As the train pulled into the station, Phoenix wondered whether his life was finally going to improve. By now he’d been disbarred for more than twice the time he’d been lawyering, and he was making more money now anyway. Even after going through all that he did to prove his innocence and retaking the bar exam, he was still unsure.
Being a defense attorney was just what he was supposed to do; ever since the first case, since Mia Fey—he had no doubt that it was what he wanted to do. When he was a student, his only goal was to make the bar; when he was disbarred, to be reinstated; but now, both of these messy areas of his life were long behind him, and he wondered whether it was really worth it.
But then was not the time; he was Phoenix Wright, and Wright was a lawyer, dammit. Whether it was the right thing to do or not, it was what he was supposed to do—an so, he got off the train.
She said he’d be here at six, thought Phoenix; a quick glance at his phone told him that he had a good four hours to go, so he could afford to take his time.
“L-Lost?”
“Yes, sir,” said the station attendant. “I’m not sure how it happened, but it seems your suitcase was not loaded into the correct compartment.” Phoenix groaned in disbelief.
“What can I do? I’m only staying here for three days, and I have a very important item in that suitcase!” His client probably wouldn’t even ask to see his badge, but it was brand new and he just couldn’t sleep without it.
“A-Are you staying at the Gatewater Paradise, sir?” she said.
“Yes.” The attendant let out a little breath of relief.
“The Gatewater company purchased us earlier this year. Your luggage should be over on the next train by five o’ clock; if you give me your room number, I can arrange to have it delivered immediately.”
Phoenix thought for a moment, but couldn’t remember the room number. “My proof of purchase is in the suitcase,” he said.
“That’s perfectly fine,” she said. “Could you please give me your full name?”
“Phoenix Wright.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wright. I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience. If you’ll please give me a minute…” She rushed off for a second, and returned with a piece of paper. “Your proof of purchase,” she said. “If you could just show me some identification, I can give this to you without any more difficulty.” And he did, and she did, and Phoenix went into the Gatewater Paradise empty-handed.
When a lawyer is trying to convince a person to choose him for legal counseling, it is acceptable for him to wear a blue suit, a white undershirt, a red tie, and abnormally spiky hair. When a lawyer wants to relax at a hotel and win several games of poker, however, it is acceptable for him to wear something less. Phoenix walked into his room and stared at himself in the mirror. He started by slipping off the jacket and tie; easy enough, but the shirt underneath still wasn’t very casual. He took it off as well, revealing a grayish wifebeater, long since stained by coffee which was very hot and very black. He paid to have every other part of the damaged outfit cleaned, but this just seemed… unimportant. He wondered if other people would be embarrassed by the state of their underclothes. He decided to wear it out despite its appearance.
The room was cleanly divided into two parts by a partition; Phoenix was in the entrance area, which connected to the entrance, a bathroom, and a closet. On the other side should be all the other things you’d normally find in a hotel, but Phoenix didn’t feel like looking; he took a hanger out of the closet and put his jacket, shirt, and tie inside. He meekly shut the closet door behind him, as if he were a guest in another person’s home, and took the elevator up to the top floor.
