.

"Well, have you been doing with… cases?" That was the first question.

"I haven't had one these days. How about you?"

"I didn't have one myself. But I'm sure I will get one. After all, the more I win, the more I will be like papa..." She told him with the same intonation he heard whenever her father was mentioned, as it had been long since her father's execution, which had been a hardship for the female prosecutor.

"Ah, I see," he nodded. When he rested his gaze on down, he had noticed that her skirt had been shorter than the last time he had seen her. It's not that he often looked at her legs, but he couldn't help but point that out.

"What is it? It looks like you're going to ask me something so delicate."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to ask how long you've wanted to follow in your father's footsteps."

Now there's something he didn't know about the young woman before him. He saw her brows knit together as she drew circles with her finger on the woody brown table. He cleared his throat.

"You don't really have to answer my question if it bothers you."

She sighed softly. "When did we first meet each other?"

"If I can remember well, we first met when your father adopted me."

She looked outside the café for a moment. "My motivation to be just like papa... it began around that time. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes. Question answered."

Franziska rubbed her temples. "I'm not answering anymore questions about papa."

Miles gave out an exasperated sigh as the waiter brought Franziska's order. He mumbled. "Women."

She smiled slyly all of a sudden. "Speaking of women..."

"I don't–"

"Have you ever… dated anyone?" She asked him, with a smirk on her face. There goes the second question.

His insides gagged. "N-No."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh? Why is that?" That counted as a third question.

Feigning a cough, he answered her question. "As you can see, most of the women I know aren't of my age bracket."

"So?" came the respond from the lady before him. He could feel himself sweat-drop. "After all, in this time and date, it's said that age Is nothing but a number."

"I take that this is from a lady in love?" Slowly, he reached out and placed his hand on hers before she playfully slapped his hands off of hers. Somehow, the sensation she felt when his hand was on her own…

...was warm...

...it felt nice...

"Miles... Have you ever been in love?"

"Sorry. That's an invalid question. I forgot to tell you that I only answer three questions. That was the fourth one already," he glanced at the clock in the middle of the room. "Look. It's already 5 O'clock. We should get going."

It was a little joke he devised to steer clear from the topic of love. After all, she did ask four questions.

Franziska sat there for a moment, dazed, watching him bundle his blazer and book under his left arm. She huffed, glaring at him. "H-Hey! You hadn't told me that!"

Now there's another side of Franziska that showed just now. Feisty. He has seen so much of her that he can see her as a rainbow of emotions personified. Anger. Determination. Joy. Life. Calmness. Dignity. Despair. Stoicism. She was every color of the rainbow, not only blue. She was a river of feelings, flowing and streaming aggressively, then all of a sudden placidly. She had everything her older sister lacked.

He has seen her in so many angles possible. Goddess, Human, Fighter, Sister, A possible mother...

She's a maze, where the walls and paths are continuously changing and altering.

She was passionate and resolute and stubborn and so beautifully broken that it crushed him as well.

She's every piece of the puzzle.

"Come now, Franziska. Will you allow me to walk you home?"

He knew her so well.

She beamed at him like the rising sun. "Alright."

"You are... so precious, Franziska." He said with a smile as leaned forward, planting a kiss on her cheek.

She linked little fingers with him, an act she imitated from some of the teenagers she would always walk past on her way to the café. It wouldn't hurt to give it a try, would it? The owner grinned as the pair left his café, leaving the little coffee shop lifeless and still once more. As soon as the bell above the door fell silent, it was closing time.

Somehow, there was money left on the table, but the two cups of coffee remained untouched, same as the tiny wooden café that continued to linger on as the rest of the American metropolis moved forward.