A/N: Well, I was in such a rush to update after the hiatus that I forgot to post up my link to my FaceBook page! (Well, since it won't let me post the link... it's the url + 3905967WishMaker7)

So, basically this will be an insider's look into me, WishMaker7. It'll show some ideas that I had, teasers/spoilers, the little world I've created for my OCs (eventually), and, well, me... as a human being. So, if anyone's fan enough to be interested (and I won't be offended if you're not), you can go ahead and like the page. (It'll be showing some ideas for the upcoming sequel }:3)

Uhm... about the delay... yeah, I kinda had to merge chapters 9 and 10 into one... and that's why this took me such a long time. I was playing around and seeing if I could fit it all into two chapters, but they were both so short... and chapter 10 was kinda pointless and fit into chapter 9 better. So I had to rearrange things, rewrite things... all that mess... it was terrible... :'C

I should probably stop apologizing... because I hope you can guess that I'm horribly sorry at this point... and can forgivez me... (jeez, I feel worse for my MMW people) ;.;

Chapter Nine: Too Late for the Truth

Gavin Household

July 28, 2027—2:02AM

Fear surged through Klavier in waves. Every motion made by his possessed body only filled him with a worse feeling of dread; he was watching his world fall apart, and was too afraid, and violated, to even move. His only hope held in one man: Phoenix Wright. He was the sole character to see Kristoph's mishaps, so perhaps he saw this man parading himself as his brother. And, judging by the way the older threw Klavier's handcrafted vase across the room, he wasn't too happy about the prospect.

"Damnit all… Damnit all!" The deceased growled, his instinct of cleanliness forcing the blonde's body to unconsciously grab a dustpan and broom, cleaning the now-mess as he ranted, "What part of me can't understand my own little brother's mannerisms? It's as if I haven't been in contact with him all my life! This is… worse than ridiculous… a blemish that is inexcusable…!" The older blonde growled inside of the younger's body, "I can only hope that that buffoon saw nothing…" He chuckled slightly after tossing the shards of ceramic in the trash. "Well, I suppose there is a bright side to this; after all, I finally get to play around. Pity that the trial was such a useless bother."

Despite his fear, the implications of a man—a sinister man at that—being in control of his body planning to 'play around' did not sit well with Klavier. As Kristoph exited the Control Room (again for reasons unknown; Klavier, at this point, had assumed that it was because Kristoph tired in such an unfamiliar body), the younger blonde wasted no time in pinning the older against the wall with a sort of renewed courage, fueled by concern for his friends, his ceruleans piercing into his brother's. "You…! What is it that you're going to 'play around?' What do you want—what are you planning?"

Kristoph chuckled back lightheartedly, mockingly. "Oh, Klavier, what is this? twenty questions? Oh, kleinen bruder, it's so cute to see you struggle like this. You're fighting so hard; trying so desperately to make your screams and fighting known by pounding away at the door separating us? It's funny how you only seem to gain your strength when others are concerned. Fine," His voice grew into the bitter, cold seriousness that Kristoph was known for. "I suppose it'd up the ante a bit to tell you—make it a bit more fun."

"What is with you and fun suddenly?" Klavier asked, the brother within him unconsciously rising. "Kristoph and fun usually aren't in the same sentence."

"Well now, Klavier; I'm dead, is all. If I get caught, well, who cares? Now," He removed himself from his brother's loosed grip. "Sit down, I suppose. It's much information, and it might be too much for your legs to stand on." With a wave of a hand, a sofa appeared against the wall opposite that which held the door to the Control Room, allowing for the prosecutor to, if not suspiciously at first, sit down. Kristoph seated himself next to him. "You see, brother, have you ever wondered why I was put on death row? Even before the realization that I killed Drew Misham and Shadi Enigmar? Don't you ever wonder who was the little rat that figured it all out first, hm?" Klavier recoiled slightly as the man hissed out. "Do you ever wonder, kleinen bruder? The one who killed me… was you."

The blonde's eyes widened, his disbelieving ceruleans wild. "Wh…What…? N-Nein…! That… That is impossible!" Those same blue eyes began to well in tears. "I didn't… I couldn't have been the reason for your death!"

"Well let's think about it: had you held yourself still during that trial, I would have continued to have a life sentence for one murder, yet I was killed for two. The second only having brought itself to light because of you." The younger blonde's lips quivered, as if he was trying so desperately to say something, yet his throat held back his choked cries. "And so, Klavier, this is all for you. This whole to-be fiasco is for you." The man's pleasant voice grew predatory and, for the first time, angry. His venomous words spat from his lips. "I was killed because of my own little brother! I gave you one secret to keep, and you paraded it all through the courtroom when you finally pieced it all together, didn't you? Well, brother, this is all for you. I will take down every single last man, woman and child you dare to deem important in your life. I will kill them one by glorious one. You will hear their screams. You will hear their cries, and they will never know it was little Kristoph all along, will they? They'll only know it as his brother, his mind so far gone from the reality that his brother is truly dead, and his boyfriend having betrayed him all over again—and atop that, all at once!—and you, in your insanity, will kill each of those that you felt were responsible for my death and his life sentence: Phoenix Wright," His voice grew slick in a sort of suave expectation, "And Apollo Justice." It grew predatory once more after its purpose was served in drawing importance to that name—to that man. "And who knows? Even perhaps the whole Wright family! You're insane, after all. Maybe if I'm in a good mood, poor Trucy and Miles can pile on with the dead!" He chuckled darkly. "And what better way to end it all than for you to die by the hands of the poison that took the life of Drew Misham, and nearly your own—the poison that sent me to death… what better way to die than by an atroquinine kiss, hm? Swirling in the guilt and gravity that you killed your best friends—you're no longer better than your brother was, you were just like him, and now the lives of at least two people were lost because of it. So you'll take that goddamned nail polish and take the whole thing. 'Atroquinine, My Love, one last kiss, send to the grave,' is that how it goes in your song, little brother?"

The younger blonde's cerulean eyes were small with fear and shock. "Y-You wouldn't… You wouldn't dare…"

It seemed as though the older did not see such a response coming, throwing his deceased head back in uncontrollable laughter. "Klavier… do you not see where we are?" His arms motioned around the Waiting Room. "If I hadn't the guts to kill those dearest to you, then why do you think I would have the guts to possess my own little brother's body?" Before the existing could respond, Kristoph pushed on. "No, brother, I have every means and every motive to do this. And, in the scenario that the police will look at after finding your cold, dead body, so, too, will you have."

Not quite at grips with the magnitude of exactly what was to become of his body, Klavier's denying mind at least realized that something terrible was going to happen. And, all at once, reality snapped into his head with a single scenario: Kristoph was going to kill Apollo. With that single thought seared into his mind, Klavier charged at his brother, tears streaming from his eyes from the betrayal, and pinned Kristoph to the wall with a strength he never knew he possessed. Simultaneously, and in a sort of panic, Kristoph pressed a finger to Klavier's forehead, reawakening another memory, and giving the deceased the opportunity to release himself as the younger Gavin collapsed, the unlatching lock of the reminiscence like a thousand knives etching into his brain.

"I suppose you never knew anything of our past, ja? So you never knew our mother…" Kristoph scoffed a wry laugh. "But even if you did keep all of those dark memories, how could you remember her?"

The seeing eyes peeked cautiously from between the railings of a staircase, of the same household that Klavier had been in, in the flashback previously. Screaming was passed between a man and a woman just beyond the staircase, cut off by a wall. The argument was taking place in the kitchen, no doubt. Judging by the sharp pants, the child was young. He dared to wander closer as he readjusted the glasses on his nose. "You can't keep putting me through all of this stress, Klaus! Please…" The woman's voice was not so angry; rather, it was afraid, worried. It held no authority. "You can't do this, Klaus. Please, I don't know how much longer I can keep this baby if you keep stressing me the way you do."

An older voice—a man's voice—responded. The sound itself made the narrating boy shudder. "And what if I don't want you to keep that baby, Klaire? What if I told you that one nuisance is enough in this household, hm? What if I told you that all of the extra stress was deliberate? Since you don't want to abort the damned thing, I just have to find a way to make sure the thing doesn't make it out."

"K-Klaus…! You can't do this…! This… This is far more than horrid! First you attempt to beat Kristoph, now you want to kill our baby? You… You're a monster!"

"And what if I am, dearest? Why is it that you succeed in being Kristoph's shield for, oh, I don't know, two years or so, and you still haven't left, hm? Oh, I know why: because I'm the worst kind of monster, Klaire. I'm the kind of monster that knows your weaknesses. I know you need my money. But, oh, what's this? you have to live under all of my rules like I'm some sort of ruthless dictator. And I'm the sort of monster that seems like such a gentleman on any other occasion, and you're powerless to stop me, no?"

"Klaus… why…? Why do you do these things to me?"

"Isn't it obvious? It's because you brought that little zit into the world, and now you want to bring in another?" There was a pause of silence. "Klaire…? K-Klaire? What's going on?!" There was a cry; it was unknown to the boy whether it was a cry for help, or a cry of pain. All he knew was that these sorts of things were normal, so he waited a few moments. He waited to see his mother emerge from the kitchen and walk him back upstairs.

But it never happened.

"Klaire?! Klaire, wake up! What's going on, woman?! Wake up." The boy only felt it necessary at that moment, with the intelligence of childhood, to see if his mother was alright himself. "No… damnit all, Klaire! What sort of karma is this…!?"

Kristoph's feet lightly padded over to the kitchen, but paused slightly at a soft crying—a baby's crying. With this, he entered the kitchen. There, his mother lay, her eyes glazed over, her position awkwardly collapsed onto the floor. Her dress was stained slightly with blood and there, laid aside from her bloodstained underwear, was a small baby in the Gavin father's hands. "Daddy…? What's wrong… with mom?"

The man did not look at his older son. "Kristoph… go upstairs, now. This isn't something you should see."

"He didn't name you until you were three years old, Klavier." Kristoph sighed, his voice rather defeated as the younger blonde's petrified eyes met his brother's. "You never enrolled in school; you were homeschooled. He made sure you had no contact with the outside world. He wanted to punish you… and perhaps our mother. That's why you have all of your talents, Klavier, because you were always home. Your mind was so virgin to everything around you… your imagination was magnificent, if only because you hadn't known what reality was." His face made an undesirable twitch. "You took my mother away, Klavier."

The younger Gavin was defeated. "I… I'm sorry, Kristoph… I never knew—"

Kristoph's persona changed drastically; he shouted out inconceivable rage. "You took our mother away and left me to fend off that hideous man, Klavier! You made me face the world alone! You took away the only angel that watched over me… and made yourself out to be some sort of one. And atop that—and I'll never understand—I had to protect my mother's murderer." Judging by the venom held fiercely in Kristoph's voice, the 'murderer' was Klavier. "You know, he made sure everyday that you knew exactly the price you paid for living. He would always 'price' you for living in that house under his care… like you were some sort of tenant rather than his child. He made you do all of your… prostitution to pay off your 'debt' for living in that house. That's the only way he could make it make sense to you. I know he never meant those things… but he realized your value from the beginning. He thought you could have some worth, despite the fact that you killed your own mother."

Klavier could hold himself back no longer. "I can't control destiny, Kristoph; I'm not God! I'm not even sure God could have changed what happened… Sure I never knew our mother, but that doesn't mean I never wanted to, let alone wanted to kill her! It was never my decision, Kristoph! It's not like I came into this world, in her womb, wanting to kill her from the get-go! Shouldn't all of this be blamed on our father? He was the one who stressed her so badly, right? So why is it that I get blamed?!" The blonde now found himself overcome with tears. "I never wanted to kill her… I never wanted her to die…" Kristoph hissed disgustedly at his mother's 'murderer.' With a fleeting, venomous glance, the older blonde returned to the Control Room, leaving Klavier's cerulean eyes to overcome with clear tears.

Edgeworth Manor

July 28, 2027—7:04AM

"I… I just don't know, Phoenix. Perhaps it's because of what we've discussed before," Miles murmured gravely, his voice less serious due to tire. He had been up all night with paperwork, only the bitter taste and aroma of coffee to keep him awake. And as such, without a lover to be there in the bed, Phoenix, too, was awakened, due to worry of his husband's condition, as well as another's.

"Well, it just doesn't make sense. First he was reserved, then he was fine, then he was reserved again, then he was fine again, and now he's just plain unprofessional! He used the kind of unconventional methods that I was known for—and ridiculed! And atop that, he didn't even have his euro-rock star flair, either! The wall-slam, the slang terms, hell! even his accent seemed… forced. It wasn't even like his usual habitual self to slam his fist against the wall… it's like he had to think about it! When does Klavier ever have to think to slam his fist against the wall?"

"Phoenix…" Miles muttered, his mind lost in its logic-bound thought. He held onto that word for a while, buying his time to think. Finally, he resumed, "Despite the fact that Klavier is a very strong young man… he isn't invincible. Who knows? Perhaps he's crumbling from the inside out… imploding on himself. What if… What if he is depressed? And what if, due to his fear of looking weak—Klavier always wanted to look strong, like a leader—what if he was trying to find the best mask for all of his pain? What if he is trying to put on a different face… and see which one we would like?" Phoenix gasped softly at the thought, seating himself in a chair as his husband continued, "What if he didn't like how people thought of his 'rocker' attitude… and he, being terribly considerate, decided that since he was offending others—and thereby regretting it himself—he would change himself… completely?"

"Maybe. I remember the day his brother was executed. Klavier was still smiling, as usual. It seems like that kid has a lot more demons than he's letting on." Miles shook his head with a small whimper as Phoenix's reality made itself known. "And I feel so bad for you too, Miles; you raised the kid like your own… only to return to see him like this… But I can only wonder why he feels he has to change himself. Who did he exactly offend?"

"Well, I'm not so sure I'm the best person to discuss this with, Phoenix. After all, I haven't seen him in nine years; I don't know what he's like. He doesn't strike me as offensive, however, so who do you believe he's changing for?" The cherry wine prosecutor knit his eyebrows, disappointed in himself for not yielding more advice.

Phoenix, too, knit his eyebrows (combing back that stubborn lock of hair again), his mind lost in thought. Yes, why? Why would Klavier… slowly kill himself like this? What's happened—or even is happening—to scar him into being this way…? Who would he change himself completely for—The reality piled onto the cobalt attorney's mind far too quickly. "Apollo…"

"I'm sorry? Speak up, sweetheart; I can't hear you."

"He's changing… because of Apollo…"

"What? Is the attorney too good for him? Is he upset that he keeps losing to him?"

Phoenix chuckled wryly at his husband's confusion. "No, Miles… he's changing for Apollo because he loves him." With the look of confusion sketched across the prosecutor's face, Phoenix continued, "I can see these sorts of signs, Miles. Hell, you gave them to me before I figured them out!" The latter blushed, with a shift in eye contact, in response. "Look, I know he loves him, and he isn't the sort of person that would hide it. But Apollo is. Apollo is… too afraid to admit it, but I know he loves Klavier too… Klavier's probably changing so much because he probably asked Apollo out… and Apollo, in turn, was too afraid to admit he loved him too… maybe because he doesn't realize it himself."

"But he needs to." Miles asserted.

"But he needs to… and I'll go ahead and tell him a little later."

The rival prosecutor rose, resting a hand on his husband's shoulder with a sigh. "No Phoenix, he needs to know now. I don't think Klavier's sanity can wait. If it's as bad as you say, he doesn't have much time…"

Gavin Household

July 28, 2027—8:09AM

"Who is it, brother?" Were the first words that spilled angrily from the younger Gavin's mouth upon the elder's return.

"And what could you mean by that, kleinen bruder?" Kristoph murmured, rather annoyed.

"Who's your first… victim?" Klavier managed, despite the implications of such a horrid word.

"Oh, Klavier. Such a foolish thing to ask a murderer—"

"—Who also happens to be my brother. You know I have no power in the matter; I might as well know." The younger blonde sneered.

The elder scoffed, amused by his brother's irritation. "I suppose that I can tell you one thing: it will not be your beloved Apollo. Not yet, anyway. I felt that the sting of his death should linger last, no?" He crossed behind his brother, gripping one of his wrist and pulling his head back by his hair. His condescension ghosted along Klavier's nose as he spoke. Klavier, however, could only think of the sickening acts he played part in only a short time ago, and his position only brought panic. "And what a thrill that would be, ja? You, you're mind too far gone—having killed Phoenix and possibly various others—disregarding that poor boy's pleas as he begs for your mercy, and perhaps your love, if only out of fear. And you won't have it. You'd just drive a knife through his still-beating heart, wouldn't you?"

"Kristoph, stop…" The words began to torment him. "Please… Please say no more…!"

"Fine then," Kristoph then took the opportunity, whilst he was positioned behind his brother to place a rough kiss on his protesting lips. "Would you rather know more about this horrendous past you managed to escape?" Klavier made to object—either from rejection of wanting to know more, or from shock of the physicality—yet he was cut off. "Good," And without the chance to protest, Kristoph tapped his brother's forehead once again, the rest being very imminent as Klavier cried. "And since I'm regrettably running out of ideas, I suppose I'll start with where your memory regained…"

"Wait—! What's the point if I already know…?!"

"To distract you. I need the time, my meddlesome little brother." And, as if the beginning of a fairytale, Kristoph narrated, "Once upon a time, there was a boy on his way to piano practice across the street from his house. What the boy failed to realize, though, was that there was a mob passing through that day, and they were relentless—oh, were they ever relentless. They didn't even seem to notice the innocent boy passing by, and one had begun to think the boy a protester. So, like many other testosterone-spiked males, the man knocked the boy upside the head with what? a two-by-four? Something along those lines. Nonetheless, the boy was soon found unconscious by a man who had come to Germany for studies, finding the area where he was to study completely engulfed in chaos. But there, just as he was to leave, he saw a young figure, unconscious—to which he had presumed him dead—and took him to the nearest shelter, in hopes of reviving him. And this, my dear brother, is where your story begins:"

2018

Men and women ran amok beside the teen. His head felt as though it were split open as a few of these men and women stood beside him, speaking words to one another in a language he could not understand. It was as if they were trying to speak with him, but alas, he could not respond. Every moment the boy flitted into consciousness, these people attempted to converse with him again, but to no avail.

Finally, after the blonde was about to slip back out of consciousness, words—German words that he could understand—echoed from the halls. "Leave the boy alone; he's too disoriented and afraid for your mindless shouts in words he cannot comprehend." The blonde craned his head up with effort to meet the eyes of the man he could understand, yet his terribly-weakened body would not allow it. Before long, a man stood there, his hair a charcoaled gray—not quite dark enough to be called black. He leaned over the dazed teen, comforting him. "It's alright, little one, they're American; they don't understand that you're afraid… or that you can't speak English." He rested a hand on the adolescent's. "Just squeeze my hand, alright? Squeeze it as hard as you can until you can't anymore."

The teen, although weak, was very fearful. "Am I… going to die…?"

"No, no, dear boy. You're only hurting right now. Don't panic; just keep squeezing my hand. It'll be alright." The teen fixed his gaze on the man who understood him as his grip weakened and his eyesight began to grow fuzzy. "Wait… are you alright, little one? Hello? Hello? No—" He began to shout words to the crowd before him in a language, presumably English, that the teen could not could not understand as his consciousness faded as his hand slipped from the older man's.

The walls were white and nurses bustled about the area. The blonde's head ached terribly, and there were many devices hooked in his body, seemingly giving him life. As the teen tried to recall exactly what happened to him, nothing came, and that nothingness frightened him. Fearful, he instead tried to recall the simplest thing: his name.

As he tried so desperately, he did not seem to notice a man appearing in the doorway, worry sketched upon his face. As he approached the teen's bedside, the teen was still trying to find a name—only worrying him more that he could not—and did not seem to notice the man. "Hello, little one." Although he most certainly did not look German, the man's German was very fluent, and it deceived the blonde for a moment.

The teen flinched for a moment due to the sudden voice so close. However, the fluency of the German made him peek his head up curiously. "Are you… my father…?"

The older man was taken back. "N-No, child, I'm not; you see, we found you on the street, unconscious, and we felt it only obligatory to get you some medical help."

The adolescent blonde then realized it was the man from before. "Why…? You said already not my father; you didn't have to."

"Well, let's just say that your father isn't… able to take care of you anymore." The man put a hand on the younger's forehead. "You took some serious damage to your head, little one. You… probably can't remember much."

"So… you're not my father…?"

"No, I'm not." The man cleared his throat. "I'm Miles, by the way. Miles Edgeworth."

The teen knit his eyebrows. "Edgeworth… And I am?"

The question disheartened Miles. "You… You are Klavier Gavin."

Klavier seemed to study that name for a while. Sure, he knew that 'Klavier' meant 'piano,' but his mind never would have conjured 'Gavin.' And surely he wouldn't seriously be named after an instrument. "Oh… I have a pretty name."

"You do indeed." Miles smiled a bit, his heart still sunk by Klavier's simple actions. "Would you like me to tell you more about yourself?"

The teen wavered. "I'm… not sure… I guess so."

"Alright. Your name is Klavier Gavin, and you are sixteen years old. Your birthday, in fact, was only a few days ago. Your only known relative is in America right now. His name is Kristoph, and he's your older brother of eight years. We're sending you there now, because it's unsafe to keep you here by yourself." The man, Miles, knit his eyebrows in sympathy. "But it's been difficult to find him. So… I'll take care of you for now, I suppose. Take a few weeks off of prosecuting. Well, perhaps not…"

"So… you're going to adopt me?"

The cherry wine prosecutor's expression recoiled in shock. "N-No! I… I couldn't possibly raise you as my child… I'm only twenty-six, after all. But… until we can find your brother, Kristoph, I suppose you will be some sort of relation to me."

"So, if you're twenty-six… how old am I, again?" The teen averted eye contact with the older man, embarrassed.

"You're freshly sixteen." Miles began to mutter to himself, still unconsciously in German. "So, now that I have this little one in tow with me… what am I supposed to do…?"

A solution came from simple curiosity from the younger male. "Maybe… I can watch you prosecute? Would that be alright? I know you don't want to lose money by not working and taking care of me… so I'll watch you."

"And perhaps learn some English, while you're at it." The two chuckled. "You have a long way to go, Klavier, but I'll try and help you to the best of my abilities."

Gavin Household

July 28, 2027—3:57AM

Kristoph had made quite the progress in the apparent two hours that Klavier had been forcefully reminiscing. He was smiling warmly at Klavier when the younger Gavin awoke. "You see, it took about four months for you to find me. And in another sixteen, you'd be battling Phoenix Wright. You'd studied law quite vigorously in your captivity, and learned many things about it, fascinating you. By the time you reached high school, Father had allowed you to enter a public school, where you learned all of the necessary tools to become a prosecutor later on in America at the astonishing age of seventeen. But, you intended to be a defense attorney, like your brother, yet, after watching Miles Edgeworth, and adoring his work, you decided to switch to a prosecutor, and learned all the necessities to become one yourself. He also taught you much more English than the next man would in those short four months. He kept in contact with you until your battle with Phoenix, to which he'd become so internationally famous that he didn't have time for you. It's astounding how much information you can retain, brother; I envy that about you. You'd absorbed so much English in a single year that you were so eloquent in it in your battle."

The younger blonde was unsure of how to respond, his brother's normalcy disturbing him. "Um… thanks?"

Kristoph leaned nearer to his brother. "Oh and, by the way Klavier, you might want to start protesting now; I've chosen my first victim." And before the younger could make his imminent protest, the older Gavin seemingly strutted off to his place in the Control Room, his low chuckles turning into violent cackles as he disappeared from Klavier's view.

A/N: Yeah... lots of short, choppy scenes. ...This is my crap chapter, I'm sorry; I'm just not that into it. Atop all that, this is a merge of two chapters that were absolutely terrible, so I had to make up for it by completely deleting those two chapters—which demolished my motivation to write the chapter—and restarting. After a while, it just kinda got painful to write.

I already have another idea for a story pushing my KlaviPollo motivation out the window...! ;.; I hate it, cuz I want to be loyal to my fans... and then when I realized I didn't update for a month because of this new idea and because of homework, and partly because of pure laziness, I hate myself for it... so now I hope you all can forgive me, and I'll try to be as loyal as I can possibly be...