Propriety was something Miles Edgeworth valued above all else. It was in the spirit of this hallowed quality that he granted his subordinate, Simon Blackquill, two weeks' leave after his exoneration in order to at least begin to try and settle some of his affairs. Given that the man had just spent seven years in jail, it was unlikely to be enough to completely rebuild his life on the outside. However, the chief prosecutor reasoned, it was a start, particularly since Blackquill had accumulated a tidy amount of pay during the months he had prosecuted while incarcerated, which should aid him in his endeavors.

After the two prosecutors had joined the Wright Anything Agency affiliates for noodles at the dilapidated little stand they seemed to favor, Miles offered his charge a ride, dropping him off at a reasonably decent hotel and accompanying him to the check-in counter. He paid for this first night out of his own pocket, and nipped any potential protest in the bud with a sharp sideways look at Blackquill when the latter seemed ready to say something.

Once the initial formalities had been taken care of and the desk clerk had put the room key on the counter, Miles turned towards the ex-inmate and stated, "I will have payroll transfer three months of the salary they held in escrow for you onto a prepaid credit card first thing in the morning. Someone should come by here at around noon at the latest to hand it to you. Should there be anything in which I can be of assistance, please don't hesitate to contact me. Otherwise, I will see you in my office in two weeks' time."

Blackquill nodded slightly; he seemed a bit shell-shocked to the chief prosecutor, although he could hardly be blamed for that – just this morning, he had still been certain that he would breathe his last within 24 hours, only to suddenly be set free, instead, to be assured that the person he had sought to protect was innocent, as well, and to reveal the target whom he had pursued before his conviction as the culprit. An accumulation of all holidays of the year in a single moment could probably not even begin to describe the momentousness of what had happened to him today.

Miles allowed himself a small smile at his subordinate. "Get some rest – after today, I'd say you thoroughly deserve it, more than anyone else. Have a good evening."

The well-wishes startled Blackquill out of whatever contemplation he had been engaged in. "And you."

He reached for the card key, ignoring the flinch of the hotel employee, and walked across the lobby to the elevators. After the double doors had closed behind him, his superior turned to the lady, who was still a little green around the gills.

"I am aware of what this must look like; however, I can assure you that everything is aboveboard, and that he won't harm anyone."

Of course the woman behind the desk would have recognized Blackquill from his media coverage; however, news of his exoneration had not yet had time to spread, and so the situation must appear at least somewhat concerning to her.

"Here's my business card if you have any lingering concerns after reading tomorrow morning's paper. Mr. Blackquill has been exonerated a mere few hours ago; the official paperwork is filed at the courthouse, where you may also inquire about the matter as soon as they open their doors in the morning."

The clerk took the card and studied it for a moment. Her eyes promptly widened.

"I thought I recognized you…!"

She smiled hesitantly. "I know it's the dark age of the law and all, the press writes about it often enough, but I don't suppose it'd be in the chief prosecutor's interest to let a felon walk free without reason, so… I'll trust you on this, I guess."

Miles imbued his nod of acknowledgment with a measure of warmth before turning to leave. "I appreciate your trust in this matter."

He held in his sigh until he had passed through the revolving door and was on his way back to his car. Given the woman's initial reaction, he wondered if even extensive press coverage would serve to erase the stigma his subordinate currently bore, namely that of being an ex-inmate, regarded by many as one of the key persons in bringing about the current sorry state of the justice system.

Furthermore, he could not help but notice the similarities between UR-1 and the DL-6 case, which had cost him his father. Like Athena Cykes, he had not known what exactly had occurred at the time of death, had suspected himself to have been the murderer. That would render Blackquill as being in the same role as Yanni Yogi – with one important difference: Whereas Yogi had suffered due to his lawyer, Robert Hammond, being more concerned with his win record than with his client's reputation, Simon Blackquill had willingly shouldered the burden in order to protect a young girl from being indicted for the murder of her own mother.

The chief prosecutor supposed that he had more than enough reason to despise Yogi, in spite of the fact that the former bailiff had not murdered Gregory Edgeworth. After all, Yogi had killed a man years later with the explicit intent of framing Miles for the crime. However, the plan had been developed by Manfred von Karma, his own mentor – and he could not blame the former bailiff entirely for wishing to exact his revenge, after his fiancée had killed herself, and he had been forced to adopt the persona of a harmless madman living in solitude and obscurity for over a decade once his "not guilty by reason of insanity" verdict had been handed down. It had been a miscarriage of justice, due to a variety of unfortunate factors, and by the time the truth had finally been revealed, it had been far too late for Yogi.

Not so with Blackquill. He had been given a second chance at the very last moment, and even though he, too, would likely face an uphill battle, Miles was certain his subordinate would make it through, considering the sangfroid he had displayed in the face of his own impending demise.

He recalled meeting the man for the first time eight years ago, when he had come to the Prosecutor's Office fresh out of law school, a mere year before the event that had almost led to his ruin had occurred. Compared to Klavier Gavin, the other noteworthy new addition to his junior colleagues that year, Blackquill had been quiet and unobtrusive, more given to listening than speaking up outside of the courtroom. While engaged in a trial, however, he had known exactly when to work himself into the conversation and ultimately take the proceedings in hand, to where his opponents had never known what had hit them. Clearly, his psychological training, which he had begun during law school even prior to studying under Metis Cykes in his free time, had benefited him in devising this strategy.

It had helped that back then, he had looked like he could have been the newest, quickly rising star of the office: Reasonably handsome, but overall unassuming, possessing the potential to intimidate with his tall stature and serious nature, but not devoid of a sense of humor, coolheadedly calculating when it was necessary, but bound by his own personal code of honor, and far from being a sore loser more interested in his track record than in finding the truth.

And then, UR-1 had happened, and Miles had been baffled. What reason would Blackquill have had to murder his mentor? During the sporadic times when he had managed to strike up a conversation with the younger man over a cup of tea in his office, he had heard naught but good things about the psychologist – her patience, her expertise, the fascinating results of her research, the latter of which had not been linked to Athena Cykes' auditory ability until today for him. Blackquill's sister, whom he had met at official functions once or twice, as she had apparently been his legal guardian after their parents had died when he had been fifteen, had likewise been completely clueless.

Miles had to admit: In spite of the available evidence, in spite of Blackquill's confession, he had never been able to fully believe in his guilt. For that reason, he had stuck his own neck out when the prosecuting council had attempted to disbar his former colleague-turned-prisoner as a matter of formality, and had requested an indefinite suspension, instead. His reasoning had been simple: At the point of his arrest, Blackquill had been on the heels of the Phantom for approximately half a year, and considering that the HAT-1 sabotage bore the saboteur's mark, it stood to reason that the criminal remained at large, a ticking time bomb that could strike again at any moment. Certainly, even contemplating that an inmate might at some point be brought out of involuntary retirement in a move of fighting fire with fire had looked ludicrous on paper, but considering that the council had deemed the chance to be low and had only authorized the reactivation in case of an acute Interpol warning, which might not even have occurred prior to Blackquill's execution, his request had been miraculously granted.

And then, it had come, anyway, the day he had received a memo from Shi-Long Lang. It had been at the end of March 2027, Miles had just attained the rank of chief prosecutor two months prior, and the sheet of paper his secretary had brought had stated only, Phantom activity expected in L.A. area within the year. Target as yet unknown.

Thus, a few days later, he had found himself face to face with the long-term death row inmate who had been a junior colleague and was about to become his subordinate.

March 31, 2027

Miles was tempted to take off his recently acquired glasses and wipe the lenses clean with the cloth in his pocket, as he could hardly believe his eyes. He knew that prolonged incarceration did not tend to be overly kind to people, but when Simon Blackquill was led towards the thick window pane separating the visitor's side from the inmate side of the detention center, he found himself almost wondering whether the guard escorting the man clad in the striped prison jumpsuit had made a mistake and brought out the wrong inmate. Blackquill's hair, once short and ever-so-slightly stylishly tousled, as had been the practice among many young professional men in those days, reached halfway down his back in a wild, martial-looking ponytail and was long enough even in the front to cast deep shadows on his eyes, obscuring them completely when he leaned forward slightly to sit. Furthermore, he had become exceedingly pale, his unhealthy skin color only brought into stark relief by elongated darkened traces running from his lower eyelids far down his cheeks, speaking of little sleep and who knew what else.

The final straw came when the stranger on the other side of the window shot him a grin and began to speak.

"Edgeworth-dono… this is a surprise, I must admit. To what do I owe the pleasure of your summons?"

Blackquill's voice was the same and yet not the same it had been; fairly quiet as before, but rougher, and with an insolent undercurrent that had not been there before.

Miles gazed over at the guard in the corner, who promptly saluted and left the room, as had been arranged with the prison warden. A moment later, the red light of the surveillance camera mounted on the ceiling flickered off.

Blackquill turned his head, the expression of cynical amusement never leaving his face. "Oh? What is this all about? I hope you don't mind if I point out, if it was a tryst you had in mind, that this venue somewhat complicates the situation, considering that there is no direct path between my side of the room and yours…"

Enough was enough. Miles coldly replied, "I would appreciate it if you saved your crude musings for your cell neighbors, Mr. Blackquill. I'm here for a very specific reason. A… certain person is rumored to once more be in town."

He held up the short memo.

Blackquill's eyes widened slightly for a moment as he read the single line, although he quickly had himself in check once more. "Interesting, to be sure, but I'm uncertain why the reappearance of the dastardly coward would lead to your visit. As you may have noticed, I am rather tied up at the moment."

He lifted his hands, heavy shackles connected by a chain surrounding his wrists, and huffed out a laugh.

"Regardless of this fact…" Miles ignored the pun as he removed a document from his briefcase, holding it up for his conversation partner to see. "I have come to inform you that your badge has been reactivated. From this point forward, you are once more a prosecutor."

Blackquill stared at him for a long moment. Then, he began to laugh uproariously, his chains clanging as he slapped the board in front of him with one hand.

"A marvelous April Fool's jest, Edgeworth-dono, if a bit early. You have my admiration."

The chief prosecutor's eyebrows drew together in ire. "I can assure you that I came here with no jocular intent. You are now my subordinate, and I expect you to perform your duty with all due diligence."

Apparently, his tone had finally gotten through to Blackquill, who immediately ceased laughing, his mien now serious.

"In that case, with all due respect, sir, you might wish to reevaluate your options. I have kept abreast of the press's jabber regarding the 'dark age of the law' even within these walls, and my reinstatement would only serve to aggravate the misgivings of the public. Who has ever heard tidings of a convicted murderer serving in an official capacity in a trial? I was certain that my badge had been cast into a fiery pit the moment I received my sentence…"

Miles shook his head. "Due to your work regarding the person who is now rumored to return, an exception was made… and due to this return, the reactivation was authorized."

He leaned forward slightly. "Mr. Blackquill. Simon. I need your eyes and ears on the ground, on the inside as well as on the outside of the walls, as much as that is possible. Furthermore, although I find myself unfortunately bereft of sufficient proof, I have to agree with your sister that there is something off about your conviction, and although my hands are tied when it comes to overturning it without your cooperation, I believe you to be innocent. I cannot halt your execution. I cannot exonerate you. But I can give you the opportunity to see your last assignment to the end, to regain a limited measure of freedom, and to make outside inquiries through the detective who will be assigned to you. Will you uphold your oath to serve the people?"

Blackquill closed his eyes as he thought in silence. Finally, he rose from his chair as if to walk away, and Miles was sure that the tall man's retreating back would be the last thing he saw of him prior to his hanging, when…

A deep bow. "Loyalty must be repaid with loyalty, and an oath is an oath. While I care as little for most of the populace as they do for me, I will not disgrace my appointed master by going against his wishes."

A tilt of the head backwards, letting Miles see Blackquill's eyes, serious, determined, and so reminiscent of the young man he had once been that he wondered how he could have ever been tempted into nonrecognition.

"I will perform my duties, and I will attempt to track down the faceless coward, although I cannot promise that I will meet with success prior to my passage across the Styx."

Then, Blackquill smirked. "There is one thing I would request, however, namely to be granted a change of attire. If I am to prosecute in a trial, wearing prison garb would be rather inappropriate…"

Blackquill received his court attire from the prison holding bin the following day, along with his badge. The items were brought to his cell by one Bobby Fulbright, detective.