#figureskating

"Miles Edgeworth lost the gold medal by 0.24 points.

For him, perfection is not an ambition. It is a necessity. A discipline. A promise made to a ghost.

When Manfred von Karma leaves him after a season deemed insufficient, Miles is assigned a new coach by the Federation. A man in a ridiculous blue beanie. A man who dares to call his skating empty.

Phoenix Wright is not a figure skating coach.

He is a pianist. A poker player.

Or so he says.

But what is he really hiding beneath his enigmatic smiles and that hideous beanie?"

The echo of the Goldies is now but a distant memory. The celebrations of the Golden Team, filled with loud laughter and endless toasts, have given way to a silence that is almost sacred. The noise has evaporated. The clamor has died down.

Now, there is only the cold. The biting chill of the rink.

FIGURE SKATING: THE PROGRAM

At the center of the ice, PDU-039 stands as a statue of millimetric precision. There is no trace left of the euphoria of recent days. His mind is a perfectly oiled machine, totally focused on the goal. Before him, he doesn't just see an Olympic competition; he sees the podium, he sees consecration.

He isn't skating for himself; he is fighting for the team, for the unshakable greatness of the Golden Army.

PDU-039 emanates a stage presence that defines the Golden standard: back straight, gaze fixed, a concentration so thick it feels tangible. An imperceptible nod of the head. The music explodes through the air.

PDU-039 moves in unison with the notes. He isn't just performing an routine; he has become the program itself. It is a dance of power and grace under total control.

Flip. A clean landing, as if the ice were silk.

Triple Lutz. A steel spiral defying gravity.

He picks up speed. The blades bite into the ice with controlled ferocity. The tension in the stands is a taut wire ready to snap. The suspense is breathtaking.

THE IMPOSSIBLE JUMP

Alton @alton-gold77 and Izzy @isaac-gold-45 watch the scene with every muscle tensed. Alton’s knuckles are white as he grips the railing. "Is what I think is happening actually happening?" Alton whispers.

In that very moment, PDU-039 accelerates even further. It isn't human speed. It’s a momentum that defies the laws of physics. His body leaves the ice in a flight that seems as if it will never end.

Quadruple Axel.

(Musics by @grant-gold)

Four and a half rotations. A fraction of a second where time stands still. The landing is a blade of light carving the ice perfectly. But the choreography allows for no pauses.

Harnessing the inertia of the jump, PDU-039 instantly drops into a sit-spin. His body lowers, coiled in a pose of pure power, while the blade etches a perfect groove. The rotations become infinite—at such speed that the contours of his figure blur, drawing golden spirals on the ice that seem to glow with their own light.

In the stands, the audience is in ecstasy. There is no more room for disbelief or simple cheering: everyone is totally hypnotized. Thousands of spectators remain motionless, breath held, prisoners of that golden vortex.

"FANTASTICO PDU-039!" the commentators finally scream, their voices cracking with excitement as the vortex slows down.

From the stands, the roar of Izzy and Alton finally drowns out the music. The two bros cheer, jumping to their feet. Alton turns to Izzy with an expression somewhere between ecstatic and incredulous. "How the hell did he do that?!" Alton exclaims. "Just the other day he was completely wasted at the Chalice! He couldn't even sit straight on his chair!"

Izzy smiles, a look of pure pride stamped on his face. "Heh... it seems like the Master gave him reserve wings," Izzy replies, crossing his arms. "In every sense."

PDU-039 looks up toward them. There is no fatigue, only the awareness of one who has done their duty.

Because when you’re part of the Golden Team, nothing is truly impossible. You don’t need to hope for a miracle.

You just have to put on your wings.