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March 31, 2027 1:28 PM

District Court

Courtroom No. 3


"The prosecution is as ready as ever, Your Honor."

"The defense is...ready as well, Your Honor."

"Very well." The Judge set down his gavel, and began fiddling with a small electronic device lodged in his right ear. "So that everyone is aware, I'm keeping in contact with the jury through this, er, hear-piece. They will be able to tell me when they are ready to deliberate. Apparently, they will also be able to 'hear everything I hear'... I would hate for my own hardness of hearing to affect the jurors' understanding of the case, so for their sake I ask that you make sure to speak loudly."

Apollo opened his mouth to correct the Judge's misunderstanding(s), but ultimately decided against it, especially because speaking loudly was something he could surely manage.

"Will the prosecution now give its opening statement?" the Judge requested.

"Yes, Your Honor." Prosecutor Edgeworth stood confidently with his hands folded neatly behind his back.

(So, this man in red is my opponent today... Red versus red. Is this what they call fighting fire with fire?) Apollo prepared himself to listen to the formidable prosecutor whom he had heard so much about but who he was just meeting in person for the first time.

"Two days ago, a theater downtown became the stage for a truly unfortunate occurrence...a killing that took place in complete darkness," Edgeworth began. "It is my hope that this shroud of darkness may be lifted and that the facts of this case will become clear soon enough. However, I would first like to make it clear to the jury and to whomever else it may concern...that the prosecution is fighting only for the minimum sentence available for criminally negligent manslaughter. This alleged 'murder' was neither deliberate nor premeditated. Regardless, one person has died as a result of another person's actions...and that person must learn one way or another that reckless actions have consequences."

Despite their similar color schemes, it was clear that the two lawyers in this case were worlds apart. The prosecutor was indeed as well-composed as everyone said. Nevertheless, his demeanor, for now, lacked the outright smugness that Apollo had perhaps expected out of such a high-class opponent, as he turned to face the attorney and civilly asked, "Any questions so far, Mr. Justice?"

"Um, no, sir..." It had never crossed his mind to call Prosecutor Gavin 'sir,' so Apollo wondered to himself why he had felt to need to address this new prosecutor in such a way.

(What am I doing? I feel like just as much of a rookie as in my first trial. ...Mr. Wright told me to put my best foot forward, and I'd better do just that if I'm going to be filling his shoes. If I have any chance of winning this case, I have to be more confident.)

"Ahem... I mean... No! No, I definitely do not have any questions!" He pounded the desk with hearty conviction.

Edgeworth raised an eyebrow at this strange reaction. "...Right. Then, the prosecution would like to call its first witness to the stand: one of the detectives who conducted the initial investigations."

. . . . . . . . . .

"Please state your name and occupation."

"..."

"Name and occupation," the prosecutor repeated. "That would be your cue, Detective."

"...Oh!" The man in the tan coat on the witness stand suddenly came to his senses, although his face was long and his tone was less than energetic. "It's Dick Gumshoe, sir... Homicide detective down at the local precinct."

"I've been listening to you give that same introduction to the court for fifteen long years now," said Edgeworth. "It shouldn't take you so long to think about what to say."

"But... But Mr. Edgeworth, sir, you know how it is..." Gumshoe looked at the prosecutor with puppy-dog eyes. "I don't want to say anything that gets her in trouble..."

"Detective, try to be professional about this. Please withhold your opinions. Give us only the facts."

"Yeah... All right, pal..."

"The exact time and location of the incident would be a good place to start," Edgeworth instructed.

"Right, sir." Gumshoe heaved a deep sigh in preparation for his testimony. "Well, the mur... No, I mean, the death... It happened back on March 29th, at the Eighth Street Theater. A bunch of folks were there for the premiere of a new play that night, see, which was supposed to start at 8:30 PM and run for a little over an hour."

"'Supposed to'? Does that mean it didn't start on time?" Apollo asked for clarification.

"It started on time, pal, but it didn't end on time," Gumshoe continued. "At exactly 9:27, there was a sudden blackout over the whole block, so everything in the theater went pitch-dark. The management told everybody in the audience to stay put until they could tap into the emergency power box. But, before they could do that...there was some sort of big crash onstage."

"Hold it!" The attorney pounded his desk. "A...crash?"

"A crash, pal. You know, like, 'CRRASSHH–!'" Gumshoe explained, offering his best vocal rendition of the noise. "Real loud, probably even louder than that loud desk pound you just did."

Apollo glanced down at his balled fists, and shot the detective a sheepish smile before quickly hiding his hands behind his back.

"...Or so I heard in all the witness reports. I wasn't there to hear the crash, but I do know it sure must've been pretty loud, considering the big mess of stuff we found scattered on the floor there. A ton of props, a ladder, and two mic stands, to be particular about it."

Notes on each of these objects were promptly entered into the court record and into the attorney's mind for future consideration.

Apollo observed Gumshoe's manner growing increasingly less comfortable as he neared a part of the testimony he apparently would have preferred not to give.

"Anyway," he went on, "the emergency power never got turned on, but at 9:36, which was pretty much right after the crash, the normal electricity came back. And on the stage in front of everybody, in the middle of all the mess, there was...one dead body...along with..." The detective's voice became muffled as he hunched his shoulders and lowered his head toward the floor. "...one live body that didn't belong there, pal."

"That would be...the defendant?" Apollo pressed for confirmation.

Gumshoe merely nodded in response, so as to avoid identifying her by name, and then attempted to change the subject. "Well, pal, did I miss anything else important?" he said anxiously.

Apollo knew there were plenty of matters that warranted further pressing, but, first, there was one issue that particularly sparked his curiosity.

"So... What exactly was the show being performed there?"

"Oh boy..." The detective winced. "I was kinda hoping you wouldn't ask, pal."

"Uh... Why not?" Apollo hadn't thought his question to be too daunting.

"It's got a confusing title. I can't really remember the whole thing." He scratched his head. "I think it was something about 'Tokyo'..." – Gumshoe looked straight into the attorney's eyes – "...and 'Justice'."

Apollo flinched. (What? Don't bring me into it!)

"I can answer on behalf of the detective," said Edgeworth, not even glancing at the papers on his desk. "It was The Steel Samurai: Warrior of Neo Olde Tokyo versus The World Samurai: Champion of the Earth: The Epic Battle for Great Justice."

"Yeah, pal," added Gumshoe with a chuckle. "That's the one."

"Wh..." Apollo blurted out, "Are you kidding?"

"Is there a problem?" asked Edgeworth coolly.

"Well, no, it's just... Does that even fit on the flyers? They couldn't come up with anything a little more, I don't know, concise? Even for a kid's show, it sounds kind of dumb to me."

It was clear from Edgeworth's abrupt, severe change of expression that a particular first impression of his young opponent had been made. "For your information, Mr. Justice, this stage show was named after a film that was released four years ago as part of the same popular franchise: The Steel Samurai: Warrior of Neo Olde Tokyo versus The World Samurai: Champion of the Earth. The film, which was the Steel Samurai's theatrical debut, is the source from which the plot of the stage show was adapted. The show's additional subtitle, a suitable summation of its premise, was merely necessary for ease of distinction between the show and the film."

Apollo wasn't quite sure how to respond to this report. "...Um..."

"...However, I believe it would be preferable to our fine jurors and to all involved parties in this case if the defense could refrain from asking inane questions that force us to delve into irrelevant details," Edgeworth stated matter-of-factly. "Wouldn't you agree, Your Honor?"

The Judge was as confused as Apollo, but tried to handle the situation as appropriately as possible. "Erm. Yes. Prosecutor Edgeworth is correct. Let's keep focused here, Mr. Justice, or I'll be forced to penalize you."

"Me!?" cried Apollo. (He was the one who shot off on a lecture about it!)

"You know," Gumshoe spoke up in a burst of excitement, "there just might be somethin' relevant about the name of the play after all, pal! Now that I think about it, the sorts of people who showed up there were sort of suspicious!"

"Really? Can you elaborate on that, Detective?" (Is he trying to set someone else up as the culprit? Wouldn't that help the defense? Not that I'm complaining...)

"I remember spotting a whole bunch of grown men and older folks without any kids at the scene. Maybe they had ulterior motives, pal! 'Cause otherwise, what good reason would they have to be watching a kiddie show like..."

A sudden rap on the prosecutor's desk cut the testimony short. "That's enough, Detective."

"Huh? B-but the cross-examination isn't over yet, pal! What about–"

"That's enough, Detective," Edgeworth repeated. "I warned you to withhold your opinions."

Gumshoe had no understanding of the mistake he had made, but he squeezed his eyes shut for fear that his boss's face would have 'paycut' written all over it.

"...The forensic specialist will be able to take over from here," said Edgeworth in a surprisingly softer tone than expected. "You are dismissed."

"Urk... S-sorry, sir..."

Though Gumshoe returned to his seat with his head hung in shame at having disappointed his boss, gratitude soon set in for being relieved of the pressure of testifying about this sensitive event.