Hatred may have overpowered my morals, but it never quite destroyed them. Even at my worst, I never went as far as my mentor did -- a fact which often prompted him to berate me as inadequate. [The next two sentences are far more ashamed:] Nevertheless, for four years I never truly lost a case. I... have no doubt that I must have blood on my hands as a result of the methods by which I attained that record.

Change began not with something, but someone -- a childhood friend who had apparently been inspired by my previous emulation of my father in the months during which we knew one another. Phoenix Wright was concerned by my reputation as the "Demon Prosecutor", and took it upon himself to become a defense lawyer so that we might cross paths -- whether I wished it or not.

Wright displayed surprising courage, skill, and intelligence in court -- so much so, in fact, that he managed to uncover the truth behind two wrongful accusations on my part in as many months. In this way, my perfect record was destroyed, and my first doubts as to its value were planted. Unfortunately, my arrogance, my hatred for his profession, and my conflation of defendants with criminals prevented me from changing before the events of the year's end.