After his initial moment of lucidity, Apollo was convinced that the universe had run out of mercy for him. Not that it had much to offer in the first place—well, aside from sparing his life—but it seemed to truly relish his despair nowadays, taunting him in ways he could never anticipate. There was the blood loss, which threw him in and out of consciousness whenever it saw fit. The shock from the experience had sapped his appetite, drawing him closer to starvation. Even breathing was hard for some inexplicable reason…something the doctors might've mentioned, but he had missed.

Oh, and there was the pain. Fucking hell, the pain.

He still didn't know how much time had passed. His memories would scatter and sew themselves together repeatedly, leaving him with nothing but patches to go on.

Little snippets of life. Most of them excruciating. Some…bearable.

The only constant was Mr. Wright.

Klavier hadn't exaggerated. No matter the hour, Phoenix was always there. Although, to be fair…the man's presence was usually helpful. More often than not, Apollo would drift off mid-discussion, only to be brought back by Phoenix's reassurance.

"Didn't think you'd leave me hanging."

"Suspense isn't really your style, right?"

"Keep going, kid."

The phrasing was deliberate. Apollo had a hard time realizing if he was about to pass out, but Phoenix's prompts tended to snap him to attention. They'd staved off a few fainting episodes. He was grateful.

Of course, he didn't always appreciate the company.

Morphine wasn't a miracle drug. There were times when he would lie in absolute agony, all curled up and twisting the pillowcase under his clawed grip.

"God," he'd hiss.

He'd bite his tongue for relief. Phoenix would read his face and reach out. The gesture itself was nauseating.

Don't look at me, he'd think.

The best moments were rare. They emerged somewhere between the haze and the pain, lasting no more than a few minutes. The most recent was when Apollo had woken up in a cold sweat, losing his mind with anxiety…right before finding Phoenix sound asleep in the chair beside him.

It was soothing. Sweet. And it wouldn't last, obviously.

Closer inspection revealed three empty coffee cups surrounding the ex-attorney. This wasn't healthy.

"Go home, Mr. Wright," Apollo said, the next day.

Phoenix's calm expression morphed into a worried one. "Are you—?"

"I'm not upset. I just think you need some actual rest." He held up his hands, trying to prevent any protests from breaking out. "Why don't you come back tomorrow? Bring Trucy, too."

Unsurprisingly, Mr. Wright didn't take the suggestion easily. The man rubbed the back of his neck, too troubled to even respond.

"It'll only be a couple hours," Apollo pressed. "You're exhausted."

"That's alright," Phoenix deflected.

"It's not."

"Listen, don't think about—"

"It's stressing me out."

That seemed to get through. Apollo felt a little guilty about the phrasing, but he couldn't keep hiding the truth. Seeing Mr. Wright slowly deteriorate from lack of sleep was destroying his own mental state, and he'd rather fall into a coma than watch any longer.

"Ah. I guess I could tell," Phoenix said. The rueful undertone was covered up with a wry smile. "Although, I've been pretty shortsighted lately."

Apollo looked out the window, chewing the inside of his cheek.

"I really think…you should go."

Soon after, Mr. Wright conceded. The conditions weren't intolerable—the main one being that Klavier would check in every so often—yet Apollo still struggled. Every word between them made things worse. Their relationship had become more strained than ever before.

He felt better when Phoenix left.

Now, he was with Klavier. As promised, the prosecutor swung by following a few hours of mindless daydreaming. The tension was pronounced…not unlike the past, except that it lacked that playful aspect that made their interactions endearing.

"My brother is awake," Klavier informed. The man glanced at Apollo, then offered a quick revision. "Only for short periods of time. I am not sure how long he'll last."

The news had come after five minutes of quiet restlessness. Apollo focused on steadying his hands, hoping not to kill the conversation. "That's a good sign, though."

"He asked if you were alive."

There was a harshness to Klavier's inflection. Apollo kept his voice as even as possible.

"Where is he, anyway?"

"Critical care. As are you."

"You mean he's on this floor?

"Yes, although he is receiving more intensive treatment."

"That makes sense."

Apollo was trying his best to seem nonchalant, but it was difficult to maintain a static expression. His fingers twitched. Klavier immediately scrutinized them.

"I-I wanted to thank you," he stammered, slipping his arms under the sheets. "For, um, talking to me."

He gripped his leg when Klavier gave him a strange look, praying that he wasn't trembling. Having an extremely conspicuous nervous tic was never a fun challenge—rather, it was almost impossible to deal with.

"It was the least I could do, Herr Justice."

Apollo relaxed. Kind of shocking that he'd gotten away with it, but hey…he'd take it.

His hand brushed against his pocket. There was something in it. He shifted, pulling the crumpled paper out of its confines.

"What's that?" Klavier asked, straightening up.

"You don't know?" Apollo said. Klavier shook his head. "Mr. Wright gave it to me when you guys came to my door…"

"I wasn't told."

Hmm. Apollo's bracelet hadn't reacted, so the prosecutor was being honest. Besides, Klavier seemed wary instead of fearful.

Guess he didn't know what Mr. Wright was planning.

He ironed out the creases with his palm, then held the paper out. Impeccable penmanship marred by dark splotches.

"It's from Kristoph when he was in solitary," he explained.

The handwriting was exact. Not to mention the fact that his own bloodstains lined the edge of the page.

He noticed Klavier's face. Yeah, best not to bring that up.

"I can leave if you'd like to read it," Klavier offered. The man looked everywhere but the letter, as if resisting the urge to snatch it out of Apollo's hands.

"No, I think you should stay. Come closer."

Apollo swung the letter in front of Klavier, inviting him to grasp the (relatively clean) side of it.

"Herr Justice, I'm not sure if I should…"

"Honestly, I think we both ought to take a look."

The insistence, coupled with another second of patience, finally pushed Klavier to lean in. They shared the letter between them.

o-o-o

To my dear, obsessive apprentice, Apollo Justice,

Pity has overwhelmed my pride. After weeks of watching Wright doubt your true personality, I have decided to confess. Consider this a form of lingering compassion.

Poor Mr. Justice. You remain unaware of Wright's deep distrust. He will deny it, of course. Yet I have seen it. He fears what you have become in my absence.

Initially, your beloved new excuse for a "mentor" visited only to question my motivations. Over time, he began to question you. I would ask him how you fared. He would grow more hesitant with each answer. Despite his staunch defense, I sensed that you were struggling under his wing.

You must miss me. After all, I created you.

Lonely and eager to please. You were easy to influence. Do you remember? With just a fraction of my attention, you did everything I asked. The home you were denied was built in my office.

When I noticed your tendencies, I decided that you should remain reliant on me. You never questioned my methods. The high standards I imposed on your work made you want to please me more. The games we played challenged your judgement until you were left unsure of yourself. As for your growing anxiety…I reinforced it such that you would feel nervous speaking to anyone other than myself. Wound up tight, weren't you? I was kind enough to point it out.

Now, you are alone. I was the only one who kept you grounded.

Without me, you've become afraid of yourself. You don't trust your thoughts. You shy away from others, forever apprehensive. Paranoid and withdrawn, just as I'd intended.

You are nothing without my approval.

I had planned to let you dissolve. Unfortunately, Wright recognized the behaviors ingrained within you. I expect him to force you to change. Perhaps you will.

Or perhaps, you will not. Enjoy your newfound awareness, Justice. I suspect it will break you.

I look forward to seeing you soon.

Kristoph Gavin

o-o-o

Apollo knew when Klavier had gotten through because the second he was done, he let go of the page as if the ink was set with poison.

Maybe it was. If not the ink, the text itself had a caustic quality, crafted solely to sink under the recipient's skin. Apollo scanned it once more. Klavier was speechless.

"He wanted to control me," Apollo concluded. He folded the letter into neat quarters, setting it to the side. "I guess it worked."

Klavier ripped his gaze from the offending paper, eyes wild with a mix of concern and revulsion. "You're not—"

"Not anymore. I was, though, and that's okay." Apollo laced his hands together, resting his chin on his fingers. "I wonder why Mr. Wright gave me this."

The contents of the letter didn't surprise him. Knowing how Kristoph used to be, he wouldn't have expected anything less. The veiled insults and vague threats were a sign of total distress. A last-ditch effort to prevent him from moving on.

Except, if Mr. Wright's visits had spurned this…it couldn't have been out of pure fear. He would have received a similar letter without Phoenix's involvement if that was the case.

Seems like Kristoph was pressured to write this.

Then why was it kept secret in the first place?

"What do you think, Klavier?" he said. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out the reason. "I had no idea this even existed. Then, right before he accuses me, Mr. Wright hands it over. Isn't that weird?"

"Er…yes," Klavier admitted. "Perhaps you could ask him?"

"Probably."

They stewed in the ensuing silence, fixated on the odd situation.

Klavier sighed.

"Herr Wright was convinced that you wanted to confront Kristoph," he said.

Apollo scoffed. "Too bad it was the other way around."

"Yes, but if that was his thought…this would have deterred you, no?"

"How?"

The uneasiness Klavier exhibited showed that he was onto something. Apollo waited for a reply.

"You would question your motives. Whether it was for revenge, or…"

Even though Klavier trailed off, Apollo was able to fill in the blanks.

An obsession.

Kristoph's address was fitting. The letter claimed that he'd been trained to chase after his ex-mentor's praise, even after breaking away. If Phoenix had been right, and he'd been out for vengeance, then…this would reduce him to nothing but a persistent Pavlov dog, yearning for his master.

"Learned behavior," he said, tilting his head. "Kristoph influenced my whole personality."

Klavier crossed his arms. "Do you think so?"

"Yes."

The conviction behind his answer brought with it a somber atmosphere. He watched Klavier conceal a frown.

"You don't get it. I kept trying to connect with him," Apollo justified. "I thought I was going insane."

"You were under pressure."

"No, I—"

"Please, Herr Justice."

Apollo ran a hand through his hair and shuddered. Compulsions, compulsions, compulsions…

I'm still hanging on.

"I have to see him to find out. What room is he in?"

A flicker of vexation crossed Klavier's face. "Are you joking?"

"Dead serious." Apollo plucked the letter off the bed and waved it in the air, his nails scraping along the dried blood. Why wasn't it clear that this was a good thing? The loathing he felt for himself finally had a goddamn source. "I need to talk to him."

Klavier stood up, seizing the paper from his fingers.

"You're proving his point," the prosecutor argued.

"I have a reason."

"He said you were dependent on him."

"It's not that! It's…" He held his head, wishing that it'd burst open and put him out of his misery. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault. "He made me this way. We're the same—"

"You are nothing like him!"

Apollo flinched. Klavier, caught up in the exclamation, tossed the letter on the ground. Soft, foreign curses escaped him.

Anger eventually faded to exasperation.

"Justice. I apologize," Klavier said, at last. He inhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I…have disturbed your recovery."

Although the regret was genuine, the man's gaze had gone cold. Apollo wrung his bracelet, suppressing the urge to stare at the paper on the floor.

"Why did you react like that?" he murmured.

Klavier's contrition was apparent, but that's not what he cared for. There was fear in that outburst. Clear, ruthless fear.

"Why?" he repeated.

The tenuous peace was broken by a shaky breath.

"For years, he…manipulated me," Klavier said. "I could never imagine you doing the same."

Neglect made an impact.

"Kristoph cared about you," Apollo divulged. It wouldn't fix things in the slightest. Still, it might be better if he said it. "He told me he missed you, before he jumped."

It was no use. Klavier turned away, ignoring his words.

"Forgive me, Apollo. I can't help you."