Disclaimer: Phoenix Wright is property of Capcom.
Author's Note: Because Miles and Franziska have a rather interesting relationship. Franziska POV, drabble.
Ambivalence
I hate you, Miles Edgeworth.
You're the only person to make me feel like such a foolish fool. I've never felt so conflicted over someone before. You're a fool for doing this to me, and you probably don't even realize what you've done.
When papa took you in, for the longest time I was confused. I had a new brother, and he was older than I was. I started calling you "little brother" to make myself feel better, and as moronic as this may sound, it's almost become a household name.
However, when I got a little older, I thought maybe that with you, papa would be less harsh, that he couldn't possibly use so much energy on training both of us to be prosecutors. Obviously, I was wrong, and that was when I first started to get angry with you. Childishly, I blamed you for helping me so rarely.
And even then I always seemed to trail behind you. I was always in your shadow, both at home and in the courtroom.
I had my first trial at thirteen. Papa had carefully instructed me on what to do, ensuring that I wouldn't lose, expecting me to run through the trial as perfectly as he always did. I managed to present evidence at all the right moments, but I was just a little teenage girl. I was nervous, my hands shook, and I stuttered once or twice. Afterwards, even though I won, papa looked at me with an angry face, irritated that I hadn't been in absolute control.
Then, not long after, I was sitting in the audience, watching one of your first trials. You were bold and confident, your voice strong and eyes cold. You convinced everyone in the audience and even the defense attorney that the defendant was guilty, and you pulled out all the stops. When I looked over at papa, he was smirking, obviously pleased with your performance.
Then I did the only thing a foolish little girl can do. I became jealous of you. You seemed so perfect, and I seemed so pathetic.
However, despite the fact that you were always busy and papa didn't like us distracting each other, you were still there for me more than he was. Whenever papa was busy with a case and was away from home for a while, we would occasionally spend very brief moments away from our studies. It was uncomfortable at first, but these moments became a haven.
I still was jealous and angry with you, of course. Even so, you were a better brother than papa was a father.
Eventually I realized just how much I valued these moments when papa caught us in the middle of a game of chess. He slapped us both and locked us in our rooms, only letting us out for food. As much as I hated to admit it, I began to miss spending time with you.
Then I realized you weren't really invincible a few years later. I heard news of your trial of that silly Fey girl, and how you lost to a rookie defense lawyer with only one win under his belt. You later lost another case to the same man—and it was only his third trial.
I saw my chance. If I could defeat this Phoenix Wright in court, I could finally be better than you. It would be a perfect revenge for you overshadowing me for so long.
But then I lost to him as well on several occasions. I was still no stronger than you were. And then, during that ridiculous Engarde trial, I was made into an even bigger fool. I was to take on Phoenix Wright in court again, and I was shot in the shoulder before the trial even started. You took the case for me and finally got your guilty verdict for Phoenix Wright's client.
Yet again, you'd done something I couldn't do. Even worse, my wound was almost exactly the same as the one you'd inadvertently given my papa all those years ago, and I hated you even more for that. However, I couldn't deny that you were foolishly worried about me, and secretly I rejoiced when you visited me in the hospital. I'd managed to make you concerned, and I took that as a personal victory.
However, after the case, I admit I was still as angry and jealous as ever. Like a fool, I purchased a one-way ticket back to Germany, determined to double, triple, even quadruple my training. I had to be better than you. From the beginning of my career, I'd cleaved to that goal like a madwoman, and I'd still failed.
But somehow you managed to catch up to me at the airport, somehow realized what I was up to before you even got there, and somehow still knew all the right things to say to make me angry. You told me how foolish I was for blindly trying to be the "best" in court and maintaining my win record. You told me that I could learn a lesson from Phoenix Wright, as you had last year.
I wanted to tell you that you were pathetic, just as Phoenix Wright and his silly sentimentalism. I wanted to rub this new weakness into your face. Instead, I burst into tears, and you had a strange mix of irritation and concern on your face. You told me to get on back to Germany, to examine myself carefully before I took on another case.
And yet, on the plane, I took the card out of that scruffy detective's tattered coat. It was the picture Maya Fey had made of Phoenix Wright, and although I hated you more than ever at that moment, I foolishly wished that we could be more like Fey and Wright.