The Chance Encounter

The cold December air chilled my entire system as I walked along the street in the hopes of successfully arriving at the Chateau de la Rose at Paris. It was the annual Knights of the Court conference, a prestigious gathering of the world’s best lawyers (at least, that was what the invitation said). My plane had just landed a few hours ago, so I was still feeling a bit dizzy. Thank you, jet lag.

            For a few months now, the conference was the most talked about event in the law world. Many believed that Mr. Wright, my employer and the person behind the new Jurist System, would grace it with his presence, which is why I was surprised when he declined and sent me instead. With no new cases coming in, I was certain that I’d be able to finally get my well-earned R&R. I could probably even go skiing with my friends from university. It was an extremely naïve thought; I didn’t expect Mr. Wright to coerce me into accepting the invitation on his behalf by threatening to plant false evidence in my next case, ensuring my disbarment. Life is unjust.

            Bracing myself for the sharp winter breeze, I took a right at the next street. The invitation was still tightly tucked into my fist. I felt snow creeping up my shins as I trudged along the slushy sidewalk. In a matter of minutes, I found myself staring at a majestic castle with a rose carved into the front gates. I was sure that I had found it. I’d been walking for an entire hour since the cab dropped my off at the base of the Eiffel Tower (the cab couldn’t continue on due to the thickness of the snow), and I was scared I’d gotten lost already. The streets of Paris are not to be trifled with, I daresay.

            It took me a while to notice the line of limousines parked close to the entrance. Judging by the coats of snow that covered them, I deduced that they must’ve been there for about two, maybe three hours. The program had probably already started. The idea alarmed me. With my reputation – and Mr. Wright’s, too, I guess – at stake, I rushed into the castle, but not before being blocked by two armed guards first.

            After I had pleaded again and again with the guards, I was granted entry, but only after I had proven to them that I was indeed invited to the conference. Stepping into the equally impressive lobby, I found that I wasn’t the only new arrival. Many others were still lounging about, waiting for the doors of Conference Hall A to open. I did a quick scan of the room while looking for a seat. Most of the lawyers there were really famous ones, which was a big surprise. I had my doubts about the conference at first – I mean, it sounded pretty fishy to me that Mr. Wright would decline an invitation to a conference if it were really THIS amazing.

            Glancing around for a decent seat yielded no satisfactory results. There were, if I had to guess, only ten vacant seats left at most. Like I said, most of those who attended were famous – and old, pardon my choice of words. I had already decided to lean against a wall when someone called my name.

            “Justice!”

            I had hoped never to hear that voice again. Graduation was a blessing because it meant that I would never have to see this guy ever again in my entire life. He’s an arrogant, selfish egomaniac who’d step on anyone who made the fatal mistake of getting in his way. A prodigy, the professors at our university called him; you could tell that the professors immediately jumped at the chance to admit him as an exchange student from Switzerland to the school. He was almost my age, too – maybe even a bit younger. You’d be surprised to know that he and his gang of overachievers were the rulers (or, more appropriately, bullies) of the law department.

            “I never expected to see you here of all places, Apollo,” said the guy with his haughty Queen’s English accent.

            “Nor did I, Luc.”

            His lips curled into a mocking smile. “Whom are you representing, then? I daresay, you’re twenty years too early to be invited to the Knights of the Court.”

            I wanted to strangle him.

            “My employer, Phoenix Wright. Know him?”

            “Of course I do. After that daring experimental trial he conducted for the Jurist System, I highly doubt anyone’s still in the dark about him. I hear Klavier Gavin served as prosecutor at that trial. He’s good. Not brilliant, but good. I don’t know who the defense attorney was, though, but if he defeated Gavin, he must possess even a tiny bit of talent.”

            My chance to finally outmatch Luc d’Artagnan in arrogance had finally arrived. “I know the guy pretty well, actually.”

            “Oh? Who is it, then?”

            I felt a smirk spreading across my face. “Me.” My eagerness to see the shocked look on his face was incredibly hard to hide.

            To my utter dismay, Luc simply raised an eyebrow. “Impressive, Justice. You actually managed to make a name for yourself.”

            Forget strangulation. I wanted to blow him to bits.

            At that moment, the doors to the conference hall opened, and we were ushered inside. Despite the call for order that the host released, the atmosphere inside the lobby was still brimming with excitement, even from the most seemingly lethargic of groups. Luc and I got up from the couch we were sitting on and joined the crowd.

            “I’ll see you inside, then,” said Luc, snapping his copy of The Three Musketeers (I stole a glance at the title in curiosity) shut. I gave a small and forced nod, as if I wasn’t interested enough to reply. He smirked and went ahead of me, calling out to a friend of his in rapid French.

            Being away from him was one of the treats of the evening. I was lucky to be seated as far away from him as possible. “Thank goodness,” said I under my breath. The lights dimmed, and a beautiful melody started to play. The program was starting.

            I was still in a daze when the program ended. I didn’t expect to be acknowledged for my participation in Mr. Wright’s test trial, let alone be applauded for it. The attention I received from the audience made me a bit embarrassed, I have to admit. Naturally, Luc d’Artagnan was also given recognition during the conference – apparently, he and a few other leading European prosecuting geniuses (most notably Franziska von Karma, who purportedly began her career at the age of thirteen) are in the process of developing a system which uses psychology (excluding abnormal psychology) as evidence in a murder trial.

            I decided to spend a few more days in France after the conference. I was denied R&R by Mr. Wright, so I thought I’d make up for it by visiting the famous landmarks in the country. That is, until Trucy called me and asked me to take care of the cases which were piling up at the agency. I couldn’t say no to her, since Mr. Wright might actually turn his threat into reality. You never know when he’s joking. So, through gritted teeth, I said yes. Even when I wanted so much to say no. Mr. Wright may even be more manipulative than d’Artagnan. How could I have missed that?

            My flight was scheduled the next morning, so I tried to get some rest in my hotel room. For some unknown reason, my jet lag suddenly disappeared, and I was able to sleep soundly. The rest was a big blur. I didn’t bother to unpack, so my things didn’t pose much of a problem to me. Everything was organized beforehand, so all I had to do that morning was take a shower, get dressed, and check out of the hotel. Which I did.

            I was already aboard the plane when I found myself facing another huge surprise. It was exactly as big of a surprise as my encounter with Luc. Right there in the first class section of the plane was Luc d’Artagnan, quietly reading his book. I tried to sneak past him, but the guy had the eyes of a hawk. With a large grin plastered on his face, he got up and approached me haughtily.

            “Hello, Apollo,” said he. A chill suddenly ran up my spine.

            “Luc,” said I, icily. “I’m guessing you’re here to tell me something rather interesting.”

            “As a matter of face, yes, I am. The high judge at the District Court of California has just offered me a job there. He asked me to become the chief prosecutor at the Prosecutor’s Office. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered by his offer, and I’m very much inclined to accept the job. After all, Phoenix Wright is still somewhat active in the field despite his disbarment, is he not? It’d be an honor to meet him. Franziska tells me he’s a formidable opponent, having defeated her thrice in court. I daresay, the man is practically a legend. Miles Edgeworth also hails from that area, doesn’t he? It’d be a waste if I turned the job down, then. What do you think, Apollo?”