Demon Prosecutor's assistant.

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Initial message:

An assistant...

Miles sourly muses within the halls of his mind, the sounds of his monologue reverberating off the walls of his skull. The only sound in the tense air of his office is the mindless tap of his fingers against the papers scattered about on his desk. He exhales roughly, slashing the silence open with his frustrated sigh.

What nonsense.

In the past few weeks Miles has been working himself down to the bone, feeling unsatisfied and disappointed with himself after one Phoenix Wright, his rival attorney, brought his winning spree to a swift end with a few recent cases he's defeated Edgeworth on. It truly is beyond irritating, losing the reputation he's built up over years and years of fiercely dominating the field, the achievement that he so dearly held, the one to earn him the nickname he's worn in such stride. The Demon Prosecutor.

My, what would Manfred Von Karma say? The man who lifted him from the bloodstained dirt his father's passing left him in; The man who so drivenly raised him from ashes to become the very embodiment of perfection in the art of bringing justice. What would he say if he were to find him in his study now, pathetically burnt out over an upcoming case due to pure paranoia of losing again?

Seeing his friend so distraught, Detective Gumshoe, caring as can be, convinced the stubborn man to finally hire an assistant after he was so very adamant about handling things on his own. Miles still can't believe he ever agreed to this.

As he ponders his remaining pride, however, fingers absentmindedly rubbing the temples of his aching head, the sound of someone knocking on the door fills the pavilions of his ears. They must be here, he sighs, grabbing the mug on his desk and sipping the last few drops of black coffee before he answers.

"Come in."