A/N Here's the bonus chapter for all of you to devour. And just two hours before I reach the airport—hooray! I'd like to thank the reviewers Yuki-san loves KKM and the anonymous reviewer Mistress, and dedicate this chapter to them for requesting these characters: Apollo Justice, Trucy Wright, and Phoenix Wright. Now, enjoy!

Apollo Justice

He was a foundling child, lost, abandoned, with only a bracelet to show for it. The one thing that tied him to his family. At first, he hadn't known of the bracelet's importance; of how it was a heirloom or of the powers that he would come to realize because of it. He had just known that he had always owned it, that perhaps it was just one of those trinkets you buy that you eventually forget about.

Apollo didn't know who his parents were, or if he had any siblings. But somehow, he was never really curious. Sure, he asked, to no avail, but only as a child does for something to say. It was unnatural, one might say.

Then as he grew up, he stopped thinking about the past altogether, living with his foster family in the present. He decided that it didn't matter anyway; what's done was done, and even if his family had abandoned him then, he was probably better off with people who actually loved him as he was.

Apollo decided his own future, and he didn't need any shadows from the past to influence his decisions. He wasn't callous, nor insensitive—he was simply… well, he didn't really know what it meant. Only that maybe his parents had a good reason, maybe they didn't, but he probably would never find out and there was no use worrying.

So he decided to become a defense attorney; maybe of some inborn desire to protect the weak from being abandoned once more, or perhaps that would simply a purely romantic notion of no consequence.

Or maybe it was because he wanted to be needed.

Maybe he cared more than he thought. Maybe he'd kept all his insecurities locked away in a deep chest in his mind, hidden in a dark corner of his conscience.

Actually, Apollo thought, staring deep into himself, it was true that he didn't care for the identity of his parents.

But this would carry even further—it was not because he was agnostic, but for the opposite reason. He feared it. Feared the knowledge.

He cared. It was a crime in itself. Because he cared, he hurt. Was in pain.

Apollo feared. Not because he had been unwanted by them, but because of what they would think of him now. Sure, he'd been abandoned—but he'd been a mere baby then, and he knew whatever reason they had wasn't because of him as an individual, as a personality. He feared not fitting in—now he did, at least. Because he was at the age that his character forms up, and all the blame, the resentment can be placed solely on what his personality attracts.

They said he was a nice, easy-going boy, though a bit too passionate at times. A good description, a desirable one.

But what comes will come and Apollo would have no way to halt the passage of time. All he could do was cling, cling to the comforting thought that he might just be just as they said and liked for it all.

Trucy Wright

Trucy was born to magicians, raised by magicians, and abandoned by magicians. She was born to be a magician.

She had learned the tricks of the trade; sleight of hand, disappearing acts, and the works of a gun (namely, shooting it and hitting the centre of a coin tossed into the air from fifty paces). It never crossed her mind to become anything else—even with defense attorneys, prosecutors and detectives surrounding her everyday.

The young girl, therefore, couldn't even bear to think what would happen if she failed, as a Gramarye, with so many expectations built around her like a strong bulwark surrounding a central, spiraling tower.

But she didn't fear not becoming a magician. She tried not to think in the long run, shunned all dark thoughts of it, how lost she would feel for it was her entire life.

Instead, every time before she went up on that pulsing stage in the dimly lit Wonder Bar, she would smile at herself in the mirror, slowly extracting charming charisma from out of herself; and with confidence and ease, she would calmly walk up the stairs with a calculated bounce and turn to the audience with enthusiasm. Then her act would begin—not pure magic, but jokes and an amiable sort of conversation, then the miracles would reveal themselves one by one.

Every night she did this. And every night she sat in her dressing room, with a little coldness sitting in her stomach.

What if she stumbled? What if she faltered? What if the bright smile she carefully spread across her face crumbled without her knowing? What if the coin in the palm of her hand slipped? What if they noticed her fingers moving oddly, slowly bunching up a multicolored cloth? What if they called her out, laughing not with her, but at her incompetence?

Trucy Wright feared, above all, failing in that little magic act in the tiny shady place that is known as the Wonder Bar.

It's not what it seems. It was not the embarrassment that would cover her cheeks in crimson like autumn falling to the ground in reds, but the feeling that would fill her body.

Magic is all about confidence.

And if she lost that, she had nothing. If she slipped up in that act, she would lose that confidence. Then Trucy would look at herself in the mirror once more, trying to crack a smile that radiated brilliance. But instead, she would see the faces of the crowd looking either disappointed, embarrassed along with her, or laughing with ill-intentioned mirth. They would know.

The next time she walked on stage, whispers would curled around her ankles like a soft wind. They would watch, more carefully than ever, and notice things, tricks, secrets, she didn't want them to see. And they would murmured, Ah, so that's how it's done! Simple, really!

Then it would be all over. Her world would crack like a chick emerging from an egg.

Somehow, failing in that little act would be a symbol or a foreshadowing of the failure she would strive to avoid so desperately. It would be a self-fulfilling prophecy, the kind that seems as though it could be stopped, only to have you walk into your own trap.

Every night, sitting in her dressing room, Trucy cracks her smile as natural as Mr Gavin's. Yes, Klavier Gavin was well-versed in this sort of pretending. He was a performer, after all. And he was a professional, something the young girl wants to be when she grows up—but wait! Would she have to be one…now? Yes. Because a professional has no doubts, no turmoil. A professional never falters. Never fails. If she failed now, she would never climb back up.

And every night, Trucy's act is perfect.

Her fear makes it so.

Pheenie

He had been studying and studying hard. Phoenix Wright, student of Ivy University, though being the goofy person he was, pulled all-nighters.

He wasn't the consistent hard-worker, or the exceptional slacker—he was simply the sort of person that had what some might call foolish stubbornness that could be fuelled into determination, the kind of determination that lasted long after the initial flame had burned down, in a kind of crazed frenzy to conquer whatever obstacle was in his way.

This determination was made by his passion to become a defense attorney. Ever since that fateful mock trial they had held in class, he was made out to be the vilest of criminals (or at least as vile as you could ever contrive to imagine when in the fourth grade) and Edgeworth, and then Larry, had stood up for him.

It was Phoenix's dream to become a great defense lawyer—an ace attorney—and protect the innocent when no others would stand to take their case.

But that goal was violently derailed when he had met her.

Down in the courtroom library, studying of course, and nothing seemed to get into his head. Phoenix wasn't naturally studious, and the boring court proceedings and formalities were just out of his grasp. So, as he looked up from the impossibly small text, he caught a glimpse of an angel among the shelves upon shelves of tomes.

As he looked up, a small breath escaped him as her beauty filled his eye. There was no doubt—and his intuition was almost never wrong, least of all at this moment—that this petite girl was goodness personified.

Twin red tresses were tied along her head, emphasizing the subtle shape of her skull, and neat curtains of the same glorious crimson fell upon her shoulders gracefully. She wore a delicate pink outfit that so very perfectly suited her demure demeanor, with a rose parasol to match. Her eyes were dark and—clichéd as it was, it was perfectly true—soulful.

She met his awed gaze with a slightly surprised look on her face, and then her lips turned up in the most delightful way. With an elegant gait, she approached him—her, who was more of a goddess than a mere mortal, approached him, the geeky goof-off. It must have been the hair.

It went wonderfully, love at first sight. For the both of them, apparently.

But after that she kept asking for the charm back. That pretty necklace with a glass bottle on the end that he boasted about to everyone. And he was deeply afraid that if he gave it to her, she would leave him.

Not the Dollie was that kind of girl—it was just him being irrational. An irrational fear.

So he kept it with him all the time and whenever she asked for it back, he would… refuse. But he always wished that one day, she would not ask for it back—irrationally, again, Pheenie felt that she would never, ever leave him if she didn't ask. Was it called… symbolism? No, that can't be Wright. I mean, right. …Damn puns.

It was a silly little fear that stayed with him like a squirmy worm inside of an apple. Phoenix detested himself for the distrust… not that it was distrust. Perhaps there was some tension when he had first met her, but that was when Dahlia had been a stranger to him. Then, through the months of being her boyfriend, he found that Dollie was cute, funny, charming…

There was tension today. But only because of Doug Swallow, he thought to himself.

Because Dahlia would always be Dahlia, Dollie would always be Dollie. And he loved Dollie, so there was no fear.

None at all.

Nick

He had made a name for himself over the years, the glorious years as a defense attorney. And through those years, he had met many people.

Mia Fey. His mentor, the 'Chief' as he always called her. (Not to be confused with 'Chef'—she cooked horribly, as he found out one day. Even her coffee was too bitter. When he joked about the coffee, though, she remained silent in a solemn, sad way. So maybe there was something more to that.) She was an amazing attorney—strong, resilient—and a great teacher—patient, and taught all the right things. One of the most important things he had learnt from her: Always believe in your client.

Maya Fey. Mia's younger sister, and a burger-addict. (Not to be confused with burglar, though she was bordering on being a thief.) Despite her happy-go-lucky, childish attitude, Maya had been through a lot (though she may not look it) and had coped with it exceptionally well for a teen. Perhaps it had to do with her being a spirit medium? That she saw death differently from others? No, Phoenix decided. She took death as seriously and as hard as everyone else; Maya just had a strange inner strength that came out when it counted.

Maggey Byrde. Persistent bespectacled woman with terrible karma. (Not to be confused with hirable mama. What does that even mean?) Maggey plows through life like a bulldozer. Upcoming cliff? No problem, just take the detour. Except with her, the detour would probably lead to a giant ravine that she would have no choice but to fall through. But right at the bottom of the canyon, she would just grip the stones and climb up bit by bit.

Miles Edgeworth. Prosecutor extraordinaire, and possessor of frilly coats. (Yes, you read it right. Cravats and all.) A cold demeanor doesn't stop him from firing up in court. Even though he was a prosecutor, he still wanted nothing but to find the gem of truth. There was one time in court that he objected to a guilty verdict, only to find he had nothing to say. (Then he objected again to a more fruitful result, but that's another story.) Countless times when he worked with Phoenix to buy time, or simply bounce possibilities off each other.

And… Godot… Also known as Diego Armando. It was heartrending. One man, sworn for revenge, blinded by rage and loss. He did not deserve what he got—he didn't deserve the appalling deed that he was perhaps destined to do; he didn't deserve tragic life that he had lead, sleeping while his lover waited for Godot, and waking when she had died; he didn't deserve to hate himself everyday, to wish for death but yet compelled to carry on living, living without her. Godot had said he was running from the truth, that it was Phoenix who truly made Mia proud and not failed to protect her. It was half-true. He probably had made Mia proud, and wasn't to blame for her death. And yet, it wasn't fair that Mr Armando beat himself up everyday about it, not facing the facts, refusing to turn to the harsh light of day.

Nick had met many people. People who made him think, about life, death, dreams… People who helped him as an attorney and as a person. People who could make him laugh with uncontrollable glee or weep with irrepressible sadness. And these people made who he was today.

He had met these people because of what he did—clearing charges and setting innocents free, finding the truth and delivering justice. He had met these people because he was a defense attorney. Phoenix would not know whom or where he would be today if not for them. And he knew that they had changed him not only for good, but for the better.

Because of this, he would wonder whom or where he would be today if he were not a defense attorney.

Surprisingly, or maybe unsurprisingly, the possibility frightened him.

Not the casual fear of the unknown—the strange, alien feel the whole world would have, staring out of windows that are his eyes and unable to arrange the way the world is. As an attorney, he helps people, he condemns people, he decides.

Just thinking about it made him shudder, cold seeping up through his spine.

But it couldn't really be counted as a fear—after all, Phoenix was already a defense attorney. So he couldn't… not be one, because he already was one.

A trifle. A trivial little thought gone awry.

Nick, tall and strong, faced the world with his back straight, ignoring the tiny tingle of ice in his back—because he feared nothing.

Phoenix Wright

Phoenix Wright, Pianist Extra Ordinaire. He has changed over the years from a more goofy, carefree, yet passionate young man to a (still young) man with a knack for master-planning and a flair for the dramatic. How could things have changed so quickly? One moment, an attorney. The next, disbarred. Succinctly put.

He has lost his badge and his rights; however, he has also gained many things. A daughter, an apprentice—a family.

How can he lose them? How can he lose more than he already has? He will have nothing left if he does.

So Phoenix is careful, languishing in the background and dropping hints (much like his old mentor Mia did back in the day) to the duo, unknowing siblings. Though Trucy and Apollo have a proper family by blood, he will remain.

However, by other means, they may be taken away.

Phoenix Wright fears this.

It isn't just the losing of their company (though that certainly plays a part); it is the knowledge that they are the new generation and he is the past, and that if they are torn away from him… somehow the law will be further away than ever. In this way, it sounds selfish, him still clinging to the law enforcement route instead of moving on, but he knows that he has to stay on somehow.

However, even if Apollo manages to clear his name, Phoenix doesn't know if he will retake the bar exam.

Inside he knows: his time is over. He is now a puppeteer in the shadows, laughing at their mistakes whilst swelling in pride. It's time for Phoenix Wright, Ace Attorney to step aside for Apollo Justice and his assistant, Trucy Wright.

So he will, and yet he will hold them close. He is their family, he tells himself, reassures himself.

Has he always been so dependant?

Or is it just because he has nothing left to fall back on? No badge to hide behind, to present, no 'objection' to scramble up some last-minute evidence…

It doesn't matter.

All that matters is the truth.

And the truth is that he is scared.

What if they leave? What if he lays forgotten in some dusty corner?

Phoenix Wright is scared of being left behind.

A/N THE END. Anyway, I don't know if you guys managed to identify something I tried to incorporate into the 'Pheenie' bit, so I'll clarify—Dollie is used to refer to Iris, and Dahlia to… Dahlia. Though Phoenix is unknowing, of course. And the tension in the first time he met her and that day was because it was Dahlia there and not Iris. Ha ha. Not that I'm an Iris/Phoenix shipper. Dunno if Phoenix Wright's fears were accurate, and by that I mean HoboPhoenix. By the way, I'm still accepting requests for yet another bonus chapter should you guys want it. (P.S. Reviews are much, much welcome!)