Work Text:
---
Gasoline rippled the early summer air. Idling motors growled and spat at the sunlight over the bay.
In the announcers' booth above the noise, Kunikida peered at his notebook, double-checking whether all his tasks had been seen to. They had not .
The mafia had pulled some strings to get the government to close off this seaside highway (and some connecting backroads) under the pretense of construction.
Around the starting line (which would also be the finish line), railings had been set up, behind which, some bleachers stood. There was even a little booth above the bleachers for announcers, as well as a small “box seat” for the Port Mafia Boss. A small crowd stood in and around the bleachers, made up of Detective Agency members, their secretaries, Port Mafiosi, and some undercover Special Operations Division agents.
For this race, four participants had been selected from each side to represent their organizations. The eight contestants were lined up in an absurd collection of vehicles.
Chuuya’s magenta motorcycle sparkled in the sun. He wore a dark green leather jacket and thicker gloves than usual. Beside him, Atsushi sat nervously on a gray and scratched-up collection of parts. Word had it that he got scammed out of two months' worth of his salary by some pawnbroker who’d claimed it was a prize-winning vehicle back in its day. Atsushi had at least managed to safely ride it to their starting location, so there was that.
To his right sat Gin, on a light blue Vespa, which had been a surprise to everyone but their brother. At the moment, Gin was glaring daggers at Yosano, whose black Harley Davidson stood between the Vespa and Higuchi. Higuchi’s bike matched Yosano’s exactly — to the year and model, except it was a glamorous gold color.
Higuchi was blushing, eyes flitting between those of her jealous partner and those of her ex whose old anniversary present she was riding. In a huff, Gin put their helmet on and turned away. Yosano, ignoring Higuchi’s embarrassment and Gin’s scorn, was making eyes with Kouyou, who was smiling softly at her from the stands.
Blissfully unaware of the tension simmering beside him, Kenji smiled peacefully atop a rumbling tractor that was definitely made half a century ago.
Beside him, Kajii fussed with the myriad of levers and knobs protruding from a contraption that had even less business being in a motorcycle race than Kenji’s tractor did. Kunikida had demanded a thorough safety examination of Kajii’s vehicle, but amid Kajii’s incomprehensible explanations of its mechanics and the frenzy of coordinating with all of the city officials, that list item was still unchecked. It caused worry in the pit of Kunikida’s stomach, but there simply wasn’t time at this point to do anything about it.
He had to trust that the Mafia wouldn’t do anything to endanger the contestants’ safety. He had to trust the truce. Trust the President’s judgment — the very President whose silver motorcycle idled on the far right of the formation.
He was accessorized with a scarf and old-fashioned motorcycle goggles. This vintage bike had a sidecar, in which a calico cat sat with a helmet and little goggles of its own.
Kunikida’s attention was drawn briefly from his notebook by a flash of motion from the far left.
“Give it back shitty mackerel!”
“Ah-ah-ah, Chuuya doesn’t want this to blow away, does he?”
Chuuya made another swipe at the hat as Dazai backed out of his arm’s radius, “You know perfectly well— ” another attempt failed, “that I am capable of keeping it on.”
“Oh right! With your sticky slug goo!”
Chuuya fumed, but before he could fully dismount his motorcycle and strangle Dazai, Dazai leaned in and planted a kiss on Chuuya’s cheek.
His cheeks reddened and he stumbled over his words. Dazai walked away to join the rest of the spectators. He shouted, without turning back, “You can get your hat back when you win!”
Kunikida had thought that was the last of the rogue spectators on the track until he looked closer. He hadn’t noticed earlier amidst the chaos, because the man in black was standing so still.
Directly in front of Atsushi’s motorcycle, Akutagawa faced him, stiff as a board. Their eye contact was intense and unsettling to Kunikida, who still didn’t know how to make heads or tails of the pair’s interactions. He stuck his head out of the booth and bellowed down to the track, “All spectators must vacate the raceway so that we may proceed.”
Tachichara’s chuckle sounded through the PA, followed by a “Get a room!” from Ranpo. The two of them had been selected as the event’s commentators, and Kunikida was regretting recommending each organization pick their respective announcer by majority vote.
A feedback-laced dog whistle from Tachihara finally snapped Akutagawa from his daze. He coughed and spoke, “I’ll be awaiting your return,” before retreating from the road.
The President shot a look Kunikida’s way, and he could tell by the set of his jaw that the President was impatient .
“Standby,” he said to Haruno, who was next to him at a control board and monitor, piloting the drones providing live video feeds to the monitors flanking the starting line.
He stepped out of the booth with a megaphone, holding a notebook-created starting gun.
“Drivers, please ready your engines,” the low growl of motors spiked violently as they revved up, “On my signal, let the First Annual Joint-Organization Truce Celebration for the Safety of Yokohama Motorcycle Race begin! ”
BANG!
At the starting gun, Chuuya immediately put space between himself and the rest of the pack. He was in his element, overjoyed to have an excuse to take his old bike out for a spin, already forgetting his embarrassment at the spectacle Dazai had made.
It would’ve felt better to have his hat on, but Kunikida made it very clear that nobody was allowed to use their abilities to give themselves a racing advantage. Not that using gravity to keep his hat on would make him inherently faster, but Chuuya’d admit, if only to himself, that it would be hard to resist enhancing his driving once it was activated.
Damn that mackerel, that’s probably why he insisted on taking the hat in the first place. But the wind in his hair felt good, so he couldn’t complain.
He glanced back to see that his lead had grown smaller. He’d thought nobody would stand a chance, but Yosano was rounding the corner several meters behind him, splitting the distance between him and the others.
Chuuya turned back to the road in front of him and grinned, glad to have some competition.
— — —
“Yosano-san isn’t far behind the short guy now,”
“Yes! Who could’ve expected that the doctor had this secret hobby!” Tachihara exclaimed with a perfect sportscaster tone.
“Idiot, it’s obvious that he’s into that sort of thing.”
“You heard it from the greatest detective himself, folks!”
The drone’s overhead shot now showed the herd of bikes finally spreading out from one another.
Trailing behind Yosano was Higuchi, with Atsushi surprisingly not far behind her. Gin followed the pair by a few yards.
“Woah, damn Gin! I didn’t realize Vespas could even go that fast! Wow..” Tachihara trailed off.
“Stop drooling, kid. Not surprising that Kajii’s thingamajig is lagging well behind the actual motorcycles, he—”
Ranpo stopped talking when the camera panned to the road behind Kajii, realizing he’d just disrespected the President’s motorcycle.
“I mean, behind all of the other vehicles with only two wheels . Of course, Fukuzawa-shachou is making his way at a very respectable pace. I’m sure his sidecar and the safety of the cat keep him from using the full range of speeds available to him—”
“But you’ve gotta give him points for style!!” Tachihara cut in, “and bringing up the rear at a steady 12 miles per hour, the small but mighty Kenji! Anything could happen, folks, it’s anyone’s race!”
“Wrong. I could—”
“Aaaand this is when I remind you that our job here is not to predict the outcome!”
“I’m not about to lie to them that it’s anyone’s game—”
“That’s just good sportsmanship, man, come on—”
“Bo-ring-”
“If you detectives are so smart, why’d you elect this party pooper as your commentator. I swear—”
A thump and a short whine of feedback cut them off.
— — —
Evidently, Kunikida was having a word with the announcers.
Kajii couldn’t contain his smile.
Perfect .
While the referee was distracted, Kajii opened the plastic casing over a red button on his control panel labeled, “ULTRA BOOST!!! LVL 1”
Cackling, he pressed the button. Flames shot out of the back of his lime green vehicle as he rocketed forward.
Gin’s assassin reflexes prevented them from nearly getting rear-ended, their Vespa swerving gracefully out of the way to allow Kajii to pass.
Kajii’s flames began to sputter and pop as his boost wound down, the sound causing Atsushi to turn around.
Atsushi went wide-eyed in fear and floored his bike. It groaned and rattled, but he managed to distance himself from Kajii, whose speed was decreasing again. Not wanting to take any chances, Atsushi pushed his ramshackle motorcycle to its limits, even passing Higuchi.
He was safe, Kajii thought, for now .
— — —
Haruno’s drone coverage had been focused on the front six competitors, one feed following Chuuya and Yosano, the other broadcasting the mess in the middle.
Now that the bit of chaos Kajii had caused had died down, she brought the drone back to check in with the last two riders.
But they weren’t on the route at all.
Apparently, Kunikida’s lecture to the announcers was over, because Tachihara chose this moment to resume commentary.
“Where could Kenji and the Agency President be? They didn’t speed to the front while we weren’t looking, did they?”
“Haruno, can you move the camera back to mile marker two?” Ranpo asked lazily.
The screen showed an empty spot on the highway where the stone wall running along it had a gaping hole in it.
“Woah! It looks like Little Farmer Boy made his own shortcut! A pretty epic move—”
The microphone cut short once more, and muffled shouts and thumps could be heard.
When Tachihara’s voice returned, it sounded weary, “U-Unfortunately, due to deviating from the course, Kenji-kun has been disqualified. But just because he won’t count in the official results, doesn’t mean we can’t wait and see if his little trick paid off.”
“Well, obviously it—”
“Aaaand let’s check back in with the folks still in the race. While someone was busy lecturing me, Chuuya and Yosano have already passed the halfway point — Chuuya’s keeping his steady lead, unsurprising behavior from the King of the Bike himself—”
“I’m sure you’re the only one who calls him that,” Ranpo retorted, as the screens switched from showing the two in the front to the pack of four in the middle.
Atsushi and Higuchi were neck and neck, despite the vast difference in the qualities of their vehicles, with Kajii close behind and Gin scooting along at the back.
Atsushi’s bike made a sputtering noise, and he slowed for only a second, but it was all Higuchi needed.
Tachihara whooped, “Higuchi’s pulling ahead, she’s— she’s overtaken the weretiger and– wait, where’s your President?”
“Oh, Haruno, show them the feed,” Ranpo said, “As you can see, Fukuzawa-shachou is taking a nice afternoon drive through the countryside.”
The feed showed just that, the President’s scarf flowing calmly back in the wind as he drove well below the speed limit along forested streets, passing the occasional cottage, the cat in his sidecar looking perfectly content.
“How did he—”
“He obviously took advantage of that hole in the wall that Kenji made, and took detours from there.”
“Well… needless to say, the President is also…” Tachihara coughed, “disqualified, but he’s taking such winding roads and going so slowly that I doubt he poses a threat anyway—”
A large BOOM cut him short, and the feed switched back to the pack of four, just in time to see (and hear) Kajii shout:
“LEMON BOMB ACCELERATORRRRRR!!!!”
Explosive flames erupted from his vehicle as he shot forward, cackling all the way.
Atsushi and Higuchi had been too focused on each other and had no time to react. Their vehicles were caught in the explosion, Kajii passing both of them in the blink of an eye.
“What the hell?!!” Tachihara balked, “no Kunikida, you don’t have to tell me — I know, I know, he’s disqualified—”
“Kunikida-kun, I thought you said you inspected everyone’s vehicle ahead of time? Now we—”
Another feedback noise and then Kunikida wrested the mic from Ranpo’s grasp, “My sincerest apologies, everyone, however, due to the nature of this particular accelerator, which seems to be fueled exclusively by Kajii’s lemon bombs, I was unable to detect anything nefarious — I imagine he had yet to generate the bombs before the race started.”
A hush had fallen over the crowd, as they waited for the smoke to clear up on-screen.
Akutagawa gripped the railing of the spectator area with white knuckles. The crowd had cleared a small space around him, for fear that the rippling and twitching Rashoumon might lash out at them if they got too close.
Akutagawa hadn’t noticed, eyes glued to the screen as a patch of smoke dispersed to reveal Higuchi — crouched next to her motorcycle, inspecting it for damage, the edges of her hair and clothes lightly singed, and Atsushi — lying on the ground on the side of the road next to the crispy remains of his bike.
“ Jinko! ” Akutagwa yelled, Rashoumon slicing through the spectator railing as he jumped onto the road and ran futilely in the direction of the racers.
Dazai’s voice cut through the murmurs of the crowd, “Akutagawa, wait. Look.”
Akutagawa froze and looked up at the screen to see Atsushi slowly standing up and brushing himself off. He swung a leg over his bike, winced at the terrible popping noise it made when he tried the accelerator, but drove on carefully anyway, at a rumbling 10 mph.
Higuchi followed suit, but passed him in no time, her motorcycle seeming to have withstood the blow much better.
The PA finally sounded again, “Wow, that was a close call, folks. On behalf of the Port Mafia, I’d like to apologize. We didn’t know this was gonna happen—”
“You really think Kajii wasn’t going to try something like this?” Ranpo scoffed.
“What are you trynna say?”
“Oh nothing, nothing, it’s fine… just glad everyone’s okay.”
“Wait, where’s Gin?”
The cameras switched to show Gin, scooting along at an easy pace. They were still behind Kajii but must’ve passed Atsushi and Higuchi while the two were stopped.
“Ah, thank goodness,” Tachihara sighed.
“So… our current standings are Chuuya in the lead, with Yosano close behind, three disqualified contestants, Gin in third, Higuchi in fourth, and Atsushi in fifth. And you , ignorant audience, have no idea how it’s going to turn out. Hehehe.”
“Let’s tune into our race leaders’ fierce battle for first place.”
Yosano had narrowed the gap between herself and Chuuya and was gaining on him. There were times when it looked like they were almost side-by-side.
In the stands, Kouyou’s face was as calm as a clear lake, but her hands gripped the handle of her folding fan too tightly. Surely it was nerve-wracking watching her girlfriend and her otouto battling it out with such a narrow margin.
“We’re in the home stretch, folks! Who’s gonna take home the trophy for the First Annual Truce Whatchamacallit? Oh shit!!! Kajii’s coming in hot behind Chuuya and Yosano!”
Kajii indeed was. He’d been using his LEMON BOMB ACCELERATOR with wild abandon now that he’d been disqualified and there wasn’t anyone directly in the blast radius.
“Remember,” Ranpo said, “No matter what happens, Kajii’s results won’t count anyway.”
“But it’s still fun to watch!!!”
There were murmurs throughout the spectators, shouldn’t he be taken off the course? Isn’t he a hazard?
But nobody on either the Port Mafia or the Detective Agency side volunteered to attempt to remove him from the race.
Kunikida cursed himself and made a note for next year to hire a roadway safety team.
“Oh shit! Holy shit!” Tachihara gasped, “Yosano just passed Chuuya! She’s– She’s pulled ahead!”
“Yayyyyy Yosano-san!” Ranpo called.
“They’re almost at the finish line, folks! Wow, I can’t believe it— what?”
About 100 yards from the finish line, a red glow started surrounding Chuuya.
“C’mon, man, you’ll be disqualified,” Tachihara whined.
But it was too late, Chuuya must’ve used his ability to lighten his motorcycle, speeding forward. His pride had gotten the better of him.
Chuuya and Yosano crossed the finish line at exactly the same time.
“Yosano-san is the winner!!! Congratulations Yosano-san!!!”
The crowd roared with cheers. Yosano slowed her bike and immediately jumped off to stalk over to where Chuuya was dismounting his.
“You little shit, why the hell did you have to go and cheat at the end, we were having such a good race.”
Chuuya was about to make an angry retort, but he couldn’t think of one, and then his wits caught up to him, “I know, Yosano,” he hung his head, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”
“Now my win doesn’t mean as much,” she poked a finger into his chest, “You’re going to have to face the consequences.”
Chuuya looked up, “what consequences?” To be honest, “consequences” from Yosano didn’t sound like such a bad thing…
“A rematch.”
Just then, Kajii and his machine thundered past the finish line, pulling over to a stop, as boos rang out from where all the Agency secretaries were sitting together. He jumped down from his seat, took a bow, then started running away as fast as his legs could carry him.
Kunikida was running after him, sun gun in hand.
“Yes, congrats to Yosano for being the first—”
“And only non-disqualified—”
“Yes, Ranpo, the first person to finish! Who will be next? Let’s take a look at our final three—”
A large crumbling sound interrupted Tachihara. The stone wall next to the road near the finish line broke open. Out came Kenji atop his tractor. He turned onto the road and rode over the finish line a slow minute later.
“Wow, you have to admit, folks, he really committed! Did he just cut across the entire countryside in a straight line?”
“Bingo!” Ranpo chimed in, “Haruno, show them.”
The screen switched to a high-up drone shot of the whole racecourse and the countryside in between, a faint line visible where a tractor had clearly plowed a straight line that cut across the early and late parts of the course.
“That’ll come straight out of the agency budget, won’t it, Kunikida-kun?” Ranpo teased, but Kunikida was nowhere in sight. If one listened closely, past the sounds of motors, they might’ve heard a man shouting, followed by an electric buzzing and a high-pitched wail.
“Wait a second, that’s your President!”
Sure enough, Fukuzawa was driving out through the hole in the wall that Kenji had made, still at his leisurely pace, not a hair on his nor the cat’s head looked out of place. He slowly and steadily crossed the finish line.
“Great job, Fukuzawa-shachou!” cheered Ranpo.
All the spectators clapped respectfully, everyone seemingly forgetting, or not caring, that Fukuzawa had been disqualified.
Mori, who’d been sitting in his booth at the back of the bleachers, left his seat and approached the raceway. Fukuzawa dismounted, the cat jumped out of his sidecar, and they both walked over to the side of the track, where Mori was waiting behind the railing.
When Fukuzawa reached the railing, he and Mori looked at each other for a moment. Mori opened his mouth, but closed it once more, instead reaching out his hand to shake Fukuzawa’s.
The crowd’s attention was torn away from this by Gin and their Vespa, who had just now steadily scooted to the Finish.
“WOOOOOO! GIN!! LET’S GOOOO” Tachihara’s whooping was clipping the microphone horrendously, “Yeah Gin! Second place!!!”
Gin removed their helmet and gave a little wave, a dusting of pink on their cheeks from all the eyes on them and Tachihara’s overexcitement.
A rumbling approaching made Gin and everyone else turn their heads back to the finish line, where a slightly worse-for-the-wear Higuchi was slowing to a stop.
Tachihara stopped cheering for Gin to add, “Way to go, Higuchi! Third place!!!”
Higuchi pulled her bike right up to Gin’s. Gin took her face in their hands and gave them a soft kiss in front of everyone!
The crowd erupted into whoops and dog whistles, and Tachihara became speechless.
While everyone’s attention was focused on those two, Yosano had entered the stands to find Kouyou. They were now facing each other and talking in hushed tones. Kouyou’s hand sneaked its way into Yosano’s and threaded their fingers together. When nobody was looking, Kouyou planted a small kiss on Yosano’s cheek, sending a pink flush through her face.
Meanwhile, Chuuya had jumped the railing and stalked over to Dazai, who pulled Chuuya’s hat from behind his back.
“Want this?” he taunted.
“Give it back, shitty Dazai.”
“Well, I said I’d give it back if chibi won, but he got disqualified, so I don’t think he gets it back.”
“Shut that stupid fish mouth of yours,” Chuuya growled.
“Hmmm…. No.” Dazai raised the hat high above his head, out of Chuuya’s reach. Chuuya attempted to use his ability to float high enough to reach the hat, but Dazai poked him in the forehead with his free hand, making him fall back down immediately. Dazai chuckled as Chuuya’s frustration seemed about to boil over, “...Unless Chuuya makes me.”
Chuuya’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, then he jumped at Dazai, knocking him onto his back as people scampered to get out of the way.
Chuuya straddled him and swung an arm toward his face, the onlookers fearing a fight would break loose. But Chuuya’s hand instead grabbed Dazai by the bolo tie and pulled him into a deep kiss.
When he finally pulled away, Dazai whined, “Not so much teeth, Chuuya! Not here!”
“Then give me my fucking hat back.”
“Fine, fine,” he placed the hat on Chuuya’s head, “slugs shouldn’t really be allowed to have teeth anyway.”
“Haaah? What did you just say?”
“I said great job in the race today.”
“You goddamn liar you—”
Their conversation devolved into a wrestling match, as everyone slowly migrated away from them.
Even though Kenji had just cost the Agency a lot of money, he was surrounded by smiling Agency secretaries showering him with praise. Suddenly Kyouka approached him, looking down at her feet. She spoke softly, “Good job, Kenji.”
He smiled wide, “Thanks, Kyouka!”
She turned her face up to him, then, with a flash of determination in her eyes, stepped forward to wrap him in a tight hug.
His body tensed up for a moment before he brought his arms up to hug her back.
With all these tender (and violent) encounters brought on by the adrenaline of the race, nearly everyone had forgotten that there was still one competitor who hadn’t made it back around.
But Akutagawa certainly wasn’t one of them.
His face looked paler than its usual vampiric hue. There was sweat on his brow and his jaw ached from clenching.
He stood alone, watching the bend in the road, waiting for Atsushi to round it.
The screens were only showing footage of the happy finishers and the crowd at this point.
Akutagawa didn’t know if Atsushi was close at all, let alone whether or not he was safe.
After what seemed like an eternity to Akutagawa, a white-black-grey shape appeared from around the bend in the road, traveling very slowly.
This appearance seemed to remind the folks in the announcers’ booth that the race wasn’t over.
The screens zoomed in on Atsushi, clothes ripped, face and arms scratched up and smudged with soot, limping next to his broken bike, pushing it painstakingly alongside himself.
“Come on, Atsushi-kun!” Ranpo piped up, “You got this!”
“ Jinko!!! ” Akutagawa roared. This time, nobody could stop him from jumping the railing and running on the road all the way to where Atsushi trudged along.
Akutagawa was about to use Rashoumon to help Atsushi stand up straight when Atsushi snapped, “Don’t touch me, Akutagawa!”
Akutagawa flinched.
“Th-thank you but, but if you help me, I’ll be disqualified,” he kept trudging forward, “I really want to finish the race.”
Understanding dawned on Akutagwa’s face, “Then, Jinko… do you mind if I…. walk alongside you?”
Atsushi blushed, “No… I don’t mind.”
Everyone watched this sweet interaction on screen, the two men’s voices too soft and far away to hear what they were saying.
The two gradually made their way to the finish line. The moment they’d stepped over it, Akutagawa’s arm immediately slid around Atsushi to prop him up.
The crowd burst into applause as Tachihara and Ranpo concluded their race commentary.
“Ladies and Gentlefriends, Atsushi has just finished the race, earning him a solid fourth place!”
“Yayyyy Atsushi-kun! That’s the end of the race, folks! Will Yosano-sensei please come forward to receive the first-place trophy?”
As Yosano disentangled herself from Kouyou’s arms, Atsushi dropped his bike with a thud and leaned fully on Akutagawa’s shoulder.
“I- I came in fourth? How?”
Akutagawa smiled softly, “Because the Jinko is too earnest for his own good.” He leaned over and kissed the top of Atsushi’s head.
Atsushi went red from head to toe, but when his brain caught up with him, he turned to face Akutagawa, “That still doesn’t answer my questio—mmmnnhh!”
Akutagawa had shut him up with a kiss on the mouth.
Kunikida appeared from somewhere, a large motorcycle-shaped trophy in his hands.
He met Yosano in the center of the roadway.
Kunikida cleared his throat, “I hereby present this first-place trophy to the winner of the First Annual Joint-Organization Truce Celebration for the Safety of Yokohama Motorcycle Race, Yosano Akiko.”
Yosano took the trophy amidst the applause and turned to glare at Chuuya. “Pick a time and place, you little punk. You and I are going to race again so you know exactly why I deserve this trophy.”
Chuuya let Dazai out of the headlock he’d had him in and brushed himself off, walking over to Yosano. He stuck out his hand, “Deal.”
She shook it reluctantly, balancing the trophy on her hip with her other hand.
Kunikida had already walked away, furiously noting everything that went wrong today in his notebook to avoid these problems in the future, and making cost estimates for all the damage caused by Kenji and Kajii, when Tachihara’s voice broke off his train of thought.
“After speaking with Boss, on behalf of the Port Mafia, I’d like to say great job to Yosano-sensei on her epic win, and as an additional congratulations, the Port Mafia will be covering all damage, medical bills, and government bribery expenses for the race.”
“That’ll make Kunikida-kun happy, won’t it? Anyways, that’s all from us. Let’s look forward to next year, and nobody kill each other before then, okay? Happy truce! Get home safely!”
----