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Competition is nothing new to the Prosecutor’s Office. From the greenest of interns starting their prosecutorial journey to the head prosecutor overseeing every case that graces our doorstep, everyone is vying for the number one spot in some form or another. The criteria varied depending on who you asked, of course. Whether it be their successful conviction percentage, the total number of convictions or cases taken, or promoting the position of prosecutor in a good light, someone claimed to be number one.
However, there was one award coveted so passionately that it inspired fierce debates throughout the building the moment its upcoming ceremony was announced. The recipient of the award would be bestowed with the undeniable title of being the best in the business for that year. A prosecutor who demonstrated integrity, determination, and the strongest of convictions would earn the honour of the ‘King of Prosecutors’.
Every February, the Chief Prosecutor reviewed the conduct of each eligible prosecutor to determine the deserved winner. Between January and then, the poor man is constantly accosted by prosecutors with their heads among the clouds. It tended to be the quieter kinds who kept their heads down and got on that won. Somehow, they never understood that message—probably why they never had a chance!
As a prosecutor myself, I would’ve loved to win the award, but I was happy moving at my own pace. What chance did I have with just a couple of years under my belt compared to some of the high prosecutors? Their statistics and standing were something else! Most judges still didn’t know my name… Regardless, I didn’t let it get me down. Give it some time, and I’ll make my mark!
Actually, it was the ceremony itself that caught my attention! Rather than spending the day preparing for a case or performing precedent research in the office, we got to spend the afternoon and evening in an incredible booked-out hotel with a gigantic accompanying hall.
So far, I've been to two ceremonies. The part I attended for was the open buffet; those hors d’oeuvres were to die for! Little cheese niblets barely the size of a fingernail exploding with flavour, fresh bread that carried the scents of the bakery with it, and don’t forget the open bar! Alcohol wasn’t a general enjoyment of mine, but on a night like this, decadence is encouraged within reason.
When put on the spot, while I was grateful for the day off, socialising wasn’t too high on my list of chosen activities. Honestly, I wasn’t much for conversation with a hazy mind. When the party became too daunting, sneaking out the back way became an inevitability. Fortunately, there were some like-minded friends with the same plan and dissimilar intentions after. I only had to stay long enough for people to acknowledge I was there, not for the entire thing.
To get to the venue, I tagged along in a carpool with some of my colleagues, including a woman from the general admin team, a young male prosecutor who sat slightly too far away from me in the office to be acutely acquainted with beyond knowing names, and a senior prosecutor I’d crossed in the hall a handful of times who decided to drive.
“So,” the admin woman pondered beside me, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “Any ideas who’s going to win?”
The young prosecutor scoffed, adjusting his tie in an unintentionally obnoxious manner. “Me, obviously. The Head Prosecutor has been observing my files for a while now. I bet they made a recommendation to the Chief.”
I shook my head, grasping too well the truth about that matter. “I think you mean a ‘referral’. If it wasn’t for Julie, your files would be a disorganised mess! Honestly, I don’t know how you get away with it.”
He laughed awkwardly, his ego shattering in the blink of an eye. Relying on nobody countering your argument wasn’t the most resilient tactic. “Ugh, fine. I know I need to buckle down soon. The new system is doing my head in.”
“Get Julie to show you how to use it instead of relying on her!” the admin woman commented, pressing a finger to his shoulder. “If you want to win, you need to show intuition and be innovative.”
The senior prosecutor, Jasper, who hadn’t spoken thus far, cleared his throat with a chuckle. “I see the criteria email didn’t miss your inspection. I’ve witnessed enough of these ceremonies in my lifetime to know who will win.”
Grabbing Jasper’s headrest, the young prosecutor almost dived into the front of the car in his desperation for information. “Hold on, you know the winner, and you’ve kept your lips sealed? Spill the name, old man!”
I swiftly grew mostly disinterested in the conversation. I tuned out for a few minutes by watching the scenery pass, going from tall skyscrapers to vast grassy pastures as we left the brightness of the city. It wasn’t too often that I travelled through the outskirts. Maybe I’d get to see a cow?
“You’re kidding!” the prosecutor exclaimed out of nowhere, making my heart shoot into my throat.
Startled, Jasper slammed his foot on the brake, stopping the car in an instant. The prosecutor’s seatbelt flung him back to where he ought to have been. With recklessness like that, I gathered an image about how he presented himself in court… It wasn’t a good one.
Jasper deeply inhaled and restarted the car, drifting back to a stable speed. “Never do that again,” he demanded with unnerving authority. I hadn’t been the wrongful party, yet my skin crawled. Never get on Jasper’s bad side, duly noted.
He went on, “Yes, three years ago, the trophy was won by a high prosecutor. It looks different these days after the halberd was removed.”
I’d come across this story a number of times owing to the recency of when I joined. The King of Prosecutors trophy originally consisted of both a halberd and a shield. After a murder within the Prosecutor’s Office involving the Chief of Police and the then-Head Prosecutor, the halberd was removed, leaving the shield behind.
It was tragically symbolic in a way—the impossibility of a lance that can pierce anything and a shield that can stop any attack, demonstrating the immortality and unstoppable power of the prosecution, torn apart by someone who wanted to control us. Our weapon to conquer may be a thing of the past, used against us in our time of need, but our shield, our oath to serve with honour, could never be sullied.
“Chief said he’s paying out for an updated version that hopefully can’t be used as a murder weapon,” Jasper said, keeping his eyes affixed on the road. “Should be ready for next year, he reckons. Add on the names since and it’ll be like nothing went down. They let the 2017 winner keep the original trophy as a courtesy.”
The 2017 winner was… Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth, if my memory wasn’t failing me. Edgeworth was remarkable in every way a prosecutor should be. It was little wonder he was considered a prodigy and thought to be the Chief’s ‘golden boy’. As a shining example of what we should strive for, it seemed reasonable to let him keep the trophy. What did he think when he received it? Was it as magnificent of an experience as people dream about?
Our interactions were minimal and forgettable, so asking him outright wouldn’t be appropriate. It would be a miracle if he recognised my face. Actually, was he in attendance today?
“Gosh, that Mr Edgeworth,” the admin lady sighed. “He runs a strict business with an unparalleled decorum. Cold, that man is. Very cold.”
“I imagine he’ll keep to himself most of the night,” Jasper advised delicately. “He has an important hearing tomorrow. At the best of times, he’s a shadow. At the worst of times, he’s no more than a whisper in the wind.”
My mind wandered to consider Edgeworth’s state of mind. He came across as a lonely individual who pushed everyone else out to preserve the dwindling strength he has to get through each day. At a hospital, he would be the sort to refuse a crutch and insist he could walk on a sprained ankle to prove that he wasn’t weak, even if nobody considered less of him for accepting the aid.
If he learnt to let people in, what kind of person would he become? It was a little disheartening to know he’d be tucked away somewhere while everyone else was enjoying themselves. If only someone could bring him out.
Before I could delve deeper into the mines of the philosophy of a man I hardly knew, the venue came into view. Jasper parked alongside the front of the hotel and, after we exited, handed his keys to the young valet struggling not to shiver in the February chill. They were more than grateful to get momentary peace in a car with heated seats.
“If you want a ride home, be here at 10 PM sharp, no later,” Jasper said, giving me a particular nod. It seemed that he valued my company best among the others. Not too chatty and not the sort to almost cause a car accident…
I decided to linger back for a few minutes to gather my bearings. Although I had done these ceremonies twice before, they took a certain mental toll that I struggled to acknowledge until I was knee-deep in the treacherous waves. Scanning around while I took a couple of deep breaths, I noticed a red sports car drive down the road. Instead of providing their keys to the valet, they insisted on parking themselves. After getting directions, they calmly drove along that way.
Weird but not overly so. There were far stranger things that could go on, like whatever the Payne brothers might say after a few glasses of champagne. That Gaspen knew how to run his mouth. It was a shock nobody dared sucker punch him… at least not in public.
Nervousness pricking at my pride, I continued avoiding addressing the elephant in the room until the fumes from the nearby smoking area drifted over.
“Go in, it’ll be fine,” I repeated continuously under my breath. I closed my eyes and took a step that was awkwardly paced further than I intended, and—
My face collided directly into the chest of a passerby.
“Oof!” a distinctly masculine voice cried out, instinctively grabbing the sides of my shoulders and swiftly letting go as if my skin were toxic.
“Sorry!” I exclaimed. Seriously, I hadn’t made it inside the building without stumbling! Thank goodness I wasn’t expecting any chance of winning tonight.
“It’s… fine,” they responded stiffly. “Are you alright?”
I looked up once the collision daze snapped away. A dark-grey-haired man towered over me with an air of equal importance and impatience. His question was from a sense of duty, not care. His stern brow, the mild age lines from his scowl, and the unforgiving stare in his focus churned my stomach. Who could the man of the hour be other than Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth?
He decided to come to the ceremony despite that important case hearing tomorrow. Surely he would enjoy some food and drink instead of retreating to a side room. Judging by the locked briefcase in his hand, that may not be as likely as I thought.
I nodded and raised my hands up to show I was intact. “No harm here. It’s my fault; I should be asking you if you’re okay.”
“Very well. Have a good evening.” That wasn’t a valid response to what I said. Had he been listening? Edgeworth headed off inside, leaving me alone, and was led by a member of staff somewhere else. My earlier suspicions were proven correct.
What bewildering machinations work inside the mind of Edgeworth? Did anyone know? Could anyone know? Did I… want to know?
Enough daft thoughts. This was a time to eat a ton of food and enjoy free drinks while being forced to tolerate people I would forget come next Monday!
Various conversations rammed inside my eardrums the second I stepped into the foyer. Frankly, I didn’t remember this many people working in the Prosecutor’s Office! Seeing these sparkly dresses cutting off at the knee or ankle and suits habitually ironed to perfection and specifically tailored to the wearer’s physique made me doubt if I had any shine or shimmer in comparison. In about half an hour, the majority of attendees would be drunk enough that they wouldn’t be able to tell, so it hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things.
Passing through the foyer and ignoring many passive attempts of people trying to get my attention, I managed to sidestep into the main hall. Countless eggshell-clothed round tables were littered around the room, each with approximately four to eight chairs. Many closest to the high stage were already filled by those who decided the doors' opening time was mandatory attendance, not the suggested earliest arrival.
Then, through the sea of the crowd, I pinpointed my primary purpose of coming tonight: my beloved open buffet and bar. Five double-length tables were laid out end-to-end with countless trays and plates of food ranging from the standard cocktail olive to some rather baffling concoctions like pumpkin tart. I scavenged enough pieces of cheese stabbed with toothpicks and gathered my courage to attempt some of the more questionable items on my plate to survive the first hour.
The first cheese niblet blessed my tongue with its immaculate flavour. I wasn’t sure what kind it was, as I didn’t read the label. There were a few hints of some kind of fruit. Tasty—mental reminder to get more of that later.
Alcohol next! At the bar, I ordered a glass of Macallan Sherry Oak 18. Normally, getting the top shelf was strictly prohibited on my budget. On the office’s budget, it was free game! I inhaled the scents of dried fruits and spices from the 18-year-old casked whisky, pretending I was more bon ton than I was on an average day. The admin woman from earlier did the same and came over.
“I’m more of a champagne girl, personally. Whisky’s too strong. Goes to my head,” she said, swirling her bubbling drink around with a single hand. “Seen much tonight?”
Seen much of what? If she meant the food, I’d barely made a footprint in the sand of the endless beach.
“Not really,” I confessed awkwardly, sipping at my drink. Shouldn’t she have her own clique of people to flock to? Was she being this friendly because we drove together? I hoped she wasn’t planning to make this a lasting relationship; I already forgot her name the second she got into Jasper’s car.
“The night is young! Get out there and mingle. If I catch you leaving with Jasper tonight, I’ll be disappointed.”
Not sure where she got the impression that she had any right to be disappointed in my affairs. So, she meant… hooking up with someone? Is that what the admin team spent their time doing at these events? Scouting out the singles, maybe some of the taken, for a romp? No wonder they looked exhausted the next day…
I took another taste of my drink to try to drown out some of the noise from my head, her included. “Uh, I’m not the kind of person who goes looking for that sort of thing.”
“There must be someone who’s caught your heartstrings.” She placed her glass on the counter and got up in my face. I could see the flecks of colour in her irises. When I instinctively flinched back, she clapped her hands together. “Yep, I can tell! Who is it?”
Nobody came to my mind when she pressured me the first time, but the second time, a blurry face faded into view. Harsh, unforgiving, each point more prominent as the image sharpened.
Edgeworth?
No, that was ridiculous. Pursuing Edgeworth was a death sentence and a half. Keeping my neck away from the guillotine was the smartest move I could make early in my career. Besides, he wanted to be left alone, and the ceremony was due to start relatively soon. I couldn’t miss it.
Amidst that internal monologue, I caught the podium atop the stage. Where the King of Prosecutors trophy would’ve been was a mock stand-in that looked like it had been created by a child who recently learnt about the existence of Play-Doh. Nearby murmurs suggested it had been provided by a detective from the police. This wasn’t nearly as important as I had made it out to be.
Was it worth pussyfooting between the bar and the buffet for the next few hours trying to avoid conversation with as many people as possible? I could take some bits and pieces and justify leaving as part of my gastronomic expeditions… while casually searching for the man in question. If I came across him, good; he would sorely miss the cheese. If I didn’t, more for me! A purely win-win scenario!
I ordered a fresh drink from the bar and guessed what I thought Edgeworth might like: a 30-year-old vintage wine. It was perfect for someone as refined as him who preferred the invaluable silence of solitude. He could use a spot of elderberry so he could say he made some use of tonight.
Turning to the admin woman, I bit my lip with amusement before committing. “Guess I’m about to find out.”
Armed with two drinks and a plate, the most arduous challenge presented itself to me, fangs bared and ready to strike. This many people crammed together in indiscernible and unpredictable groups and patterns left me more than slightly vulnerable to a mass spillage. I stayed firm and cautiously manoeuvred through. It was impossible without a casualty, however. A cheese cube escaped the confines of the plate and slipped onto the tiles to be squashed beneath a woman’s heel in an instant.
As the night settled in, the foyer cleared out significantly compared to earlier. Some of the older folk and more nervous youths took refuge to catch their breath. In the corner was the same worker from earlier that Edgeworth had spoken to… I needed to be sly to get enough information out of him.
I approached, drawing his attention. He was relatively meek and unassuming, which meant being easy to crack. Those kinds of witnesses and defendants were my favourite in the courtroom.
“Hi, could you direct me to–” The alcohol started berating my brain’s attempts to stay sober. This was not a good sign. I could hold my liquor better than this, surely! “Where, uh…”
My mind went blanker than an empty chalkboard. Apparently I couldn’t hold my liquid better than this. Worse yet, being intoxicated destroyed my filter with people I actually wanted to converse with. My previously calm attitude evaporated.
The worker struggled to divert his attention from faltering to my two drinks and crowded plate. “Do you require a quiet room? We have a few available.”
“Yes!” I declared eagerly. “Take me to a room, please.”
Several pairs of eyes locked on to me and the worker, assuming the worst. He sheepishly cleared his throat with a pink blush trailing up his cheeks. “R-Right, yes. Please, follow me.”
Winding corridors and precarious stairs led me to a pair of doors. My hands and arms were starting to slightly shake from resisting the tempting pull of gravity. If I didn’t put everything down soon, the carpet would be my makeshift plate if I didn’t care about hygiene.
I indicated my head at the left door and went to press the handle down with my elbow. “I’ll go in here!” I said boldly.
At this point, whether Edgeworth was there or not was up to the whims of God. If it was meant to be, it would be. If it wasn’t meant to be, the more for me! The worker didn’t have it in him to try to stop me from barging in.
A square-shaped room with tall dark oaken bookshelves lining the walls appeared before me. A jewelled chandelier, presumably fake, was hung from the ceiling by an old chain. The pair of leather sofas and coffee table in the centre of the blue-carpeted room gave the impression this was some kind of spare meeting room. At the far end was a large glass double door leading to a balcony, cracked slightly open to let in fresh air.
Most of all… I miraculously stumbled upon that infamous Demon Prosecutor, a title that was a record of a forlorn past best forgotten. With a pen wrapped between his index and middle fingers, Edgeworth glared at the laptop settled on the coffee table. It was slightly too low for his height, requiring him to hunch his back. Occasionally, he forced his shoulders into a suitable position just for them to unnaturally fall to their previous position.
Joy bundled inside me knowing I found him. He hadn’t looked up to notice my presence. Whatever he was working on definitely had gripped the full extent of his attention. He must experience a lot of migraines from squinting that hard. Oh well, I was here to provide him with a much-needed break!
I placed the plate and glasses on the table a suitable distance away from his laptop. Tipsiness was a great reminder of how many times I’d accidentally spilt drinks over my paperwork. This was enough to get Edgeworth to acknowledge my existence with evident confusion.
“Can… I help you?” he asked jadedly.
“No, it’s okay. I wanted to bring you some stuff since you’re holed up here. I thought you might be lonely.”
“‘Lonely’? No, I’m quite alright. If you don’t mind, there’s a lot of work for me to go through.”
Then, Edgeworth finally decided to look up from his laptop to give me a second of his day. Recognition claimed him enough that he knew my name, though his pronunciation was slightly off for some reason.
“Ah, we bumped into each other earlier. Are you deliberately going out of your way to cross my path?” He closed the laptop screen partially and took note of the refreshments I provided for him. “Is this supposed to be for me?”
I sat down on the sofa beside him rather laxly. It wasn’t every day someone got a one-on-one meeting with Miles Edgeworth, so it was best to make the most of it. He was speaking more in this session than most staff in the Prosecutor’s Office got to hear in their entire careers.
“It’s an open bar and a buffet,” I explained while pushing the glass of wine with my index finger toward him. “You strike me as an aged wine type.”
Edgeworth scrutinised the glass with suspicion. It wasn’t because he was fretful that I might have tampered with it but because he was uneasy as to whether he was allowed to accept any form of gift. His hesitance manifested as overpowering reluctance, leading to him reopening his laptop lid.
“That’s… kind of you. You didn’t need to do that. If you don’t mind, I do need to return to—”
Bellowing through the crack in the door, a nipping brumal breeze assaulted my skin, causing rapid goosebumps to invade the smoothness of my skin.
“Sheesh!” I exclaimed, standing to push the door shut. “It’s so cold! How can you cope like this? Your heating bill must love you!”
Hope died in Edgeworth’s heart that he could convince me to leave. The best he could do was pray that I might be quiet enough for him to focus—not likely if this whisky hits the right way. Reluctantly, condemning himself to his fate, he allowed a millilitre of wine to grace his lips. He didn’t spit it out or frown more than he already was, so it came across like a resounding success. If being a prosecutor doesn’t work out, my next passion could be as a sommelier!
“If you must stay, I politely request that you–”
“I heard through the grapevine that you’re working on a big case. Can I help?”
If he accepted, then I’d get a glimpse at his methodology. Does he start by analysing the evidence or the witness testimony? What does he give more weight to, and what does he write off entirely?
“No, thank you,” he replied monotonously. “This case is delicate and was given to me by the Chief Prosecutor. I can’t afford any mistakes.”
“Come on.” I leaned in closer to peek at his screen. “Tell me the details.”
Edgeworth sighed reluctantly. He knew that unless he entertained me the slightest bit, my persistence would never dwindle. He folded his arms and shared the particulars.
“A woman was murdered in a private room of a nightclub. She had been with a large group of her peers until she moved from the floor to said room. The killer stabbed her in the neck. There were some signs of a struggle.”
I tilted my head while I thought about it. Normally, the cases given to me were relatively clear-cut and didn’t require deep analysis. It was fairly easy to wrap two hands around the throat of the motive and present it to the judge. However, this case had an element that irked even Edgeworth. If I stayed around, I’d be able to see him solve it!
Suddenly, my phone beeped with an incoming text message. I pulled it out of my pocket to see it was a text from a friend of mine. The straps she gifted me last Christmas hung from the corner of my phone: a detailed mini figure of the Pink Princess with a pink tag and of the Steel Samurai with a grey tag.
Edgeworth stared intently at me in a vastly changed manner than before. Displeasure was replaced by fascination with a childlike attempt to pretend it was disinterest.
“Is it real?” he asked, his tempo significantly faster. He was ashamed of having any kind of passion for the children’s show. It wasn’t very ‘high prosecutor’ of him. My curiosity switched from wanting to see his work ethic to this new seedling of fascination.
“Is what real?”
“The straps! What else?”
I held my phone up higher so the figurines were parallel with my eyeline. Some of the paint had started scraping off already. The Pink Princess would be the Grey Princess in a matter of months.
“Oh, yeah, they are,” I said casually, twiddling the Steel Samurai between my fingers. The little lance was sharp! “A friend gave them to me, actually.”
Before today, I had never seen a man appear so equally composed and gobsmacked. His normally competent shields leaked his inner turmoil.
“Those are… limited edition straps. Only fifty of those designs exist. How…?” Unsteady, he took another sip of his wine to calm himself.
I shrugged humbly. “My friend works at Global Studios. They make the show.”
“I know they make the show,” Edgeworth grumbled. “It’s common knowledge. So, you know an insider…”
I hummed to confirm his theory. “Here,” I said while taking the Steel Samurai strap off to hold out to him. “It’s yours if you want it. I’m more of a Pink Princess fan.”
Edgeworth’s brain slowed to a halt. For perhaps the first time in his life, he couldn’t decipher the way forward or back. To take the strap would make him appear childish and immature. To not take the strap would be missing a valuable and exceptionally rare piece of Steel Samurai history. Another sip gave him the Dutch courage to take it and delicately inspect it.
“Fascinating to see how the design has changed. It’s elaborate as opposed to—” Caught in the act, he cleared his throat. “Never mind. Thank you.”
Silence followed Edgeworth’s refusal to pursue the matter any further. Could anybody have predicted that he would be a fan of the Steel Samurai? Everyone would have thought he was the sort to listen to bird songs while he slept and watch history documents in his spare time. Steam locomotives weren’t his passion. Shocking.
Had he wanted me gone, he could’ve made much more of an effort to remove me. He was drawn in, whether he admitted it or not, and he had already gained what he considered a relic as a byproduct of our conversation. With every piece placed into the frame, Edgeworth's nature revealed itself in the puzzle. This was a lot more fun than mingling downstairs—great decision, me.
If there was any technique of mine that I considered myself proficient in, it was knowing how to squeeze information out of witnesses who were teetering on the line. Edgeworth was getting close to his limits based on how his glass was half empty. Alcohol in our systems broke down inhibitions, so I was primed to get what I could.
The springs of the sofa creaked as I leaned forward, increasing our proximity a miniscule amount. Whisky burnt my throat with a gulp, swirling in my system, prepared to strike like a serpent at an inconvenient timing. Were the lights always this bright?
“You know… It was my friend that texted me earlier. She told me she got me two tickets to the Steel Samurai stage show next month,” I told him, deliberately emphasising the key words I knew would lure him in.
He was like a starving fish heading directly for the hook hidden in the bait.
“That’s… nice,” he replied, trying to pretend he was focusing on the details on his laptop. In actuality, when he tipped the lid down earlier, the laptop locked its interface, so he was staring at the sign-in page.
“Mhm.” My relentless peering persisted. He couldn’t dismiss his way out of this. “She can’t go anymore, unfortunately. I need a second person.”
“I see.”
“So…” This was the bullet to fire and hit the mark. “I have a spare ticket. It would be a shame to let it go to waste. It’s the showing with the limited edition signature boards, too. Exclusive!”
Edgeworth’s eyebrow twitched. Another sip of his wine followed. He was at his breaking point.
“I’m sure you’ll find someone suitable to accompany you.”
So close yet so far. This last gambit had to score a bullseye or he would never open up!
“I do have a friend who could come. She’s much more into the Jammin’ Ninja, though. No doubt she’ll spend the entire show comparing—”
Edgeworth turned to me, determination shining in his irises. I’d struck true at his innocence.
“I… might have some time available. It would be more convenient for you, seeing as the show starts an hour after work.”
Bingo.
“Sure!” I beamed, unlocking my phone and showing him my number. “Text me and I’ll pass the ticket details.”
With acute discomfort, Edgeworth took his phone out of his pocket and sent me a message. It was formal and minimalistic. However, attached to his phone was a thinning strap of the Steel Samurai with a less intricate design than mine, indicating it was a cheaper sample. He must have had it on there for a long time…
The Steel Samurai was more than a children’s show to him; it was a source of normalcy in his otherwise tumultuous life. Edgeworth was largely an enigma on an individual scale. Getting to know something he likes felt… special. The others in the office would ridicule him, leading him to assume anyone part of that system would do the same. I had done nothing but provide further evidence for his hypothesis. It troubled me. It shouldn’t be this way. His dissonance to these events wasn’t simply a passive dislike.
Guilt fouled my conscience, cultivating a potent drunkenness cure that sobered me. I brought him this food and drink, justifying to myself that it was born out of good intentions. Digging through the murk exposed my cruelty. I wanted a reaction by tormenting him. I was no better than anyone else, clouded by alcohol or not. I was the system that betrayed him and used him as a scapegoat.
Had it not been for me, Edgeworth would have enjoyed an otherwise relatively peaceful night. Nobody but me was foolish enough to disturb him outright. I had him jumping to get the tickets from me like a disciplined dog thinking it was getting a treat. Going after him to poke around in his emotions like a demented scientist was… inhumane.
I shuffled away, my back hitting the armrest, so the distance between us was as large as it could be, and placed my almost empty glass on the table. It was my poison. I refused to allow it to be my excuse.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered sotto voce with shame. “I’ll leave you to your work.”
There was no opportunity for him to rebut before I had already shot up and tried to flee with my tail between my legs. The best outcome would be that he, like many others here tonight, forgot about this ordeal by next week and we never came across each other again. Oh, but the tickets…
Edgeworth’s voice carried rigidity. He was largely clueless about the reasons for my outbursts, though an inkling had wormed its way in. “There is something I’d be grateful for your help with.”
My heart jolted with tension. An invitation to stay?
“No, no, I should go,” I insisted, sliding closer to the exit.
Disgruntled, Edgeworth folded his arms and held his head up high. Being blasé about any topic presented before him was his specialist skill, or was that nonchalance a page of a larger novel?
“You said you would like to help. Making amends begins with addressing the problem. If that is what has you distraught, then sit.”
Answering him, I hesitantly returned to my seat without a word.
Edgeworth was trying to purify my intentions. By giving me a task, he was providing me with a sincere motive. Why he would have a care in the world was unknown to me. It wasn’t like he needed help with his casework in the past.
He unlocked the laptop and pulled open the file for the hearing he was preparing for. Numerous images of evidence, from weapons to crime scene photographs, popped up, as well as documents pages long compiled with his notes. It initially appeared messy until a closer inspection wove red thread between everything, linking them intimately together—a system that likely only worked for Edgeworth.
“I’m struggling to understand why the victim moved in such a way,” Edgeworth explained. “Had they stayed in the group, they would have been untargetable. There was no gain for them to move independently without alerting anyone. They willingly moved to a vulnerable position.”
“Let’s see…” I mumbled, leaning to get a better look. I was still wary of this collaboration. It in no way erased my behaviour before. “I suppose… I’m guessing it was to get away from everyone else? Few people are well-built for the life of the party.”
Edgeworth glared at the screen in contemplation. Fragments were falling into place. “You mean to suggest that it was a spur-of-the-moment decision caused by overwhelm? That changes my theory substantially.”
“How so?”
“I had originally believed there was a specific reason for the victim’s movement, that it was planned and anticipated.”
It reminded me of an early episode of the Steel Samurai where the Iron Magistrate’s minions had laid a trap for the Steel Samurai under the assumption that he would move at a specific time.
“But when the village needed help, he went completely off the trail…”
Knowing what I was referring to, Edgeworth cracked a tiny smile. “The Iron Magistrate’s plan was foiled when the Steel Samurai didn’t go down the path they anticipated. They had to perform a backup plan.”
I continued, “When Plan A failed, they made Plan B. Perhaps there was a Plan A for your victim that we don’t know about, and how it actually happened is the killer’s unpremeditated Plan B.”
“It… does align,” he commented, typing in some notes and clicking ‘save’. “Thank you. Your help was invaluable.”
His praise warmed my heart slightly. Though something bothered me about the likeness of the case. A closed room with an occupant who valued the price of peace. The moon was high in the sky, coating the land in its soft glow, just like in the pictures of the crime scene. In another life, twisted and wicked, the victim could have been someone else… like him.
My views voiced themselves. “You’ve done the same as the victim, you know—gone away from the safety of others to find sanctuary in solitude. Then I found you.”
“I suppose you have a point. I was never in danger, however.” I noted he subtly finished the rest of his wine.
“No, but—ugh.” I couldn’t string together a simple sentence to tell him what was going on in my head. Too many feelings, too many thoughts, none of them compliant. “Everyone thinks of you as this big, scary, cold prosecutor, unapproachable and intimidating, and I wanted to find out who you really are. I got drunk enough to let it go to my head that I deserved to know, so I deliberately antagonised you!”
Edgeworth never spoke a word between my outbursts. I couldn’t tell whether he was taking any of it in or if he allowed it to blow over his head like our introduction this evening.
“I was fine with doing it until I saw your strap. It made me realise…” I briefly clenched my face with my hand to gather myself. “You’re discreet. You do things under the table so as to not make a massive deal about everything. You don’t long for gratitude or acknowledgement; you prefer to be self-reliant and aid the backlines instead of fighting at the front. Your passions aren’t any less real. You have your love for them and show them in your own way, and… I feel awful about it, okay? Because what that is, what you are, that’s… that’s incredible.”
A restrained pause flowed at a lethargic pace. I wanted to whack my skull against the nearest wall until the world blacked out. Delivering closing arguments was my bread and butter, so how did I fumble this poorly!? Any judge hearing what I blurted out would hold me in contempt!
Edgeworth pursed his lips, the thinnest of lines visible. “How have you, in your drunken state and in a single night, managed to identify aspects about me that I have spent most of my life searching for?”
How had I managed to do that? Was it the power of alcohol and it destroying my common sense? Could it be sheer willingness to listen and observe where nobody else decided to bother? As for Edgeworth himself, self-actualisation is one of the most trying parts of life to find success. Relatively few people do.
“I guess I just…” I trailed off, not knowing what I was trying to say. I’d lost my ambition a while ago. “Today is meant to be a day to celebrate who we are as prosecutors. It made me… sad that you were missing out, so I decided to badger you to suss out what it was that was anchoring you away.”
Rarely had Edgeworth had to provide justification for the things he did—they simply were, and there was little worth in trying to alter them. To conceptualise the endless barrage of disagreements in his head was near impossible.
“I prefer to avoid meritocracy,” he explained lightly. “Ceremonies and awards don’t give me any sense of pride like they do for many. If my work is worthy of acclaim, so be it, though it would be best if it was done far away from me.”
Tonight’s ceremony, as well as the other events held by the office, occupied no space in Edgeworth’s mind. They were nuisances where he was forced to play participant when he would rather do anything else. Honestly, I understood where he was coming from.
“I… I get it. I’m not massively fond of them, either. I mostly come for the free stuff. Other than that, it’s more hassle than it’s worth.” I laughed to myself at the conclusions I was reaching. “Guess we’re more kindred spirits than I would’ve thought. I’m sorry. I won’t use alcohol as an excuse for what I’ve done. I’ll leave you alone in future.”
Edgeworth contemplated what would be the best way to phrase his feelings. They were tied up and hidden by mist. Navigating through was no trivial feat, not for him. A faint blush rushed up his cheeks.
“I… don’t find your presence intolerable. If you are able to maintain a calm demeanour, then… I would not be wholly opposed to your company at future events.” He withdrew the strap I had given him and gingerly closed his hand around the figure of the Steel Samurai. “As you say, we… may have some overlapping interests.”
Miles Edgeworth was willingly inviting someone into his place, someone who saw beyond the walls he put up. There were several more barriers obstructing his greatest insecurities; it would take almost an eternity to bring those down. For now, this was… a start. The olive branch had been extended. I was delighted to accept it.
I nodded enthusiastically. “That would be great, actually. Knowing that there’s a retreat waiting for me, that makes me feel a lot better. Funnily enough…” I scratched my cheek as I remembered earlier. “The reason I bumped into you earlier was because I was too nervous to go inside.”
The music and sounds from downstairs provided sufficient evidence for why I’d be like that. My actions were de minimis in terms of actual participation. Other than stuffing my mouth with cheese and chugging back whisky, what had I done to facilitate myself? Giving Edgeworth his share already put him on the same level as me.
With an eyebrow raised, he asked, “And that was enough for you to decide to come find me?”
“It took a lot of convincing from our old friend, Dutch courage. Death was a higher priority than you before then. So… a bit of yes and a bit of no. I did care, but I also valued my life.”
“I’m a prosecutor, not a murderer.”
“But if looks could kill…”
At that, a faint knock on the door interrupted our discussion. Jasper, from earlier, walked in carrying the makeshift trophy. A pleased smile drove him.
“Good evening, I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said, readjusting the trophy in his hands. “I was told you two had come upstairs. You missed the King of Prosecutors award.”
Edgeworth and I shared a knowing glance that neither of us was that interested in the result.
“Did you win?” I asked, pointing at the ‘trophy’.
“Yes. I’m pleased that the Chief believes I’m worthy of it. I would hardly say I’m on par with Prosecutor Edgeworth, however.” So that was how he knew who was going to win. He had been told earlier this morning…
Edgeworth didn’t take much of Jasper’s flattery to heart. “I appreciate the acknowledgement, Prosecutor. That… trophy…”
He took in the sight of the hastily prepared award with dismay. He recognised that handiwork from anywhere…
“Gumshoe…”
Jasper interrupted Edgeworth’s misery to get to the point of why he was here. “It’s almost 10 PM. If you want a lift, you have ten minutes to get organised.”
“Oh, um…” I said, my head partly re-clouding from the whisky.
Edgeworth opened his suitcase and stored his laptop inside. “A single glass won’t put me over the limit. I’ll drive you home.”
My neck snapped to him. “Y-You will?”
Satisfied with his answer, Jasper left and closed the door.
“You don’t have to do that. I’ll go and chase after Jasper—”
A hand grabbed mine before I had the chance to retreat. Its touch was like a ghost, barely felt and so light you could mistake it for the wind. It was gone before I could process it.
“Apologies.” Edgeworth brushed his palm down his suit. “We need to discuss the arrangements for… the Steel Samurai showcase.”
He still wanted to go!? I wasn’t against the idea, no… I didn’t think he was intent on following through on it after this.
I inhaled deeply to gather my courage. “That’s-that’s fine; I’m happy to do that. Can I… Can I ask you to come properly this time, though? Not under some false pretence of riling you up?”
“If you must.”
“Okay, um.” I cleared my throat with a cough. “I’ve got two tickets to the Steel Samurai showcase if you’d like to… go with me.”
I could’ve sworn I saw the corners of Edgeworth’s eyes soften. It might have been a drunken illusion. “Pending my calendar, yes.”
“...Good. Good!” I launched up from my seat in victory. “Then it’s a—” Shut up, shut up, do not call it a date, or you will suffer Edgeworth’s wrath! Get to being remotely friends before you have thoughts like that, even if Edgeworth is… insufferably attractive. “Never mind.”
The admin woman must be a psychic. She predicted everything from mingling to leaving in someone else’s car, except I wasn’t about to hook up with Edgeworth. Was I? No, don’t be stupid. This is Edgeworth you’re talking about. That man probably barely knew what…
I gazed at him out of the corner of my eye. Drunken actions are sober thoughts, huh… What do drunken thoughts make sober? That would be a mystery to uncover probably never, or if it came to it, it wouldn’t be something known to this year’s me. I could live with that.
For now, I was content with the agreement that we had. In times of social peril, we knew we might find a like-minded individual that might bring peace. The Steel Samurai had that magical power to bring all kinds of people together. Thanks to the franchise, I was able to get a few layers deeper inside Edgeworth’s soul.
I could imagine Edgeworth reciting one of the Steel Samurai’s mantras in his head when he debated whether to let me leave or not. “Extend a helping hand to those who would give you the same.” In time to come, things may change from acquaintances to friendship, and he may not need the Steel Samurai to convince him to do good.
Together, we packed everything and prepared to leave, except there was one thing stopping me: the cheese niblets. I picked up the plate and stared contemplatively at the cheese on sticks. We completely forgot about them.
“What are you going to do with them?” Edgeworth enquired.
I could either stuff them in my pockets or stuff them in my face…
Edgeworth picked on my inner dilemma. Like a teacher telling off a child, he warned me. “You are not bringing that cheese inside my car. Either eat it or dispose of it.”
“But there’s so much…” I groaned, observing each piece. “I brought enough for two people for a reason.”
Knowing he couldn’t win, he sighed deeply. “You can bring the cheese if you keep it on the plate, and if you spill a single cube, you will pay for my cleaning. Understood?”
That was good enough for my drunken cravings.
“Woohoo!”