“Hours before the performance, and Alexi doesn’t take care of his equipment. Mein gott.”

Prosecutor Gavin mutters all the way to the dressing room, his heels clicking sharply on the tile. Miles sighs heavily.

“Please do try to calm yourself, Gavin. It’s very possible he simply overlooked it. And in the worst case scenario--”

“There is no worst case scenario! If we don’t play exactly as planned, we will be an embarrassment on that stage.”

“Prosecutor. I need you to focus.”

Gavin turns his head away from Miles and roughly turns the knob of the dressing room door. With a deep breath, Miles follows in behind him.

Sure enough, the wall is barren where the bass once stood. The tacky chains and police paraphernalia assault Miles’ eyes once more.

“He wasn’t lying.” Gavin tuts, walking over to the blank wall. “It’s not here… who made such a mess? Ach...”

The chains hanging from the wall are noticeably disheveled, some fallen into a small metallic heap on the floor. Miles frowns. “Someone wasn’t exactly careful. But may I ask why you have so many chains in this room? It seems… impractical.”

“You can never be sure when you’ll need them, Herr Edgeworth.” Klavier chuckles.

“You know -- never mind.”

Tracing a hand along the wall, Klavier pauses. “Look at that scrape, there. It wasn’t there before.” He runs a hand through his bangs. “I made certain this room was perfectly clean.”

Sure enough, the pristine white of the wall is marred by a red scrape of some kind. Miles leans closer, studying it. “What color was Mr. Plectra’s bass?”

“Red as his hair… ah! Do you think that’s where the paint rubbed off on the wall?” Klavier looks closer. “Someone must have grabbed it hastily and scratched it in the process. How careless.”

“Astute observation, Prosecutor Gavin. I think that’s most likely.” Miles smiles a slight. “You’re learning well.”

“You flatter me so, Herr Edgeworth. I’ve heard just how good you are, but to see you perform up close -- I’m impressed.” Klavier’s expression relaxes into a teasing smile. “The rumors can’t compare.”

“I don’t care much for rumors, Gavin. Only facts.”

“Mm, of course. Then tell me,” he chuckles, “is it fact or fiction that you have caused witnesses to have heart attacks on the stand?”

“Fiction -- only one witness in any of the trials I’ve served in had a heart failure, and that was due to a preexisting condition.”

“How about your suits being soaked in blood?”

“I won’t dignify that with a response.”

“How about your feelings toward a certain Phoenix Wright?”

Miles chokes, swiveling on his heel to look at Gavin. “What?”

“Your rivalry with him is famous in American courts. I don’t often have time to read, but when I do… it’s all over the tabloids. You do keep up with the news, ja?”

“I keep up with the news when it is relevant and informative. Not when it is baseless and… and vapid.” Miles turns away, fixing his gaze on the wall, the floor, the ceiling, anywhere else in an effort to investigate without distraction. “Gossip is gossip. Facts are facts.”

“Ach, I’m only teasing you, Herr Edgeworth. The two of you are famous all over the world -- I just have to ask what it’s like, facing such a powerful opponent. Does it make your heart race? Your blood course faster through your veins?”

“The only thing that increases my blood pressure is your incessant joking, Prosecutor. Now please,” Miles clears his throat, “focus. Look at the area where Kay’s slushie was spilled. Specifically, those footprints.”

“Ah, I noticed them already. I was just waiting for you to catch up.” Kneeling down, Gavin looks closer. “I have a terrible feeling that I know what you’re suggesting, Herr Edgeworth. But these footprints could belong to any one of us. We all walked in and out of this room.”

“That we did. But only one of us stepped in the spill. When Mr. Crescend took his unfortunate fall, he left a trail and a clear impression of his shoe behind. Now, compare it to the shoes that we see here…”

Miles walks along, following them back toward the door. “... they lead to the stage area. And they are very obviously distinct from Mr. Crescend’s footprint. Moreover, they’re fresh -- note how Mr. Crescend’s footprints have dried significantly since we were here, while the others are still wet. That can only mean that in the time between our exit from this room and our re-entry just now, someone else was in here. And that person very likely removed the belt and the instrument.”

Gavin snaps his fingers. “Achtung! Let’s go, then -- they can’t be far!”

Gavin swings the door open -- before exiting, both prosecutors spot a flutter of blue drop down from the lock. Miles bends and picks it up.

“This must’ve been caught in the door.”

“It’s just a speck of fabric. Is it that important?”

“You’ll learn, Gavin,” Miles’ eyes narrow, “that in our profession, everything is.”