[October 19th, 12:08 pm, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 4]

Robin woke up and shouted, throwing his hands forward like he had breached the surface of an infinite sea.

"Whoa! Easy, big fella," he felt Anna holding his chest down.

"Anna…?" he muttered sleepily, "I… The trial! What happened to the trial?!"

"It's fine," Anna kept the pressure applied to his midsection, "The judge suspended the trial when you keeled over. Doctors say you're okay, but you're luck you didn't hit your head on anything too solid. Not that there was much worth saving up there to begin with."

"I can't believe," he rasped, his mouth feeling full of cotton, "I didn't think…"

"Neither did I," the redhead frowned at him, "I mean, I always had it in the back of my mind, but when the first two trials came and went, I thought things had changed."

The attorney looked down, "So did I. I guess they haven't."

Anna noticed the remark and grabbed his shoulder, "Hey, c'mon now! A little fainting spell is no excuse to let yourself sputter out. You've still got a little girl and her mom—who, I might add, is your former employer's daughter—out there to help."

"I know, but," he paused again, "I just don't know what more to do. I felt so useless in that moment, and then, all of a sudden… everything came back. I haven't progressed so much as a day."

"Robin, enough. It happened. The best thing you can do is get back on your feet—carefully—and finish this trial," the redhead sighed, "Plus, I'm gonna feel like crap until I see you up and at 'em again, so…"

At once, the door to the defendant lobby opened, and a young man with glasses stepped in and looked Robin over. Behind him, Morgan and Eirika also walked up to the attorney. Morgan hurried to place herself directly at his side, opposite Anna, "Mr. LeBlanc! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," he groaned, "I'm just sorry you had to see that, Morgan. I'm supposed to be taking care of your defense, standing tall up there, and you had to watch me collapse, speechless. I'll understand if your confidence in me is more than a little shaken by now."

"I wouldn't say that," she shook her head, "I'm just confused. What happened?"

"I… to be honest, I got scared. It's happened to me before, but it varies in severity. I haven't had an attack like that since…" the attorney paused and saw Eirika Verlaine in his periphery, "…In a very long time. Long enough that I thought I was over it. I was just panicked in the moment, and my body wouldn't listen to me. Ms. Verlaine, I'll understand if you want me off your daughter's defense."

"Do you think that's what my father would say?"

"What? No, but I'm not Fado Verlaine, I'm just—"

"Just the partner to whom he bequeathed everything?"

"Partner… I don't think that's the right term."

"Well, whatever you want to call it, my dad clearly thought there was something to you. Do you want to be the one to prove him wrong, in front of his own daughter, no less?"

"Of course not, but—"

"'But' nothing! Get up and get back to it, then."

"That's what I was saying," Anna folded her arms.

Robin sighed, They don't understand. I appreciate their help, but it's not so simple. This shadow that's followed me all my life… What happens when my confidence breaks down again? When the words don't come out and the judge isn't feeling so lenient? I couldn't bear to fail anyone like that.

"Mr. LeBlanc," Robin turned his head back to the girl at his bedside, "I've seen you in your other trials. You think so clearly about things… maybe you should just stop worrying about the trial and think about the problem. Once you think it through, then I know that you can solve this!" At this thought, the girl smiled and pumped her fists.

Not bad advice, honestly. And she's the one I'm supposed to be helping. Argh! I can't stand being so useless! Even if it kills me, I have to get back in there, to help her! Robin acknowledged. "Hm. Thanks, Morgan. I guess if I'm going to go down in this trial, I had better go down swinging." The attorney sat up on the sofa and slowly lifted himself to his feet.

The bailiff trotted over, "Is Mr. LeBlanc prepared to continue the trial?"

The doctor who had walked in nodded both at Robin and the bailiff. Robin also nodded, "I'm ready." Thanks to a few good pep talks.

"Very good," said the bailiff, "I'll inform His Honor and the trial will reconvene shortly."

"Thank you," Robin saw him off, "And thank all of you, too. Ms. Verlaine, Morgan, I still have a lot of doubts, but if you place your trust in me, I suppose I simply can't let you down. And Anna…"

She looked up, twiddling her fingers inconspicuously.

"I really appreciate you coming down here."

"Are you kidding? I heard you had keeled over and I rushed right into—uh, I mean… I couldn't very well leave you all by your lonesome like that, could I?"

"I guess not," he smiled, "still, thanks."

"Sure."

"I doubt Prosecutor Reed is going to be kind," Eirika noted, "Do you think you're ready to face that again?"

"I do. I've got a new strategy, after all," he nodded.

"What's that?" Eirika cocked an eyebrow.

"I'm going to follow someone's good advice," the attorney faced the door.

[October 19th, 12:18 pm, District Court-Courtroom No. 4]

The members of the gallery and jury trickled in noisily until the judge rapped his gavel on his bench a few times calling for order. When the noise filtered out, the judge eyed the young attorney before him, "Court will now reconvene for the trial of Morgan Cassidy. Mr. LeBlanc, I'm told you had medical attention following your fainting spell."

"Yes, Your Honor," he nodded as confidently as he could force himself to appear, "I apologize to the court for that disturbance—I have an unfortunate history of succumbing to fainting spells."

"I see," the judge surmised, stroking his long beard thoughtfully, "I'm sorry to hear that. I would hope that it doesn't happen again."

"It won't, Your Honor," Robin shook his head, "I was panicked for a moment, but my head is clear now. I'll have no further difficulty completing this trial, and I thank Your Honor for extending me the courtesy of having the opportunity."

The judge smiled, "I think you will go quite far with that attitude, Mr. LeBlanc. Quite far. Now, I believe you were in the middle of a cross-examination…?"

"He was at the end of one," Lloyd Reed corrected the judge, "I find your 'sudden' fainting spell quite convenient, Mr. LeBlanc."

"You can attack me all you want, Mr. Reed," Robin replied, "the issue at hand is the guilt or innocence of Ms. Cassidy."

"And am I to assume that you've magically found some new evidence with which to present the court that assures the defendant's innocence?"

"Not exactly. I don't have new evidence to present, but I have been given a long period of time to consider the evidence presented thus far, and I'm struck by something interesting."

Lloyd smiled, "Oh, now this is rich. Please, do tell."

Robin folded his arms, "Let's consider what we know. The murder occurred on an evening wherein Morgan Cassidy and all of her friends would be attending a performance featuring Inigo Morales, another friend. They all knew each of them was going to be present. Next, the victim was a member of the circle of friends. Thirdly, entered into evidence was not one but two student-issued jackets with the victim's blood on them. Fourth, one of the jackets, the one not worn by the defendant, was thrown in the trash and contained a photograph of all the friends together. Fifth, the crime was committed at a time when all of the friends' eyes would be drawn to the stage—whoever committed the murder knew that. Lastly, the prosecution suspects Morgan Cassidy because she was in this circle of friends, she had the victim's blood on her jacket, she is of an appropriate stature for the method by which the wound was inflicted, and the fact that her fingerprints are on the murder weapon, a kitchen knife."

Lloyd rolled his eyes, "Yes, thank you for that very valuable recap. Do you have anything to add, Mr. LeBlanc?"

He bent his head and smiled, "Of course I do. During the course of this trial, it was shown that the blood at the crime scene had been altered, calling into question the validity of the prosecution's deductions about the method of attack. Also, it was noted that the knife was of common make. It could have come from anywhere."

"Meaning what, Mr. LeBlanc?" Prosecutor Reed glared at him.

"Meaning that even if Morgan touched the knife, it didn't necessarily belong to her, or vice versa."

"Objection!" Lloyd shouted, "Don't be dense! It doesn't matter who the blade belonged to, just that it was responsible for killing the victim."

"Detective Fletcher," Robin called, "I know you're in the room. Were any other prints found on the blade?"

"Uh, yeah," he admitted, "a whole bunch, actually. But the defendant's were the easiest to identify because they were the newest."

"But that would only prove that she was the last one to touch the knife, right?" Robin pressed.

"Objection!" Lloyd called again, "This is irrelevant! There's no evidence contradicting the claim that the defendant touched the blade and used it to kill the victim. Whether anyone touched it before her is trivial."

"This also leaves a hole in the prosecution's story: if the defendant didn't own the knife, where did she get it from?" Robin added.

"We're investigating that," Colm talked around his cigarette, "Coulda come from a store."

"But, in that case," Robin noted, "wouldn't it be just as likely that she had touched the knife while shopping but not bought it? If the prosecution doesn't know where the weapon came from, how can they be so sure the defendant had access to it?"

Lloyd slapped his desk, "Because of the fingerprints, you fool! Stop being so… foolish!"

"How do you know those fingerprints weren't planted?!" Robin barked back.

"Occam's Razor, that's how!" Lloyd shouted, "If they were planted, show the court some evidence as such!"

Robin smirked, "As you wish."

Lloyd Reed's eyes shifted, "What?"

"As I said, there were two jackets stained with blood at the scene. One of them was thrown away. Why would that be?" the attorney asked.

"The defendant wanted to conceal the evidence, of course," answered the prosecutor.

Robin shook his head, "That doesn't make a shred of sense. If the killer wanted to get rid of the evidence, why didn't he or she move the body, or clean up the blood, or do anything logical? If the killer wanted to hide evidence, throwing a jacket in the trash is the worst possible thing he or she could have done!"

"Objection!" Lloyd shouted, "We don't have to assume that the criminal is intelligent, Mr. LeBlanc!"

"No," he agreed, "but there's another reason the prosecution's claim is false."

"And what's that?"

"The prosecution has been making a fundamentally incorrect assumption about this particular piece of evidence since the beginning of the trial. The jacket in question could not have belonged to Ewan Allen!"

"W-What?! How do you figure?!"

"If you recall Detective Fletcher's testimony, you'll remember that he described the jacket as having 'similar bloodstains' to those on the jacket Morgan was wearing when she was arrested. Looking at this other jacket, the stains are similar in size and placement, but this contradicts the prosecution's version of events: if Ewan Allen was the one wearing this jacket when he was killed, there should be much more blood on it!"

"Argh!" Lloyd punched his desk.

"B-But," the judge stammered, "Mr. LeBlanc, what is the meaning of this? If the victim was not the one who wore this bloodstained jacket, then who was?"

"Simple, Your Honor: the person who killed Ewan Allen!"

"Objection! I won't abide your stupid conjecture, LeBlanc! How can you claim that in the face of all the other evidence, like the fingerprints on the weapon?"

"Still hung up on that? What if the murderer was wearing gloves?"

"Then where are those gloves? Why weren't traces of latex or rubber found on the weapon? You haven't got any real evidence!"

Robin grimaced, Damn. He's right in that regard. I just don't have the physical evidence to counter him, whatever I say. I'll never get very far as long as those fingerprints are on that weapon, taunting me!

"Mr. LeBlanc," Robin turned his head quickly as he heard a voice beside him. Morgan was staring back at him, "Um, just a thought, but… you'll never get very far so long as Mr. Reed can bring things back to those fingerprints. Maybe you should think about things differently. Like, instead of trying to disprove why the prints were there, maybe you could prove that something is missing prints? I never went into the men's room, so I couldn't have picked up that knife… surely there's something else the killer must have touched, right?"

Robin's eyes widened and he exclaimed, "Morgan, you're a genius!"

The judge eyed him warily, "Mr. LeBlanc, I want no such outbursts in my court. Now, have you got evidence or not?"

"W-Well," Robin replied sheepishly, "my evidence is… er, the lack of evidence, so to speak."

"Talk sense," Prosecutor Reed demanded.

"Well, if we take the prosecution's theory that Morgan Cassidy's prints are on the murder weapon because she killed the victim, then her prints should also be on the door handle of the men's room!"

"Objection!" Lloyd shouted, "Many people's prints could be on that handle. It'd be impossible to know if the defendant had touched it or not."

"Objection!" Robin smirked, "That's what I said when I mentioned that the knife was of common make, but you claimed that Morgan had to have touched it during the murder because her prints were the most prominent, and, therefore, the most recent. If we follow that logic for the door handle, only one other person's fingerprints should be more recent on the handle: those of Sain Cheval! Mr. Cheval was the only other person to enter the men's room, prior to it being closed off until the police investigation, wherein all of the investigating officers would have been wearing gloves when handling part of the scene. If Morgan's prints can be found on the knife, they should be found just as easily on the door handle!"

Lloyd Reed growled and beat his desk some more.

The judge cleared his throat, "Erm, since it seems Prosecutor Reed is in a bit of distress at the moment… Detective Fletcher, did the investigative team recover any samples of the defendant's fingerprints on the handle to the door to the men's restroom?"

"No, Your Honor," the cobalt-haired detective answered, "We found traces from a lot of folks, the owner included, but there are no prints on the handle that can be identified as belonging to Morgan Cassidy."

"This is preposterous!" Prosecutor Reed snarled, "Detective! You and your team are going to be receiving quite the lecture after this!"

Colm glanced aside at Robin, "Thanks a lot, lawyer-boy."

You say that like it's my fault, Robin sighed to himself.

"You did it, Mr. LeBlanc," Morgan smiled, "You turned everything on its head again! I don't know how you manage to pull off stuff like that."

"It was all thanks to you, Morgan," he nodded, "if you hadn't made that point about looking for what wasn't there, we'd have been up a creek for sure." She giggled proudly.

The judge rapped his gavel against the bench, "This is a very interesting fact that you have brought to light for us, Mr. LeBlanc, but tell us, what does this mean? If the defendant's prints were not on the door handle, but they were on the murder weapon, what can we conclude?"

"It's as I said earlier, Your Honor: the defendant's prints must have been planted on the weapon."

"If that is what you continue to assert," Lloyd crossed his arms, his eyes now shut tight with fury, "Then the next logical question is 'how?'"

"You mean 'How did the defendant's prints get planted on the murder weapon?'"

"That's right. If you're so confident that that's what happened, then surely you know how it was done."

Argh, Robin sighed, here I was thinking I'd finally made some headway, but what can I say here? I have no idea how the prints were planted. "Morgan," he turned his head, "do you remember touching a knife like the murder weapon any time in the recent past? Within a few days, say?"

She tapped her index finger on her chin, "I don't know… it looks like the knives my mom keeps in her kitchen, so… uh, maybe?"

No help there. Well, if Morgan doesn't remember putting her prints on the weapon, could it be that the prints were planted without her knowledge? But then, how could that be? Someone would have to…Ah! Robin slapped his hands on his desk, "Your Honor, I think I may have an explanation. See, we've gone through this whole trial assuming that Morgan had to have been the killer because she was the only one of her friends who fit the bill, but what if that's only because that's the way the killer wanted it to seem?"

"Get to the point," Lloyd barked.

"What if one of the defendant's friends had taken a sample of her fingerprints at some point, in anticipation of committing this very crime?"

"Hah!" the prosecutor scoffed, "What a ridiculous notion! Can I safely assume that that little hypothesis of yours has no proof behind it?"

"B-But…! It's the only possible solution!"

"Objection! Lots of things are possible, Mr. LeBlanc. That's why we have courts of law to decide what happened based on evidence. Right now, my explanation of events still accounts for all of the circumstantial evidence, meaning that while your explanation is 'possible,' it's simply not plausible. If you have no evidence to substantiate your claims, Mr. LeBlanc, then it's time to bow out and concede to those of us in this court who know what we're talking about."

"Objection! Then how do you suppose Ms. Cassidy's prints got on the knife but not the door handle?"

The prosecutor shrugged, smirking, "The prints were on the door handle at one point, but they were smudged or wiped off. It's really quite simple to explain."

"But they couldn't be smudged—only Mr. Cheval touched the handle after the murder, by all accounts."

"So then they were wiped off, as I said."

"Then who do you imagine did the wiping?"

Lloyd Reed grimaced, "Ah."

The judge cleared his throat, "Mr. LeBlanc, would you be so kind as to explain what you and Prosecutor Reed are deliberating? I feel I've lost you."

"It's simple," Robin nodded, "the prosecution's version of events relies on Lloyd's argument that Morgan's prints were on the handle, but were removed. If that's the case, then someone else had to have removed the prints, but, if that's the case, then who could have done it, and how? No one entered the restroom following the discovery of the body, and we know that it was Mr. Cheval who made that discovery, because no one else called the police or reported finding a body in the restroom."

"So, if I follow you," the judge stroked his beard, "the only person it would seem logical to assume was responsible for wiping the defendant's prints is…"

Robin nodded, "Sain Cheval."

Lloyd clenched his fist, "That dunderheaded oaf! I'll get the health inspector to shut his club down and see that he never works in this town again!"

"Mr. Reed," the judge looked down, "please, cease muttering to yourself and summon Mr. Cheval, if you would."

"As Your Honor wishes," the prosecutor frowned, stepping out of the courtroom.

The air was silent but charged as whispers flew out from members of the gallery. Robin concentrated on the door from which Lloyd had exited and continued thinking.

"Mr. LeBlanc?" He looked down at Morgan, "Do you… do you really think Mr. Cheval was the one who killed Ewan?"

"I'm not sure…" The attorney shrugged, "The fact is, our case is in dire straits without some new evidence, so the only way for me to move forward was to contradict the prosecution's claims. If we bring Mr. Cheval back, maybe we can learn something new."

Morgan's eyes fell to the ground while her fist balled up as it was held before her chin. She let out an audible "hum" as Robin noticed the door opening once more. Within a minute, Sain Cheval was back on the stand.

"Well, hello madames et messieurs!" the olive-haired man waved, "I didn't think I'd be seeing you all again so soon. What's this all about? Do you need to hear a bit more about my lovely club? I'm happy to share—no trade secrets, though, mind you. Heh heh heh!"

"Be silent, you gibbering fool!" Lloyd's glare cut the witness in half.

"Eep!"

"Mr. Cheval, due to some new evidence that has come to light, you are suspected of having tampered with yet more evidence," the judge summarized.

"Wh-What?! Don't be silly," Sain shook his head, "I mopped up the floor because I wasn't in my right mind. Why would I have messed with anything else at that scene?"

Lloyd shook his head, too, "Still, unfortunately, we cannot deny the possibility. As such, you will testify once more, you quavering insect. Tell the court about what you did after you left the scene."

"You sure know how to make a fella feel welcome, Mr. Prosecutor," Sain Cheval sighed.

"I fear the guards of the Greater Ylissean State Penitentiary are even less welcoming than I, Mr. Cheval."

"Ah! Got me there, haha!"

"Testify already, you imbecile!"

"Oop! Er, right. So… let's see… After seeing the body, I was in quite a state of shock, as I'm sure you can imagine. As you know, rationality betrayed me a bit and, after I called the police, I went in to mop up the blood spilled by the victim. I know that was wrong, but…It was an odd moment for me. I make no excuses. Once the blood was mopped up, I left the restroom and cordoned it off from the other patrons. As soon as I felt certain the room was adequately locked, I left and waited in my office for the police to arrive."

Lloyd Reed nodded, "So, as you can see, Mr. LeBlanc, the witness did not tamper with the evidence any further following his contact of the police—as he mentioned, he would have no reason to do such a thing. Therefore, your argument is moot."

"Your Honor," the attorney said, "I'd like to cross-examine the witness."

The judge nodded, "Please, do go on, Mr. LeBlanc."

"Mr. Cheval," the attorney began, "You're perfectly certain that no one else could've entered the restroom when you left?"

"Indeed. My partner Kent and I hold the only keys to the room. Once it's locked, it would take one of us to open it again."

"Incidentally," Prosecutor Reed added, "the investigation determined there were no signs that the lock had been tampered with. Besides, if someone else had tried to use the door, their fingerprints would appear alongside Mr. Cheval's."

"Mr. Cheval," Robin continued, "Out of curiosity, where was your partner at the time?"

"Hm? Ah, Kent was back at home. He works the day shift and I take nights. I always have been something of a night owl."

"Meaning," Lloyd concluded, "Mr. Cheval's key was the only one anywhere near the premises at the time of the crime."

"Did anything happen while you were waiting for the police to arrive, Mr. Cheval?" Robin asked.

"Not really… Oh, except this bit of difficulty on the stage. Apparently, one of the performers was stalling because he was trying to call someone."

"Wh-What?!" Robin blinked.

"You…!" Lloyd leered at the witness.

The judge rapped his gavel on the bench, "Mr. LeBlanc, you seem to see some import in the witness's remarks. What is so intriguing?"

"Mr. Cheval," Robin looked up gravely, "the performer you're talking about… what was his name?"

"Hm… something a bit silly, as I recall. Foreign-sounding. Like, 'Laslow Pantalones,' or something."

"Would it happen to be… Inigo Morales?"

"That's the lad!" The gallery began to increase the volume of their murmurs, leading the judge to call for order. Sain looked around, "Uh, you're all giving me some pretty harsh stares… it's a little embarrassing, to be honest. Have I said something strange?"

"This is very important, Mr. Cheval," Robin placed his hands on his desk, "Do you know who Mr. Morales was trying to contact?"

"Uh…" the young man tugged at his collar, "You're putting me a bit on the spot here, and making that intense face isn't helping."

"Answer the question, fop," Lloyd scowled at him.

"I-I think it was… Hugh? Newman? Reuben?"

"Ewan," Robin sighed.

"Right again," Sain smiled, "My, it's as if you're reading my own memories better than I, Mr. LeBlanc. How do you do it?"

"You're telling this court that Inigo Morales tried to contact the victim before continuing with his performance?" Robin folded his arms.

"Ah! So this 'Ewan' was… Oh, well, that explains your excitement. Yes, I suppose that is what I'm saying."

"Mr. LeBlanc, is this detail significant to the case at hand?" the judge wondered.

"Of course it's significant, Your Honor," Robin nodded fervently, "This information was never made known to this court. It may be a crucial lead to understanding what really happened during the time of the murder!"

"Objection!" Lloyd shook his head, "Remember, Mr. LeBlanc: Mr. Cheval testified that this took place after he discovered the body. I doubt there is much worthy of discussion in Mr. Morales's attempts to call his friend when the murder had already occurred."

"Objection!" Robin protested, "But take note of what else Mr. Cheval said: Mr. Morales stalled the performance in order to call Ewan. Plus, Inigo knew that Ewan was in the building. If this call was just for the sake of friendly conversation, it could have taken place after the performance, and not over the phone. The fact that Mr. Morales tried to contact Ewan by phone suggests there was some urgent reason he needed to speak to Ewan."

"Argh!" Lloyd slammed a fist on his desk.

"It seems the defense has raised a very prominent question," the judge nodded, "the actions of this Mr. Morales are indeed strange, and I think this court deserves an explanation. Mr. Reed, would you please bring that man to the stand?"

"Yes, Your Honor," the prosecutor grimaced.

Morgan stared at the witness stand—not at Sain, who was being led down by the bailiff, but at the stand itself, "Mr. LeBlanc… Inigo… why would he not tell anyone about this?"

"You mean you didn't know, either?" Robin blinked.

"No, none of us knew. They told the crowd the performance was being delayed due to a malfunction with the lighting equipment. Inigo… what are you playing at?"

That's what I'd like to know, too. He must have some reason, Robin supposed.

Footsteps sounded as a young man with neatly cropped hair took to the stand, lips strained as if they weren't sure quite what expression to make. His eyes flashed with recognition when they drifted over to the defense bench. It seemed that the lips then decided, because their corners turned down.

"Witness," Lloyd commanded, "State your name and occupation for the record."

The expression on the man's face shifted back into a smile, "My name… is Inigo Morales, dancer extraordinaire! My technique and charming countenance are soon to be known to the whole world!"

Lloyd slammed his fist on his desk, "I'm not interested in your pipe dreams, witness!"

"Ha ha!" the youth laughed, "Dreams are for those without the ability to see their goals accomplished! These are not dreams, fair prosecutor—these are my ambitions!"

"Whatever they are, they'll be cut quite short if you don't cut the chatter and start testifying."

"Intrepid Inigo's incomparable performances will never be stifled! If you were to lock me away, the ladies would surely riot!"

"Argh, just pay attention, you twit!" Lloyd growled.

Wow. He's even getting under Lloyd's skin. I don't remember him being this stubborn or… grandiose when I first met him. I wonder… is this some kind of stage persona?" Robin pinched his chin, "Er, Mr. Morales, while we all appreciate your talents, it's very important for this trial that we hear about something from you."

"Oh?" he grinned, "And, pray, what is that?"

Lloyd held a statement out in front of him and scanned it as he spoke, "Sain Cheval, the owner of the club where you performed on the night of the crime, testified that you attempted to contact the victim, Ewan Allen, during the performance. The defense seems to think you did so because there was something urgent about which you needed to speak to him."

"Ah!" the dancer nodded, "An intriguing theory, but altogether incorrect, I'm afraid. I was simply putting in a call to my dear friend to see how he was enjoying the performance."

The judge rapped his gavel, "Witness, you will testify to the court about the content of this call."

"If you insist," he shrugged, "I had just finished my first set, and I was feeling quite accomplished. The rest of my troupe, Thirty Missives to Marth, had performed admirably, and we were about ready to deliver the killing blow when I thought to call Ewan and ask how he and the others were enjoying the show. When I did call, however, I received no answer, and was quickly sent to voicemail. I didn't bother to leave a message because I assumed I'd see him soon enough, anyway. When I realized I was holding up the show, I got right back to it."

"There you have it, defense," Lloyd sighed, "No complicated plotting for unseen motivations, simply a man trying to contact his friend and losing track of time."

"Defense, you may begin your cross-examination."

Robin frowned, It doesn't look like there's much that's factually contradictory about what Inigo just said, but I can't shake the feeling that he's holding something back. I'll just have to grill him until he lets something slip. "So, Mr. Morales," he began, "you just decided to give Ewan a call out of the blue, even knowing that you'd speak to him later?"

"Indeed," he nodded, "I was hoping to speak with all of our friends, but he never picked up, so I had to give up on that plan."

"And you never wondered why he didn't answer?"

"It was a crowded venue, and the music and chatter were all quite loud: I assumed he didn't hear it go off."

"Why was it so important that you spoke to Ewan and the rest of your friends in the middle of your performance?"

"You're thinking about it all wrong, Mr. LeBlanc: I wasn't even considering the show, I just desperately wanted to know how my performance had looked from down there."

"You may not know it by looking at him," Morgan piped up, grabbing the attorney's attention, "but Inigo's really self-conscious. He's always looking for reassurances about his performances, especially from us."

But in the middle of such a big show? Robin thought, No, there must be some deeper explanation. "So, you never got the impression that anything was wrong, Mr. Morales?"

He shook his head, "Why should I have? When I saw him come out of the bathroom, I figured everything must have been fine."

Robin's eyes widened, and Lloyd slammed his fist on his desk again.

Inigo blinked, "I'm sorry, have I spoken out of turn?"

"No, Mr. Morales, but…" Robin's jaw tensed, "Y-You… you say you saw the victim leaving the bathroom?"

"I believe so, why?"

Robin could feel the sweat building around his collar again, "Mr. Morales, what you're saying is…"

"Totally impossible!" Lloyd finished, "The victim was killed in the restroom during the interim of your performance. It would have been impossible for you to have seen him exiting the restroom!"

"Ah!" Inigo gasped, "During the interim…?"

The judge swung his gavel once more, "Witness, you will explain the significance of this obvious flaw in your testimony immediately!"

"O-Oh," he stuttered, "Um, let's see… It was… Um… it must have been someone else leaving the restroom, then."

"Objection!" Robin shouted, "But only Ewan and his killer were in the restroom at that time, so the only person who could have been leaving is Ewan's killer!"

"Urk!" Inigo bared his teeth and frowned, "M-Mr. LeBlanc… maybe you should let this one go… it's not as important as you think."

The attorney shook his head, "Sorry, Inigo, but I'm not one to do things halfway. If there's an unexplained hitch in the story we've heard thus far, I want to be able to explain it. Now, why did you think it was Ewan leaving the bathroom?"

Inigo swallowed, "Um… well, he was wearing his school-issued jacket, like all of us and… I could see his red hair…"

Robin's eyes jumped open again and the feeling of the heat and sweat on his neck grew ever more intense, "The person you saw had… red hair?"

Everyone in the court turned their gaze to the defendant, who brushed a few of her curly ruby locks out of her face, "Uh… Well, Ewan did have reddish hair… more auburn, I'd say, but…"

"Objection!" Lloyd shouted, "Ha! Thank you, Mr. Morales. For once, your testimony has proven to be most valuable. As I'm sure the rest of the court has already noticed, our defendant sports a fine set of red hair herself. If Mr. Morales's observations ring true, well then, following the defense's very own logic, only the defendant could possibly have been the killer!"

"Ack!" Robin doubled over, "W-Wait, couldn't there have been someone else with red hair near the scene?"

Lloyd crossed his arms, "Who also happened to be wearing the school-issued jacket worn by the victim's friends? Unlikely."

"Unlikely maybe," Robin placed his hands on his desk, "but not impossible—the prosecution would do well to remember that Cath Nichols, one of the victim's other friends, also has red hair!"

The prosecutor held out his hands and shook his head, "But there were no physical traces of Ms. Nichols at the scene. Not to mention, there were no bloodstains on her jacket, but there were traces on those of Ms. Cassidy."

Ah, right, Robin frowned, Well. This isn't good.

Inigo looked displeased, too, "I asked you to let it go, Mr. LeBlanc… I knew this is how things would go if I told everyone…"

Me and my big mouth, the attorney grimaced, but that can't be right—Morgan's prints weren't on the door handle, so she couldn't have gone in or out of the room by normal means… This whole story only makes sense if it was someone else, but how can I explain away a physical characteristic like hair color? Unless… Hm. It's a bluff, but it's just crazy enough to make sense!

Prosecutor Reed had folded his arms again, "You're remarkably quiet, for once, defense. Have you finally realized that no matter how much you quibble, there is no denying the truth?"

"The defense…" Robin swallowed, "Would like to present a new possibility to the court."

Lloyd slammed his fist on his desk, "Oh, enough already! What 'new possibility' could there possibly be this late into the trial?"

The judge pounded his gavel, "I share Prosecutor Reed's curiosity, Mr. LeBlanc: what is this possibility to which you are referring?"

"Something has been bothering me for a long time in this trial, since the detective's first testimony, and I think it's something that I'll finally be able to resolve. I'd like to propose," Robin glared at his opposing counsel, "that the person that Mr. Morales saw, the real killer of Ewan Allen, dyed their hair!"

Lloyd Reed assailed his desk once more, "Ridiculous! How quickly you insipid lawyers grasp at straws when the truth becomes inconvenient for you! How can you prove that the killer dyed their hair?"

"The court may recall the crime scene, as well as the detective's explanation," Robin reasoned, "Detective Fletcher mentioned that there were some as-yet undefined stains in the sink of a reddish-orange color. If these stains aren't blood, then they may be from a red hair dye!"

"Argh!" Lloyd clutched his chest, "But… that can't be! Even if the stains were there, you can't prove when they appeared on the sink—if they were stains from hair dye, it still doesn't prove that the murderer was the one who was using it! Besides, why would the murderer waste time dyeing their hair before committing the crime?"

"Why, to frame my client, of course," Robin smirked, "We've already established that the murderer had to be within the victim's circle of friends—if they had intimate knowledge of the conflict between Morgan and Ewan, then they would know that Morgan would be the best candidate on which to pin this murder!"

"Objection!" came Lloyd's rebuttal, "But what reason would any of the victim's other friends have had to kill him?"

Robin shook his head, "I can't say for sure, but we've already had one friend deliver surprise information about a fight no one else seemed to know about between the victim and defendant. Who's to say there aren't other conflicts underlying this circle of friends? And besides, even if I don't know the reason, the last person to enter the restroom before Ewan could prove whether or not those stains were present at the time. If they were, then the prosecution can't refute the possibility of what I've claimed!"

"But there were no security cameras at the club," Lloyd shook his head, "how does the defense plan to identify the last person to enter the restroom prior to the crime?"

"Aargh," Robin sighed, "He's got me there…"

"Mr. LeBlanc," he turned as Morgan chimed in once more, "Maybe now's the time to do that thing you do again."

"Y-You mean 'turn my thinking around?'"

"Right. What if, instead of trying to prove that the stains were there around the time of the murder, why not try to prove that they couldn't have been there before the murder?"

Girl's full of good ideas today, Robin smiled. "Prosecutor Reed," the attorney looked up, "up to now, the police's investigation has placed the victim at the sink, where he was surprised by the murderer, which would explain the stains they thought were blood on the sink. What does the prosecution suppose the victim was doing prior to being attacked?"

Lloyd folded his arms, "What kind of question is that? Presumably, he was washing his hands—ack!"

Robin smirked, "I see the prosecution now understands my point."

"I'm at a loss," the judge admitted, "has this resolved the discrepancy we were facing?"

Robin nodded, "If the victim washed his hands prior to being killed, then the stains found on the sink should have been washed away or diluted—there's no evidence of that, meaning that the stains could only have been made after the victim was killed!"

The gallery exploded with chatter, heads turning to each side to confirm what each was hearing. The judge was forced to slam down his gavel several times to return the silence as he called for order. "Mr. LeBlanc," the judge stroked his beard quickly, "what, exactly, does this mean for us? If the victim's murderer dyed their hair, then what does that tell us?"

Robin shut his eyes and sighed, "If the murderer used a red hair dye, we can make two conclusions: one, the killer does not have naturally red hair. And two, the killer intended to frame my client by disguising themselves. In other words, the only two people who could not be guilty of this crime are Cath Nichols, and my client, Morgan Cassidy!"

The gallery burst into chatter once more, but they were all swiftly silenced by a lethally sharp shout that cut into the air, "Be silent!" Heads turned to Lloyd Reed, who was balling his fist so hard that the tension made his tendons quiver. "Mr. LeBlanc," he said the name with fangs of icy venom, "you made a mockery of me in this court once, but I won't allow it to happen again. If you won't cease your disgusting trickery yourself, then you force my hand."

"What are you talking about?" Robin stared back.

The prosecutor shook his head, "Don't tell me you've forgotten Ylisse's most important trial law, Mr. LeBlanc."

Robin paused, then flinched when he arrived at the realization. Morgan studied his face, "Mr. LeBlanc, what does he mean?"

"I mean, little whelp, that it's not enough for Mr. LeBlanc to provide evidence that seems to absolve you of the crime. In order to prove his case, Mr. LeBlanc must take up the prosecution's job and offer a detailed indictment of another party. Such is Ylissean law."

Morgan bit her lip, "Um… I don't quite, uh…"

"He means in order to have you declared not guilty, I have to pin the crime on someone else, and in this case, it can only be one of your friends," Robin looked at the floor.

Morgan gasped, "B-But, it couldn't…! I don't want my friends to…!"

"I'm sorry, Morgan, but I have no choice," he shook his head.

"So?" Lloyd Reed smiled, "Who will it be? Come, let the whole court hear who you plan to tear down in front of this little girl in order to 'save' her."

Reed, you black-hearted devil! Argh… it's not really him, it's this damnable Ylissean law, although Lloyd is taking advantage of it by making this as difficult as possible, making me call it out in front of Morgan. There really is no other way around it, but who could I possibly pick? I already said it can't be Cath—she has natural red hair, so she would have no reason to dye it. Inigo has an alibi, since he was on-stage and calling the victim at the time of the crime—phone records can prove that. That means it's down to a fifty-fifty between Ross Hammond and Nino Cooper, but which could it be? I don't have any evidence to support going after either of them, save their hair color. What should I say?

"Objection."

Robin looked up, as did every head in the court.

Morgan stared at the judge, then glanced at Robin and Lloyd before turning to face the judge once more, "Y-Your Honor, I… the defense is… I, that is… I know that defendants in Ylissean courts of law are given certain rights during trials, and… I would like to invoke one of those rights now… by refusing to let Mr. LeBlanc respond. From here on… I want to represent myself."

"Objection!" Robin shouted, "Morgan you can't do that! They'll have you declared guilty if we don't identify another party!"

"There's no need…" she stammered, "there is no other guilty party! I confess my crime! I killed Ewan Allen!"

The gallery exploded again, requiring many shouts of "Order!" before it could actually be re-established.

"So, she finally owns up," Lloyd shook his head, smirking, "Not surprising."

"W-Wait just a moment," the judge's eyes were wide, "I thought the defense determined that only someone without natural red hair could have committed the crime."

"Speculation on the defense's part," Lloyd shook his head, "unsubstantiated by further evidence. It was unlikely that someone with red hair would have committed the crime, but it's far from impossible"

"I did it, all right? I snuck into the bathroom and killed him! I killed him because we got in a fight and I was mad!"

"Morgan, think about what you're doing!" Robin cried.

Another voice broke through the court, "Hold it right there!" Inigo Morales stood front and center in the court, "Ms. Cassidy's confession is precious little more than a very compassionate lie to save her friends… for it was I who killed Ewan Allen!"

"Y-You…?" the judge blinked.

"Indeed, I never much cared for the little man—he excelled in his academics, and always embarrassed me in our classes as such. I thought, therefore, to finally rid myself of him!"

Lloyd stared him down, "Impossible! Did you not testify that you called the deceased in the middle of your performance?"

"A cunning lie, don't you think? But I will not allow my dear friend Morgan to sacrifice herself for my sake: in reality, I absconded to the restroom during the break in my performance. The real reason for my tardiness was that I was disposing of the evidence from the scene of a murder!"

The excitement of the gallery was now so loud that the judge no longer bothered to call for order, as the murmur would not grow quiet no matter how many times he pounded his gavel.

"That's a lie!" Heads turned again, "I did it, don'cha see? I was the one mad at Ewan for embarrassing me over grades! Inigo and Morgan din't do nothin'!"

"And who are you?!" the judge stared.

"I'm Ross Hammond, friend to the victim and defendant alike. You guys don't have to throw You guys don't have to throw yourselves onto the fire for ol' me, much as I 'preciate it! I slunk off to the bathroom during the break and whacked our buddy, 'cause I'd gotten sick of his attitude. Please, put me in jail instead!"

"Ross, you idiot!" the soft voice of Nino Cooper wound out from another corner of the room, "Don't listen to him, people of the court! It was I, Nino Cooper, who slew the victim. He was so close to beating me in all of our classes, I couldn't stand the intensity of our rivalry anymore, so I killed him myself in an insane fit of rage, trying to stave off the pressure I felt!"

"You guys are all idiots," a dry voice called the court's attention to another part of the room, where Cath Nichols emerged from the doors to the prosecution's lobby, "Sweet idiots, but idiots all the same. I had it out for Ewan because he made fun of me on the sly to certain people… certain people I couldn't stand. So, when things were quiet, I slipped in and axed him out of revenge. I feel terrible about it, but I was so angry…"

"Stop it!" Morgan pleaded, "It wasn't any of you, it was me!"

"No, it was me!"

"I did it!"

"Throw me in the slammer!"

"I'm the one you want!"

Robin and Lloyd were both left sweating and speechless, and the judge seemed equally flustered as he listened to the repeated confessions, "O-Order! Be quiet! Order! That is quite enough! S-Someone, stop this…! Bailiff, do something!"

"Take me!"

"I did the deed."

"Shut up, it was me!"

"Please, lock me away!"

"You imbeciles…!"

"Enough!" the judge reiterated.

"Morgan!" Robin shouted, "Please, retract this false confession you're making, can't you see it's tearing your friends apart?"

"No more than it'll tear them apart if someone is jailed on my behalf. I can't let it happen, Mr. LeBlanc, I just can't!"

"Everyone, be silent!" Lloyd commanded, "the defendant has already confessed! This trial need not proceed any longer!"

"Objection!" Robin protested, "Her confession is a false one! It's impossible for Ms. Cassidy to have committed this crime!"

"That's not true!" the redheaded girl protested, "Mr. Reed is right! I did it! I killed Ewan, so just end the trial and put me away!"

"Objection!" Robin shouted, "The defendant isn't in her right mind! She doesn't know what she's saying! We can't end this trial this way!"

"QUIET!" the judge boomed, shouting into a microphone on his bench.

Clutching their ears, the court finally fell silent.

"Mr. Reed, Mr. LeBlanc," he said, "the defendant and witnesses are obviously in a state of great agitation at the moment. As it stands, I see no way to proceed in this trial. I will suspend the trial for today, on the proviso that both counsels will calm the individuals in their charge and prepare new evidence to submit to the court when we reconvene. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, Your Honor," Robin agreed.

"Yes, Your Honor," Lloyd acquiesced, gritting his teeth.

"Very well, then this court is adjourned."

The gavel fell, and the parties vacated the courtroom.

[Turnabout of a Kind ~ Trial, Day 1-end]