Hershel Layton sat at his desk, rifling sleepily through a stack of papers. They reached the brim of his top hat. The sun had sunk over the horizon long ago, and yet Layton remained at Gressenheller University marking a tidal wave of assignments. It wasn't the easiest of jobs, being a professor. He loved it, of course; archaeology was his passion. But he did often wish he could just go home a little earlier for once, and actually have time to watch the sun set while sipping a cup of relaxing tea. Possibly herbal. Chamomile, perhaps, to help him sleep?
He gave a jolt, the increasingly blurry black text sharpening in an instant. He had nearly fallen asleep!
Layton glanced at the antique clock above the door (a truly beautiful craft, fashioned from oak). He was more resigned than startled to see that it was twelve past midnight, and decided it was prudent to go home and get some sleep. The alternative was falling asleep anyway, but in his office. He might as well be in a comfortable bed.
Professor Layton was just finishing packing up when there was a sudden hammering on the door. Startled, Layton looked at the clock again. Half past midnight. What on earth?
Rather warily, he walked over to the door and opened it slowly. A tall man stood there, panting, hands on knees. His black hair was all over the place.
'Professor Hershel Layton?' the strange man said.
'Yes...' said Layton. His initial shock had died down, but now he was quite alarmed at the state of this man. He looked terrified.
'You have to help me,' he said. He glanced over his shoulder. 'My name's Phoenix Wright. And someone wants to kill me.'