The pale crescent moon glinted as sharply as the razor-edge of a sword against the backdrop of the inky black night sky. A cold wind howled across a lonely hillside. Blades of blue-green grass bent against the caress of the breeze, the earth from which they grew turning silent and still with the arrival of midnight. The field was spacious and lush, and during the daylight hours played host to wonders the likes of which one could not begin to imagine, a veritable Eden with patches of bright flowers and crisp freshwater springs as far as the eye could see. At night, however, the landscape crafted a different story entirely. The shadows held secrets, the wind spoke of impending dangers, and the two dark silhouettes that stood across from one another atop one of the tallest hills only further contributed to the suspenseful ambience.
"We meet again, Evil Magistrate," came the voice of the taller figure, who from a closer view could be seen sporting the gear of an honorable samurai warrior, a particularly deadly-looking spear gripped in his right hand. The man's words were slightly muffled by the metallic surface of his helmet, yet his tone still came across as authoritative and courageous. This was the Steel Samurai himself, hero to all who inhabited Neo Olde Tokyo.
When the second faceless shadow caught wind of these words, only a malicious laugh cut through the frigid night air in response. After a beat, however, the Evil Magistrate fired back in a voice as harsh and guttural as grinding metal, "Would that we could have reunited under much happier circumstances, Samurai. Unfortunately, our meeting is not fated to be based on pleasantries alone. Tonight, at long last, you will meet your end!"
"Is that a threat?" Never frightened, never perturbed, the Steel Samurai stood his ground, grip tightening ever so slightly on the spear in his hand.
"Oh, no, no . . . you should consider it a promise."
And the Evil Magistrate darted in towards his prey, his hand moving in a flash to retrieve a weapon. The edge of a sword caught the light of the moon and flashed like a sickly smile in the darkness as the evildoer made ready to strike, an executioner preparing to bring the night to a wicked, violent end . . .
"Ooh, I love this part! BAM! Whack! The Steel Samurai retaliates and clobbers his foe with a Samurai Punch straight in the kisser!" Practically jumping up and down in her seat, Maya Fey jabbed a tiny – yet surprisingly powerful – fist into the air, as if to punctuate her overly-enthusiastic sentence. The rather sizable bowl of heavily-buttered popcorn in her lap jostled slightly, some of its contents spilling over onto the legs of the second occupant of the sofa, Miles Edgeworth.
The outburst had taken him slightly aback; it had gotten so quiet in the room as they'd watched for the past fifteen minutes or so, increasingly absorbed in the action taking place on the flickering television screen, that the sudden squealing from Maya had startled him more than it would have otherwise. (And that wasn't to mention the fact that the girl's voice was much louder than she thought . . . while he certainly couldn't fault her for her fervor regarding the subject of the Steel Samurai, some self-awareness on her part would have been greatly appreciated.) He'd cringed as she'd all but shrieked in his ear, and now was left to clean up the pieces of stray popcorn that had fallen in his lap in the process of her attempt to cheerlead for a fictional character. Honestly, how very incorrigible she could be.
"Indeed, I suppose it is quite thrilling," Edgeworth returned, his voice just as cool and smooth as ever, despite how she'd managed to surprise him so. "Although I would hardly consider it worthy of such outrageous upsurges as all that," he quipped; his attempts to appear as chastising as he sounded were effectively dashed by the rueful smirk squirming its way along the corners of his mouth. The amusement in his eyes clashed with the sternness of his voice. "I was unaware that through extending an invitation for you to watch these episodes with me, I would also be receiving a lengthy narration to accompany them."
The self-professed spirit medium blinked for a moment, a light pink blush making its way onto her features. "Oh! I'm sorry, Mr. Edgeworth. I didn't mean to upset you." In an instant, however, her expression regained its usual effervescence, a beaming, impish little grin crawling onto her girlish features. "Come on, you're just mad because I startled you, right?"
"Hardly!" Edgeworth sputtered in a voice so defensive that he was certain his protests were completely in vain. "I simply have to wonder if such behavior is at all necessary – particularly when my ear is within such close proximity to your mouth!"
Maya's nose wrinkled and her shoulders shook, giggles pealing forth from betwixt her lips. Had Edgeworth not held such affection in his heart for her (affection that he would sooner die a thousand deaths than admit to aloud), he might have been compelled to offer a particularly scathing comment in return. However, it was all he could do to simply give an exasperated sigh and shake his head, returning his gaze to the television screen. Ever the stubborn and prideful one, Edgeworth.
"If you would be so kind as to enlighten me, Ms. Fey, I'd love to know what you think is so very amusing," he muttered darkly, though this only seemed to strike Maya as all the funnier. Her giggles turned into full-on boisterous laughter, and before he knew it her skinny arms were looped about his neck, her cheek pressed close to his in an astonishing but secretly quite touching display of fondness.
If he were being perfectly frank, this was the first romantic touch he'd received from Maya, and it surprised him so greatly that he didn't know what to make of it yet. Their relationship was still fairly new – in fact, he wasn't entirely certain if one could even rightly refer to it as a 'relationship', though he preferred not to think on it a great deal at the risk of overcomplicating things. He supposed that it hadn't occurred to him at this point to think on the matter of physical affection, what he liked or didn't like, what on Earth he was expected to give to her in return.
It wasn't precisely a secret that Miles Edgeworth was not a romantic man in the slightest; it wasn't that he was completely clueless as to the matter of relating to the opposite sex, but given how busy he stayed and how work-oriented he was, it was just something to which he'd never granted much consideration. This tryst with Maya, this . . . unnamable whatever-it-was in which they were engaging with one another, had come about completely unexpectedly, and where Wright was an expert in thinking on his feet and bluffing his way through the unknown, Edgeworth was a man of plans and formulas, and thus had a great deal more difficulty dealing with the unfamiliar, the uncharted. Which, now that he thought on it, was likely why Maya seemed so very intent on spending as much time with him as she did; she likely took a great deal of pleasure and even pride in the ability to bring out the more 'adventurous' side to the prosecutor, if indeed such a thing even existed in him.
Maya's voice jolted him out of his thoughts. "Mm . . . nothing, nothing," she mumbled, though the playfulness in her tone said otherwise. Though his eyes still remained on the T.V. screen, he could practically see the smile on her face as she added, "You're just funny when you're like that. All stuffy and posh, I mean."
Miles couldn't help but give a derisive, snorting laugh, rolling his eyes. "Oh, I see. Is that right?" When he felt her nod in agreement against the clean-shaven smoothness of his cheek, he gave a quiet, almost thoughtful chuckle and responded, snarky as ever, "Yes, well, I'm so very pleased that I can remain a continuing source of hilarity for you, Fey."
"Yeah, me too," she all but purred in return, fingers idly twisting and toying with the folds of his cravat. "Nick's not nearly as good at it as you are." At the end of her sentence, Maya moved so that now she could nuzzle her face against the curve of his shoulder and his neck, her gusts of breath unexpectedly warm against the coolness of his exposed skin. "And you know something . . . you can call me just Maya, if you want."
Without a trace of irony, Edgeworth replied, "I imagine I'm adept at a great many more things than Wright. Even if it truly is a matter of something as simple as unintentionally serving as your jester." A smug little smirk found its way onto his pallid, permanently-tired features; though he and Phoenix were nowhere near as fiercely competitive as they had once been, their courtroom battles were never anything short of explosive, and he took great pride in knowing the areas in which he could best his longtime rival. In regards to her second comment, however, he had to admit he was slightly flabbergasted. "Hm . . . very well. If that is what you would like . . . Maya." He furrowed his brows, glancing about in a state of awkward befuddlement; the name was so short, so simple, and yet it sat so unnaturally upon his tongue. It sounded right in his head, yet when he had vocalized it, something about it seemed clunky and unfamiliar. That much, he supposed, would take some getting accustomed to.
Still, despite the distinct lack of tact he felt while saying her name, Maya's reaction seemed nothing less than delighted. She gave another laugh, apparently pleased, and actually went as far as to press the tiniest of kisses to the side of his throat, right where his pulse hammered a steady rhythm against his skin. He felt the heat, the pressure of her lips lingering there even long after she had withdrawn, the same gleeful, almost childlike grin on her face as she gazed up into his slate-gray eyes. The light pink dusting of color had returned to the roundness of her cheeks, but now it illustrated the emotions of a young woman caught in the throes of a first love, rather than a girl recovering from an embarrassing outburst while watching a Steel Samurai marathon.
"Much better," she praised, looking every bit as much excited as she would have if he had announced that he wanted to bequeath to her a million dollars in cash. "But . . . next time you say it, you might not want to look so pained, okay?" Dropping one eyelid in a conspiratorial wink, a devious smirk curving onto her face, she shifted her position slightly on the couch so that her body now leaned against his, her arms laced around his upper right arm, chin propped against his shoulder.
"Hm . . . I apologize," he offered somewhat lamely in return, having to all but force the admission of contrition from his throat. As proud as he was, it often took a great effort on his part to humble himself in such a way, particularly in front of someone he had always viewed as simply his rival's assistant, nothing more. Now that they were beginning to see one another in an entirely new light, it only made sense that so many things about their dynamic would be changing. Yet, that didn't keep it from being stressful. "I'm not at all suited for things like this. Exchanging pleasantries and such, I mean."
Much to his relief, Maya only offered him a little half-smile and a soft nudge to the side before saying, "Don't worry. I get it. And hey, you know what? I think you've really learned a lot since three years ago. Golly, you really ought to relax! No wonder you stay so tired all the time – look at how tightly-wound you keep yourself! It won't hurt you to loosen up a little!"
Edgeworth was profoundly ashamed at the swiftness with which his cheeks heated up, flooded with scarlet mortification. What was it about this girl, that she possessed the innate ability to not only observe each of his habits but so boldly call them out upon them – and, more shockingly, actually make him want to do something about it? It went without saying that it wasn't a common occurrence for Edgeworth to take anyone else's opinions of his actions or positions too seriously. He usually brushed off those who would attempt to act as though they knew every little nuance about his life with a flippant, sarcastic comment and go on his merry way, and yet . . . and yet, with Maya Fey – of all people – he felt compelled to grow, to learn. It troubled him, unnerved him, challenged him to truly take a good, long look at everything he had ever known and view it from another angle . . . and he wasn't at all certain of whether or not it was necessarily a positive thing.
"Hmph," he grumped in return, making his very best attempt to not appear as truly contented as he inwardly felt. "Duly noted. As for whether or not such a thing is manageable remains to be seen. After all, for someone such as myself, even something as simple as relaxing would be a task more easily assigned than accomplished. Have you any idea the responsibilities to which I must answer, the pointless busywork that floods my office on a daily basis? I –"
"Alright, alright, I think I get the picture," sighed Maya. "If that's the case, then . . . maybe we can just enjoy a mellow night together. Just the two of us. You do sound really strung-out. And I can't think of any better way to cure that than a night in with the Steel Samurai to keep us company!" she chirped, leaning into Miles just a bit more in order for her to tuck her legs to the side. She shifted slightly on the couch once again, but once she settled in, she rested her head on his shoulder and exhaled slowly, placidly. They were in such close proximity now that he could even smell the scent of her shampoo – crisp and natural, clean, with the hint of lilac – coming from the crown of her head. Where it would have been a minute detail at best before, it was now oddly . . . relaxing to him.
Oh, for heaven's sake, he thought, honestly quite surprised at himself, what is the meaning of all this? I have no need for these childish sentimentalities! How could I possibly? It makes so little sense!
Certainly not for the first time in his life, Miles Edgeworth was struck with the realization that he very well may be going mad.
The sensation of Maya's arms moving, wrapping around his waist drew him out of his reverie. Blinking as though coming out of a trance, he shifted slightly and gazed imperiously down at her, once again slipping into the habit of wearing that intimidating stare when he truthfully wasn't angry, just curious. Thankfully, Maya did not seem too greatly perturbed by it; instead, she simply gave the tiniest shiver and nestled herself in closer to him, making herself very much at home. Didn't that just figure?
"And just what on Earth is the meaning of this?" asked Edgeworth, the words tumbling from his mouth admittedly a bit more brusquely than he'd originally intended. Clearing his throat, he allowed a beat of silence to pass between them before amending his statement. "That is – er – you certainly are rather affectionate this evening. It only gives me cause to wonder what in heaven's name I have done to warrant such actions."
"Well, since you're doing such a great job of being my own personal jester and all . . ." Maya retorted playfully, a telltale mischievous light in her eyes. When she caught sight of the deadpan expression on Miles' face, she simply let out a jubilant laugh and tightened her grip around his waist, adding, "Nah, I'm only teasing. To tell you the truth, Mr. Edgeworth, it's freezing in here! I don't know how you stand it! I'm just trying to cozy up and get warm!"
"Get warm? Then what, pray tell, is the purpose of the multitude of blankets you requested that I fetch beforehand? I should hope that they have not yet gone to waste!" he sputtered, rather thrown by her convoluted line of logic. With a sigh, he moved as though preparing himself to get up from the sofa. "I suppose I'll get a fire going –"
"Huh? Oh, wait, no, don't feel like you have to do that! Don't go anywhere! Just . . . stay here, on the couch with me," she reasoned, a hopeful smile venturing onto her face. "Or else I'll just make you pay me back by rubbing my feet for a week instead!"
I should hardly think you would possess the ability to enforce such inane stipulations as that, he mused to himself, immensely thankful that for once, his inner monologue had managed to stay inner. However . . . I suppose it couldn't hurt to simply humor the girl, at least for once.
Relaxing onto the couch once more, Miles settled himself into the seat, struck with the vague suspicion that Maya had been planning such a thing all along. Yet, as close as she was to him and as strangely comfortable as she felt next to him, her body molded perfectly to his, he couldn't bring himself to mind the coercion tactic so much. Even now, though, in moments like these, he remained unfailingly uncomfortable with matters pertaining to physical displays of affection, and thus was forced to arrive at the painfully humbling conclusion that he hadn't a clue what he ought to be doing at the moment. His courtroom etiquette was impeccable . . . if only affairs of the heart could be as easy, as cut-and-dry as court proceedings. Perhaps that was what made affection and personal connection so desirable, so special, though: the complexity of it all.
Eventually he simply settled for draping his arm across her shoulder; for a few awful seconds, she remained still and stiff, almost as if surprised by his touch, and in the back of his mind he wondered if this was perhaps the incorrect course of action. Next moment, however, she responded by settling herself into his arms, muscles relaxed and breathing slow, even. They'd reached an odd sort of middle-ground with one another, a stage where they both felt comfortable and at home, yet still awkward and tentative at the same time. Bizarrely enough, such a sensation only served to make Edgeworth all the more curious as to what sort of relationship lied in store for them beyond this. The idea tantalized him, teased the ever-turning cogs in his legal, analytic brain. As with every unexplored concept, Miles supposed that the best way to go about it would be to take small steps forward and keep an open mind. Would it truly be so harmful if he were to simply take this chance? He surmised that, as painfully cliché as it sounded, only time would be able to paint an accurate portrait of that much.
After a while, the prosecutor gave a stilted little clearing of his throat, a smirk of dry amusement twitching upwards at the corners of his thin mouth as he studied how relaxed, how at home Maya seemed with their current position. She certainly knew how to make herself comfortable. "I still fail to see," he said after the silence had stretched on far too long for his tastes, "how it is that simply resting your head upon my shoulder manages to keep you warm more effectively than a fire roaring in the hearth might. Are you quite certain you haven't simply exaggerated the truth in an attempt to fulfill some ulterior motives of yours?" The humor was more obvious in his tone now than before, a lightness to it that he reserved specifically for rare occasions such as these when he dared to offer someone the briefest glimpse into the personality he always kept stuffed beneath the cold, guarded exterior he flaunted in court.
Edgeworth's comment earned a hum of laughter from the young spirit medium, followed by – of all things – a playful little nibble to the shell of his ear. He flinched against the gesture for a moment, flustered and honestly a bit taken aback, but after a moment exhaled and relaxed, even going as far as to refrain from objecting when the tips of her fingers began to stroke through the hair at the nape of his neck. "Yeah, well . . . that depends."
"Oh, does it? On what, if I may be so bold as to ask?"
"On how willing you are to take the bait."
" . . . Maya, you are absolutely wicked."
Maya only gave a toothy grin in response, looking thoroughly pleased with her handiwork. Not that this particularly surprised Edgeworth. He simply gave a blasé roll of his eyes, finding himself much more at ease with their closeness by this point in time. It went without saying that such vulnerability had never come quite naturally to him – and any chance of developing those skills had been effectively dashed by years of living under the roof of Manfred von Karma, where emotions were touted as little more than hindrances – but over the past three years following his acquittal, he'd noticed that he had begun to warm up to the idea of sharing one's emotions, at least more than he had before. And being in Maya Fey's presence, where her outgoing, optimistic personality was so wildly contagious, how could he ever stand a chance of ignoring that recurring theme of openness and emotional intelligence?
What's more, Edgeworth couldn't help but notice that, though it was not immediately obvious, he shared quite a lot in common with the spirit medium. For example, both of them had lost their beloved parents – he his father, and Maya her enigmatic mother – and had even temporarily been under the impression that they were each responsible for their parents' demise. Like Edgeworth, Maya too was in a position of high respect and power, and thus constantly dealt with the consequences of such responsibilities; just as Manfred von Karma had done to him for years, Morgan Fey, that despicable woman, had plotted against Maya for years and attempted to see her life ended, despite being a figure in the young girl's life that she ought to have been able to trust. In that sense, he supposed both of them knew the sting of betrayal all too well. Perhaps that had been one of the reasons behind their initial draw to one another. For all the immediate differences in their personalities, the underlying similarities in their respective stories were too strong to ignore.
"Hm . . . deep in thought, as always," Maya observed after the silence had persisted between them for a considerable amount of time. A wry little grin curled into place on her bright face and she scooted in closer, clearly enjoying the opportunity to elicit any reaction out of him that she could possibly manage. And oh, she did; caught off-guard by the feeling of her body pressing closer to his, Edgeworth's muscles stiffened momentarily, shoulders tensed, only relaxing after a few seconds had ticked by. "What's on your mind this time?"
At this, Miles allowed the softest chuckle, his familiar smirk returning as its own rueful ghost. "Nothing of tremendously pressing importance, I assure you," he answered casually, attempting to steer attention away from the fact that he had actually been thinking so deeply about his relationship with Maya Fey. Clearing his throat, he added, "Perhaps I'm simply devising a scheme to keep you from lounging on me like this, hm?" He lifted his eyebrows and aimed a haughty little half-smile (or, at least, the closest thing to a smile that Miles Edgeworth would ever come) in her direction.
Without missing a beat, Maya only replied, "Pffft, nah, I don't think so. You like me too much. Probably."
"That is debatable, I must say," Miles quipped in return, giving his head the tiniest shake before returning his gaze to the television screen once again. The grandiose combat sequence had ended, and now the screen before them depicted a romantic encounter between the Steel Samurai and the youthful, striking princess whom he had been commissioned to rescue. Almost as though Fate itself had taken it upon itself to present the two of them with some decidedly not-at-all-subtle hints . . .
Preposterous! Inwardly, Edgeworth admonished himself for even deigning to entertain such a thought, barely managing to hide a disconcerted little grimace. His left hand travelled upwards to straighten his cravat, and he fought to keep his facial expression as much a painted mask of indifference as ever. Disguising one's emotions and removing any attachment to a particular individual were required skills in the courtroom, and Miles had always excelled at both; it was a frustrating mystery, then, that he seemed to be having a great deal more difficulty with such a task now.
With a soft chuckle, Maya reasoned, "Well, you've stuck with me this far. I think I have your vote of confidence." As if she meant to punctuate her sentence, she reached out and promptly poked him in the side with her index finger, her facial expression the very image of devilish playfulness the entire time. When he flinched, she giggled and tacked on quickly, "Are you always this jumpy?"
Edgeworth gave a derisive snort, though the dry humor never left his eyes. "Only when a certain top-knotted individual insists upon incessantly prodding me whilst I attempt to watch television," he retorted smoothly, aiming a pointed glance in her direction.
"Hey, how many times have I told you – it's not a top knot!"
"Oh, I beg your pardon," the prosecutor deadpanned.
"Mr. Edgeworth!" she cried, feigning an indignant tone of voice; the sputtering laugh that shook her shoulders as she tightened her grip around him gave her true feelings away almost immediately. Her voice dropped to a lazy, though unmistakably affectionate mumble as she added, "Hm . . . you're impossible."
"Yet, apparently I am not quite as intolerable as all that," Edgeworth quipped, allowing his fingers to brush lightly over the young girl's hands which still rested securely at his waist. Just a moment's touch, and then he was gone, retreating back into his 'comfort zone' of minimal touching and even less open displays of fondness. "You don't appear to be too deterred."
"Okay," Maya said jokingly, "if this relationship has any hope of continuing into something more than it is, I'm gonna need to invest in a dictionary."
Edgeworth raised his eyebrows thoughtfully, mulling over her statement for a few beats. "Hm. Actually, I believe quite the contrary. You're far more intelligent than you give yourself credit for. You have survived our conversations thus far, have you not? Heh. If anything, you would perhaps do well to invest your time in an active endeavor towards . . . well, towards embracing that facet of your personality."
"Heheh, and then maybe someday I'll sound just like you, huh?" Maya said. If Edgeworth weren't mistaken, he thought he heard a devious sort of hopefulness in her voice.
Even further than that, he couldn't help but notice how his comment regarding her intellect seemed to deeply touch her; it was a well-known fact amongst all that were well-acquainted with Miles Edgeworth that he did not simply dole out compliments left and right, and especially never gave praise where he thought it unwarranted. If he were calling her intelligent, then he truly meant it – he never said anything for the sake of sparing another person's feelings. That quality was partially the reason why he was so lacking in friends, frankly.
Cheeks glowing, the young woman leaned in to press a kiss to the curve of Edgeworth's jaw. He tried not to flinch or jump or otherwise appear taken aback when her lips met his flesh, but things of that nature never failed to catch him by surprise. Her voice softened as she said, "Thank you. I'm glad you think so. I know I'm not the lawyer my sister was, or even the spirit medium that Pearly is or that my – my mother was . . ." she swallowed hard past the sudden lump in her throat, but continued a moment later, more contemplative than he had ever seen her. "But I like to think that I can offer you and Nick help wherever it's possible."
And you have, he wanted to tell her, but suddenly his foolish, foolish pride rendered him mute. As usual, his social skills – or, rather, the lack thereof – had contributed to his failure. Some habits never truly died, he supposed, though he had certainly reached a much more contented place in his life than he had been three years ago. Telling her that she was intelligent had been one matter – after all, that had been simple enough because he'd believed it to be true, therefore there was no harm in expressing it – but confessing that he'd not only needed her help, but that she'd provided it was another thing entirely. He'd always been an extremely prideful sort, the type that would sooner face horrific tortures than admit that he couldn't take on any task completely on his own. Part of that, he expected, came from growing up with Manfred von Karma, who had instructed him that self-sufficiency was key above all else, and that accepting help from anyone meant failure, thus bringing disgrace upon the entire family. It was no excuse, he supposed, but it did provide an explanation. To undo years of learned behavior from such a strict environment . . . such an action would take a tremendous effort on Edgeworth's part. Yet, oddly enough, feeling Maya's arms wrapped around him – silly and infuriatingly sentimental as it sounded – seemed to provide him with just enough motivation to take the chance.
For the time being, though, he simply cleared his throat and stated, somewhat awkwardly at first, "Yes, well, I would have wasted no time with informing you if ever I believed you were acting as too great a hindrance." It was a backhanded compliment if he'd ever heard one, but such was typically the case with Edgeworth.
"Pffft. Well, gee, thanks," Maya responded, prodding him again. Thankfully, she didn't seem too perturbed. She settled in closer to him in the silence that followed, her breathing turning slow and even. When she at last spoke again, her voice was hushed and faraway. "You know, for a long time, I felt like all I ever did was get in trouble or get in the way of investigations. That's the worst feeling in the world – thinking you're useless. So when I tell you that I wanna help you and be here for you wherever I can, I'm not messing around, okay?" To punctuate her sentence, Maya reached out and brushed a few locks of dark hair behind his ear. "The way I see it, we can help each other out."
Edgeworth gave a slow nod. After a moment or two, the thoughtful expression on his face gave way to a confident smirk. "I should think that sounds fair enough. I accept your proposal, Maya Fey," he conceded.
"Good!" she chirped, reaching down and grabbing a fistful of popcorn from the bowl. She chomped on the snack enthusiastically as she teased, "If you didn't, then where the heck am I supposed to go for a decent Steel Samurai marathon?"
Miles snorted. "Oh, perish the thought!" he snarked, shifting his position in an attempt to relax on the couch. "You've not paid close attention to the past ten minutes or so. I could very well have changed the program and I doubt you would have noticed."
"Humph. Well . . . you distracted me!" she claimed, feigning irritation, though the brightness of her eyes gave her away immediately.
"As it so happens, I believe that you accomplished that much on your own, with the uproar you insisted upon raising over something as trivial as a Samurai Punch."
Maya gasped, suddenly aghast. "Are you saying that the Steel Samurai's fight to save his own life from the Evil Magistrate is trivial, Mr. Edgeworth?"
"Hardly! I'm simply offering a suggestion as to what might truly be the cause of your lack of concentration – that could scarcely be called a lack of concern for the television show itself!"
"Hey, if you say so . . ."
"And just what on Earth is such a cryptic remark as that supposed to mean?"
When she presented him with a kiss straight to the mouth instead of a proper answer, for the first time in his life Miles Edgeworth found that he'd entirely forgotten how to argue at all. Any words that might have come to his lips, any twist he might have found to further his own point, any further action that took place on the television screen before them . . . it all seemed strangely insignificant compared to the moment at hand. Such a thought was riddled with sentiment, it was cliché, it was foolish, the love-blinded fancies of a deluded, confused man . . .
And yet, similarly . . . it was a momentously wonderful sensation that Miles Edgeworth would never forget.