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It was all too much. Between an old childhood friend reappearing, being accused of murder, finally resolving the DL-6 case, and the crippling doubt that fifteen years of your life were spent worshiping the same man who ruined your life and then sending countless innocents to their graves… It was a bygone conclusion that Edgeworth desperately needed to escape. To disappear. To pour over the details of the last chaotic year and return as someone worthy to pursue the truth rather than the verdict.
And so he runs.
Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death.
-()-
It’s been a habit to drive mindlessly on the open highways and country roads of the deserts of Japanifornia. There’s never a particular destination. The aimless wandering and satisfaction of driving his favorite red sports car is meditation in motion. A time where he can exist in the here and now, rather than fret about the future or past.
The sun is setting, painting the cacti and shrubs in orange and gold. It’s the definition of the “middle of nowhere” and his eyes are starting to get heavy. To his relief, there’s a sign on the roadside.
Hotel Japanifornia, five miles ahead. You can check in any time you like.
It’s probably a horrible roadside motel, but it’s better than falling asleep and crashing into a cactus or boulder.
-()-
What sits before him is nothing short of grand. A massive hotel towers over the surrounding desert. The architecture is sleek and modern, a spiraling pillar made mostly of glass, reflecting the landscape around it. There’s lush gardens and an opulent fountain decorated with spitting turtles in bronze and copper. There’s some smaller buildings about, with the same glass façades, but they’re more horizontal than vertical. It’s the kind of place that is fancy but not facetious, grand but not gratuitous. In other words, the perfect spot to sleep for the night and then figure out where on Earth he is and where he should be going.
The lobby is similarly plush, with maroon velvet couches, a waterfall fountain, marble floors with silver accents, and a large skylight letting the fading sunlight shine in and wash the room in warm colors.
“Good evening sir. Would you like a room for the night?”
A bellhop in a sharp black-and-gold uniform speaks up from behind the desk.
“Yes, please.”
“Excellent. I shall set you up in the King’s Suite. You look like you need a good spot to rest. Please leave your keys here and the valet will park your car and I will bring up your bag.”
Too tired to argue, Edgeworth nods, setting his suitcase on the bellman’s cart. He always has a change of clothes and basic toiletries when he goes off for a long drive like this. There have been other times where he’s found himself too far from home to drive back, after all.
“Once you are settled in, may I recommend The Bad Wolf Inn? I find that nothing relaxes me more than a good glass of wine after a long drive. It is on the first floor, off to the left. We pride ourselves on service.”
“I will consider it. Thank you.”
The bellhop pushes the button for the elevator and spots Edgeworth tensing up.
“Do not worry, sir. Your room is 532 with a desert view on one side and the pool on the other. The stairs are just around the corner if you would like.”
Borderline supernatural ability to read his mind aside, Edgeworth nods and begins to climb the stairs. It’s nothing compared to the twelve flights at the prosecution building, but it still takes a bit out of him in this exhausted state. Surely enough, on the fifth floor is his room and the bellhop.
“Your keycard, sir. I do wish you a lovely and restful stay.”
A deep, polite bow, unloading his suitcase from the trolley, and the bellhop disappears down the corridor. Looking at him from behind, there’s a strange sense of déjà vu washing over him. The hairstyle and broad shoulders almost look like… detective Gumshoe? That’s impossible. He must be getting loopy from exhaustion.
The room is lined with soft, low-pile red carpet. The walls feature impressionistic landscapes, ranging from the seashore, to coniferous forests, to deserts. There’s a black leather couch and… bingo. A king bed, with crisp white sheets and a maroon duvet. On the edge of sleep, Edgeworth collapses face-first into the bed. It’s both soft and supportive; the absolute perfect texture. Before he can think of changing into pajamas or even taking off his shoes, he falls into a dreamless sleep.
-()-
When Edgeworth wakes up, orangey sunlight is filtering in from gaps in the thick black with silver filigree curtains. Did he sleep until the next morning? A look at the nearby clock reads 6:10 P.M. Almost a whole day has passed. He knew that he was exhausted, but never would he guess that he’d slept all through the night and following day. Still, he feels well-rested for perhaps the first time in years. Maybe even since he was a child? Whatever kind of mattress they use here will have to be researched. Clearly it’s something that he needs.
Figuring it’s too late to try and drive home, Edgeworth decides to take the bellhop’s advice and walk back down to the lobby to have dinner at the Bad Wolf Inn. A hotel as luxurious as this must have at least a decent menu and drinks selection.
-()-
He was right. The meal is fantastic. Curious if their wine selection is equally good, he decides to take a seat at the mahogany bar after eating.
The barman is a young, handsome looking guy. Broad shoulders and clearly well-defined muscles, visible even under his long white sleeves and black vest. As he turns to face Edgeworth, he is paralyzed for a moment. Déjà vu all over again, but much stronger.
The barman has heterochromia. And a bright red tie. And sleek black hair, done back into spikes that are somehow both sharp and soft at the same time.
“Good evening, gentleman. Are you the kind to enjoy a fine Japanifornian merlot?”
Blinking a couple times, it takes an embarrassingly long moment to realize that the barman is speaking to him. Not entirely processing what’s happening still, he decides to nod. The barman smiles. It’s hauntingly familiar. It’s the warm, kind smile of someone who’s been waiting for years to know their friend is okay.
“Heart’s Desire Vineyards Merlot, 1969. The finest vintage we have, for our finest guest, naturally.”
With a wink, the barman turns to pull a bottle from the shelves behind him. Edgeworth is grateful for that moment, to try and control the involuntary flush rising on his cheeks. The barman pours a glass. It's a fine crystal stemmed glass with star patterns cut into it, edged in silver along the facets. A sip later and he can immediately tell that this is indeed a fine vintage. The perfect balance of sweet and dry, with complex flavors slowly emerging one after the other.
With how perfect every note is, it’s like this wine was produced exactly to his tastes. He makes an involuntary sound of satisfaction.
“Heh, still got it. I pride myself on good wine selections. It’s a gift that’s been very handy.”
Thinking about it some more, even the barman’s voice is familiar. It’d be too much to bear if it also wasn’t so… comforting. His soft tenor is like being wrapped up in a heated blanket in the middle of a German winter with a cold. Infinitely calming and secure. Safe.
“Now then, mysterious handsome stranger, what should I call you?”
“Ah err… Edgeworth.”
“Lovely to meet you, Mr. Edgeworth. My name’s Ryu and I’m happy to serve.”
He gives a little bow.
“You look like you’ve seen twice as much as the average sort your age. I hope you wouldn’t mind swapping a few stories over the evening? I find that guests have the most wonderful tales to tell. How about I start first?”
He picks up a glass to polish as he speaks.
“My sister runs an animal shelter out close to Death Valley. Hot as all get-out there, but she likes it. Says she’d take some sweat over a jacket any day.”
The barman chuckles.
“Anyway, she’s absolutely nuts about cats. Every time a new one gets brought in, she sends me pictures of the little guys. Almost always they’re these filthy, scrawny little things, barely holding on to life.”
He pulls up a picture of a… black smudge? On his phone. Maybe if you squint it looks like a cat? Yeah… not really.
“She takes them in, nurses them back to health, and then goes off finding them forever homes.”
Another picture shows a very fluffy cat. So fluffy that it looks more like a black ball of fur than a cat, aside from the brilliant golden eyes and tufted ears. Edgeworth assumes it’s the same cat, though it’s hard to believe something so sickly could turn into such a beautiful pile of fur.
“Every adoption day, she’s crying like mad. Half from having to say goodbye, and half from the joy of knowing the little fluffball will have a loving forever home thanks to her care.”
The same kind smile. When he looks down, he realizes that he’s finished his glass, and the barman refills it. Something about this barman feels completely safe. Though he’s by no means compelled to, he feels like he could pour his whole life story out and feel the relief of sharing some of his troubles with the kindly not-quite stranger.
“I’ve been having a bit of… trouble at work lately. Everyone called me the best, but I’m terribly conflicted about it now. I did… terrible things. Things I don’t think can ever be forgiven.”
“Mmmhm… I see… That’s more common than you’d think. I’ve heard plenty of people saying the same thing in my time here. But you know what? Even if they don’t believe it, their sins can always be forgiven. They can always be someone better.”
Infinite belief in the goodness of humanity. Again, achingly familiar, but there’s no way that the barman could be that man .
“There was a young man who came in, feeling like the absolute scum of the Earth. He was addicted to opioids and would drive while high. One day he has an accident. A teenage girl who just got her license is killed. I let him tell me the whole story and encouraged him to seek help. A year later, he comes back, sober and unofficially adopted by the girl’s family. Tell me, Mr. Edgeworth, is what you did worse than that?”
“... Yes… Much worse. There’s so much red on my ledger that I fear I’ll never be worthy of being anyone worthwhile.”
The barman gives a friendly pat on the shoulder.
“I find that quite hard to believe. Like I said, anyone can be a better person. They just need to try. No matter how deep of a hole you find yourself in, you can always dig out. Find the sun. There’s probably people on the edge, digging down to help you back up right at this moment, even.”
He smiles, absolutely confident in his beliefs. Could Edgeworth really redeem himself? He’s not sure if it’s the wine or the barman’s charisma, but slowly he feels like this Sisyphean task may just be possible. He may someday roll the boulder of all the weight of his past mistakes up to the top of the mountain and redeem himself.
Bit by bit, his walls come crashing down until he shares his whole story to the enchanting barman. DL-6. Manfred Von Karma. The perfect win record. The brutal punishments. Last, but not least, the trigger of this whole existential breakdown of his role in law, the man in a cheap blue suit.
It’s freeing. Somehow speaking aloud everything that he’s been holding in for years and decades makes it a little less daunting. A little more manageable.
Not once does the barman judge him. He offers quite sound advice, clearly wise beyond his years. He seems no older than twenty-four, and yet he speaks like a great-grandfather who has seen the two world wars and still believes in humanity. Before he realizes it, Edgeworth has finished the bottle of merlot, and finds the buzz of moderate inebriation comfortable in the presence of the ever-patient barman.
It feels like there’s nothing in this whole world but the barman, the mahogany bar, the comfortable stool, and himself,
It feels almost like heaven. The only way this could be any better is if the barman was that man . Then, as if struck by lightning, it hits him.
Miles Edgeworth is hopelessly in love with Phoenix Wright. The whole reason he wants to be worthy? So that some day he could feel like he could be enough to ask that damnable defense attorney to be his partner.
“Thank you so much Ryu. You’ve made so much sense of this horrible mess I’ve found myself in… Is there any way I can thank you?”
The barman laughs, shaking his head.
“No debt is owed. I get all the reward I need from hearing stories. Mom always said I should be a librarian with how much I love everyone’s tales. I insist, I want for nothing but the stories that people share with me.”
Edgeworth decides to leave well enough alone. It is getting rather late, even if it feels like no time has passed at all. A yawn is definitive proof that it’s time to head back up to his room for the night.
-()-
Once again, he falls asleep almost immediately upon lying down.
-()-
The light filtering in is yellow, warm, and just the right level of bright. It’s a very pleasant way to wake up. Six A.M. A reasonable hour to be waking. Feeling well-rested again, Edgeworth stretches and prepares for the day. Before he can begin his quest for redemption, there’s someone he has to see first.
-()-
A familiar-yet-slightly different bellhop awaits him at the front desk with a lopsided smile.
“I would like to check out, please.”
“Certainly, sir. Simply return your key and I shall escort you.”
“No payment?”
“Oh no, of course not. You have already been taken care of. Might I make one final recommendation?”
“Alright.”
“Our lovely valet would be honored to drive you exactly where you desire to be. It can be rather complicated to get back to the city from here, you see, and as such a valued guest, it is the least we could do.”
“Oh? How would they return afterwards?”
“No need to worry about that, Mr. Edgeworth. We take great pride in going above and beyond for our guests. Consider it a final kindness from a gracious host.”
Slightly befuddled, Edgeworth agrees to the strange proposal. He hadn’t thought of it, but he really doesn’t know where he is, and there probably won’t be a cell phone signal for dozens of miles with how remote the area is to guide him home. With how strange yet comforting everything else has been so far, why not?
-()-
The valet is yet another similar-but-different face. She’s a young woman with a sharp black suit with white accents. She has long brown hair and a magatama necklace. There’s no way she could be the same person as that man’s mentor, but with how similar they look… it’s as if the hotel is entirely staffed by döppelgangers.
She gives a bright, and confident smile.
“Good morning, Mr. Edgeworth. Ready to return to the world?”
“Indeed. I have unfinished business that I must attend to.”
“Well then, make yourself comfortable and I will take you right to where you need to be.”
He wonders for a moment how she’d know where he needs to go without him saying so, but decides to chalk it up to everyone here having some kind of psychic ability. There’s too many things that went just perfectly to be explained by mere chance.
Just as inexplicably, Edgeworth finds his eyelids heavy again, despite getting great sleep the previous night. The valet is clearly a skilled and careful driver. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to drift off for a while… It did take him all day to get out here.
-()-
When Edgeworth wakes up again, he’s at the edge of a parking lot, with green lawns, beautiful gardens, and stately shade trees. Large brick-and-stone buildings are scattered about. It looks like a college or university campus.
“We’ve arrived. Thank you for staying with us at the Hotel Japanifornia.”
“Where is here…?”
The valet gives a knowing smile, with an almost impish glint in her eyes.
“I think there’s someone waiting for you in that building. Go in.”
Edgeworth exits, trepidatious of what comes next, but hopeful all the same.
And just as expected, there’s someone right inside the building in a blue suit, talking animatedly with a small group of probably college students.
“Professor! Your lecture was excellent as always!”
“Dr. Wright! I can’t believe how I couldn’t understand anything before your class!”
“Please, you’re all being too kind. Really.”
It’s him. That kind tenor voice like the sun finally breaking through the clouds after a thunderstorm.
“W-Wright…?”
He spins around. His odd-colored eyes open wide.
“Uhh… excuse me please. I need to talk to our new visitor.”
Everything’s the same, but it’s also different. There’s wrinkles and creases. Streaks of silver. The glint of deep wisdom and life experience.
“Are you… real?”
A little stunned himself, Edgeworth offers a hand. It’s most assuredly the man he’s been desperate to talk to, right? So why is he looking as if he’s seen a ghost? One moment later his hand is taken desperately and squeezed hard, then pulled forward into a bear hug. Dampness on his shoulder quickly follows. He hates how much hurt is in those tears, and how much fear is in the hug. It’s so very wrong, but it still feels so very right. Completely necessary.
“Y-you’ve been m-missing for f-forty years…!”