The Special Provision for Kira
They were simply waiting. The plan had been set into motion, and there were a mere four hours until the SPK would come face-to-face with Light Yagami—Kira. For all intents and purposes, the case was closed. Tomorrow, he would file a report for Wammy's. But now, Near sat on the floor amidst more paperwork, frowning over incomplete data.
There had been a lot of dead ends with the destruction of L's data upon his demise. If only Near could have access to L's research, this case would have been a cinch. It was stupidly easy as it was, once Light Yagami got too proud. But Near wasn't concerned about Kira right now—now, as he read old newspaper articles from the beginning of the case, a name caught his eye. A name that had never been mentioned by the Task Force, or the SPK, or anyone: Phoenix Wright.
"Who is this man?" Near asked, holding up the newspaper for whoever was closest. Rester took the paper and skimmed through the article. "A well-known attorney, it seems," he replied.
"I can see that. But what is his association with L?"
Rester returned the paper to Near's stack. "What makes you think there's an association?"
But rather than reply, Near shuffled through the newspaper stack again. There was someone else, a contemporary of this Phoenix Wright . . . "And him." His hand shot up with another newspaper.
"Miles Edgeworth?" Gevanni appeared by his side, greedily taking the newspaper. "He's a legend—the demon prosecutor. He never lost a case. Well . . ." He lowered the paper. "Not until Phoenix Wright."
"I would like to speak with them both," Near said. "Coordinate a meeting with them in an hour at the cemetery."
L's grave wasn't something that Near had a desire to visit. But it was strange now, staring at the nameless marker. L shouldn't have been there at all—his body belonged at Wammy's House—but the Task Force had known nothing of the orphanage at the time. Near wondered if Mr. Wammy's grave was nearby, too.
"Near." Rester's voice came loud and clear through the earpiece hidden beneath his hair. "They have arrived, and all entrances have been blocked off. We only have twenty minutes."
"Thank you," Near replied. "That is all I need." Though Near appeared to be the only one at the cemetery, he was not alone. Rester and Halle were several rows back, feigning mourning in their black attire; Gevanni's silhouette was visible through a window in a building across the street. Near looked up; he couldn't see Gevanni's expression from this distance, but he knew that the agent had eyes on him.
Near shuffled around to the next row of graves to watch the attorneys approach.
The one in the blue suit—Phoenix Wright—was counting off the plots, searching for the one Near had instructed they would meet. He could hear him muttering numbers under his breath. Miles Edgeworth, walking beside him, wasn't paying attention. He was looking for something—someone—as Phoenix stopped.
"Here it is," he said.
Edgeworth looked down at the plot. "An unmarked grave?" He frowned, visibly disappointed, as he looked around the cemetery. His gaze swept over near Near, but paid him no mind.
"Interesting," Near mumbled, twirling a strand of hair.
"How are we even supposed to know what he looks like?" Phoenix asked, though Edgeworth didn't reply. He only looked back down at the grave.
"This is . . ."
Phoenix hesitantly placed a hand on his arm—it wasn't consoling; it was stiff and unnatural-looking—but Edgeworth jerked away. To Near's surprise, Edgeworth knelt before the grave. The prosecutor didn't seem the type who would willingly dirty his immaculate-looking suit. Phoenix stood, dumbfounded, as Edgeworth pressed a hand to the freshly-packed dirt.
Near took this opportunity to reveal himself.
"Hello," he said as he approached. Phoenix jumped in surprise, having not noticed him at all, but Edgeworth slowly peered over his shoulder.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice like ice.
"I am L."
Phoenix tumbled backward, holding in his yelp of surprise as he stumbled over his own feet. But Edgeworth calmly stood, brushing the dirt of his knees, and shook his head. "No, you're not."
Near stared at him blankly. "Do you wonder why a public cemetery would have an unmarked grave?"
Phoenix had gathered himself, staring back and forth between the two. "I'm missing something," he whined.
"I met L," Edgeworth said.
"You what?" Phoenix threw up his arms, nearly smacking Near in the head. Near ducked to avoid contact.
"I assure you, Mr. Edgeworth and Mr. Wright, that this investigation will come to a close. Today." Near crossed his arms, having nothing to occupy his hands with. He itched to return to headquarters to distract himself with building—or destroying—one card tower or another. "If you wish, you may contact Wammy's House in Winchester, England, for confirmation of my identity. I have informed them of your names, so there is nothing they will hold back from you."
"Wammy's House . . ." Phoenix wrung his hands. "Ooh, that was in the paper! The founder recently died, didn't he?"
"Yes," Near said, glancing at the unmarked grave. "He did."
Edgeworth slumped. Near could almost see the puzzle in his mind, the pieces interlocking to create the bigger picture. And with each subsequent piece placed, his eyes grew wider. Sweat trickle down his temple and he balled his fists until the knuckles were white. "Kira . . . won?"
"No"—Near shook his head—"Kira did not win. L set the stage for me to complete it. His death was a loss to us all, but it will not be in vain."
Edgeworth nodded, but Phoenix could only stare at his companion in awe. "You met him?!"
"Keep up, Wright!" He turned back to Near. "What do you require of us?"
Near curiously stared at Edgeworth. Not only had this prosecutor met L—something he could not brag about himself—but he also believed that they were called here to help. Phoenix, after straightening his jacket, was the one to catch on.
"He doesn't want anything from us, Edgeworth. He just wanted to meet us."
"But . . ." Edgeworth frowned. "Why?"
It was something Near had asked himself several times, even after Rester had arranged the meeting. Seeing them in person, though, helped to complete the puzzle. He turned to Phoenix. "You had a client at the start of the investigation," he said. "His name was never recorded in the paper. Who was it?"
Phoenix glanced at Edgeworth, as if seeking his approval, but his face only mirrored the same perplexity. "Beyond Birthday."
"That's a name?" Edgeworth cried.
"Who is he?" Phoenix asked Near. "Did you know him?"
"We were never acquainted. But if things had been different, he would be the current L. Not me."
Edgeworth ran a hand through his hair. He appeared to be distressed—had he met Beyond Birthday, too?—but before Near could ask, Edgeworth stared at the grave and sighed. "There are many things that died with him."
Near nodded. "It was planned that way."
The Prosecution
The close of the Kira investigation was not publicized. Phoenix sat on a couch in his office, furiously flipping through a newspaper, while Edgeworth poised on the couch opposite. He had removed his suit jacket, donning only a waistcoat, and slung an arm over the back of the couch to stare out the window. The sidewalks below were bustling with the lunchtime crowd; even from this distance, the people mere pinpricks, it was peaceful. Japan seemed happier.
Edgeworth sighed. Truthfully, he were bored.
"But he told us it would be over!" Phoenix said, throwing the paper on the coffee table.
"It is over," Edgeworth said, still staring out the window. "Can't you tell, Wright? Look at that newspaper. No one's died of a heart attack."
"What if he just went into hiding? What if he killed Near? He could come back!"
Edgeworth shook his head. "He's not coming back."
News of Kira had died down around the prosecutor's office, and there was an unspoken agreement that L had defeated Kira—even if no one besides Edgeworth knew that L's identity had changed. A victory was a victory. Kira's last supposed victim was nearly a month prior. Newspapers tried to pin other deaths on him, but they weren't Kira's style. They were too sloppy and pointless. Edgeworth had been following the case closely, and he knew that it was over. Near—L—had won. Edgeworth knew that he would when Near declared victory in the cemetery, even before he came face-to-face with Kira—with Light Yagami.
Kira's identity hadn't been publicized, but Edgeworth had figured it out. He figured it out long ago, when Light had been talking to Phoenix outside the school. It didn't take much to put the pieces together, but even then he almost didn't believe it. A mere student couldn't be capable of mass murder. He had pushed the suspicion to the back of his mind, confident in L's abilities—and then, the abilities of his successor. To his surprise, and his disbelief, he had been correct all along.
"We're lucky we weren't killed," Edgeworth said.
"Hmm?" Phoenix looked up. "Why do you say that?"
There were a lot of reasons why he said it, but he couldn't admit aloud that he knew who Kira was. Not that he didn't trust Wright, but because it was his secret: His secret with L. "We fight to put people like Kira in jail," he replied. "Our identities aren't exactly a confidential." He picked up the discarded newspaper. "How many times have our names and faces appeared?"
Phoenix stared at the paper, considering the question. Like the answer wasn't obvious. Edgeworth dropped the newspaper to the couch turned back to the window. Neither spoke again until the office door swung open and Maya entered, bringing with her the scent of charbroiled beef.
"Burger time!" she announced, flopping onto the couch beside Phoenix. He reached into the bag for a burger, then peeled off its greasy wrapper. "Mr. Edgeworth?" she said tauntingly, as she held out the bag.
Edgeworth grimaced. He could already feel the grease coating his skin. But he grabbed a napkin, tucked it into his collar, and reached into the bag.
"Know what I saw on the news at the burger joint?" Maya asked, her mouth already full. "L is taking on a new case!"
Edgeworth swallowed a bite of his greasy burger before asking, "the bank robbery?"
"Yes! Isn't it so weird? There was no evidence that the vault was even broken into, but all this money is missing. If anyone can solve it, it's L. Everyone has confidence in him after the Kira case. It's so great."
Phoenix looked up at Edgeworth, who shook his head negligibly.
"This is surprisingly appetizing," Edgeworth said, admiring his half-eaten burger.
"Of course it is!" Maya huffed, tossing a balled-up napkin at him. Edgeworth cried out in mock protest, flinging the napkin back in her direction. Phoenix was breaking out a Styrofoam container of french fries when Edgeworth's cell phone rang.
He wiped his fingers on a napkin before answering. "Miles Edgeworth."
Phoenix and Maya watched him carefully as he nodded, his replies limited to "yes, of course" and "right away" and other phrases that told them absolutely nothing about the matter of the call. He hung up, shoving his last bite of burger into his mouth.
"Edgeworth?" Phoenix said, holding a fistful of french fries.
"I have a case," he said simply, removing his napkin bib. "You may soon as well."
"But . . ." Maya pouted. "Crime is down sixty percent! We haven't had a client in weeks!"
Edgeworth smirked as he stood, throwing on his jacket and straightening his cravat. "Punishment is not always effective, Miss Fey," he said. "A time will come that past sins will have been forgotten and the underworld will reconvene. Even Kira himself will be forgotten."
Maya followed him to the door. "People can never forget Kira! He was the worst!"
Phoenix turned around. "No one had died for weeks, Maya. When people aren't being punished, they think they can get away with anything. But that's why we keep on working, and don't give up."
Edgeworth opened the door, glancing between the two of them before stepping out. "Thank you for lunch, Miss Fey," he said over his shoulder.
"Hey!" Phoenix cried. "I was the one who paid!" Maya flounced back onto the couch and reached for the last burger.
