Exam results are posted outside the lecture hall.

Miles Edgeworth stands before the board, reading in silence. His name sits at the top of the list. Highest score. No surprise there. His expression doesn’t change, but his gaze lingers- counting the margin, noting how narrow it is.

Too narrow.

He steps back, straightens his cuffs, and exhales through his nose. Around him, students react loudly, but the noise barely registers. His thoughts are already replaying the exam, isolating the questions that slowed him down, the answers that could have been cleaner.

Perfection should not feel this precarious.

He turns away from the board, posture rigid, composure intact. Whatever satisfaction the result should bring is already gone, replaced by a familiar, sharpening pressure.

First place is expected. Anything less than certainty is unacceptable.