Chapter Text
Anyone who practices self-discipline and works daily to contribute to society would agree that punctuality is one of life’s most important virtues.
Or at least, that was what Edgar told himself over and over again when he decided he would overcome his anxiety and improve his attendance for his last year of University. And, as he inelegantly speed-walked halfway across campus to make it to Journalism 200 on time, he once again repeated this mantra to himself. It was his first class of the year, and if he broke his resolution before succeeding even once, Edgar didn’t think he’d be able to look at himself for weeks without feeling like a failure.
Edgar had actually woken up earlier than he had planned to - mostly because he was unable to stay asleep and grew tired of waiting for his alarm to go off - and was prepared to arrive exactly 15 minutes before class began. However, even with all of his infinite wisdom, he hadn’t had the foresight to pick out an outfit the night before, instead unwisely opting to leave the daunting and lengthy task for the morning. He was staring at his closet, wondering if his black, high-heeled boots would make too much of a statement for the first day, when the digital clock on his nightstand decided to inform Edgar that he was dangerously behind schedule.
Miraculously, he made it on time - he may not have been punctual, per se, but 20 seconds before eight a.m. would have to work for now - and was relieved to notice the professor hadn’t even arrived yet. He slipped into an empty seat in the back of the classroom, awkwardly avoiding his classmates' questioning eyes as he tried to calm his heavy breathing. While the outfit he'd had painstakingly selected was certainly fashionable, the turtleneck, vest, and trench coat combination did not aid him during his impromptu morning jog.
Edgar’s almost all-black outfit did, however, allow him to blend into the shadows shrouding the back wall of the classroom, and all of his spectators eventually devoted their attention away from him and towards the empty desk at the front of the room. he followed suit and played with a loose thread on his pants as a middle-aged man entered the room, crossed to the center, leaned precariously on the once-empty desk, and went straight into introducing the class.
Almost immediately Edgar tuned the man - who introduced himself as ‘Professor Goto’ - out. As a Literature student, Journalism 200 was a prerequisite for graduating that he had been blissfully unaware of until his advisor notified him that it would need to be added to his fourth-year schedule. The last available class was every Monday and Wednesday at 8 a.m., and so, he was forced against his will to sign up and ruin his meticulously handcrafted schedule. Edgar had purposefully ignored any classes starting before 10 a.m., as he was certainly not a morning person. And sitting in an early morning class that he would have to become accustomed to, combined with a general lack of sleep, made him long to be back at home in his bed.
As if being painfully early wasn’t a good enough reason to automatically dislike the class, Edgar also had no interest whatsoever in journalism. He was going to be a real author - a poet to be exact. Studying and writing boring, non-fictional news articles was unnecessary and only served to take up time that he could be spending writing interesting, fictional short stories and poems. Nevertheless, this was a required course, and he figured he could simply zone out every single class and still pass the exam with flying colors. Maybe he’d even teach himself to sleep with his eyes open, then the 8 a.m. part might not be so dreadful.
Roughly 17 minutes into the 90-minute class, Edgar was in the middle of writing a poem about a gallant knight on a brilliant journey for a lost city in his head - because who doesn’t write stories in their head - when a loud bang to his right scattered his words. His head immediately jerked towards the source of the noise, his eyes searching for the brutal murderer of his poem.
The door which was closed moments ago had been opened - apparently, with a force so great it had violently slammed into the wall - and daylight was pouring into the room. Through the deafening silence in the classroom, the culprit’s steps through the door were as loud as thunderbolts on a quiet night. So, Edgar wondered, who am I to blame for another lost composition? If only he would step out of the sunlight so I could see his face. All that he could make out was a lean man with pointy, black hair, wearing a brown, knit sweater, black jeans, a peculiar-looking hat, and carrying a satchel bag that seemed to be practically overstuffed. Something in his gut tightened; somehow, this felt familiar.
Professor Goto was the first to speak, “Care to tell me why you have entered my classroom almost 20 minutes late, interrupted my lecture, and damaged both the wall and the door in the process?”
The man in the doorway - who Edgar had already determined was a fourth-year due to his sheer amount of audacity - stepped further into the classroom, laughing as if he had been told a good joke.
“Sorry about the door! The hinges need to be greased, don't tell me you didn’t notice, Sensei-san. Anyways, it’s not like I want to be here, but the President told me to take this class and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.” He rolled his eyes as if that were obvious, then took a seat two rows in front of Edgar and began pulling miscellaneous items out of his bag.
Oh, that’s why it felt familiar.
The classroom became a living chorus of whispers; Wait, isn’t that guy the genius at the top of our class? I heard he could’ve graduated last year, but decided to stay for some reason. He’s never gotten anything short of the top grade in his classes. What was his name again? Edogawa Ranpo?
“Ranpo-san,” Professor Goto’s voice sounded almost nervous, “please forgive me, I couldn’t recognize you from the doorway. We’re so glad to have you join us. As I was saying…”
Before he heard anymore, Edgar was overcome with the sinking feeling of complete and utter dread, just like he was whenever he remembered the last time he saw Ranpo. They hadn’t had a class together since their first year - when Ranpo defeated him in a battle of wits that he didn’t think he would ever recover from. But, Edgar had heard in passing far more about Ranpo than he ever wanted to, considering he was the university president's adoptive son, a genius, and the campus golden boy. The whispers heard around the classroom when Ranpo showed his face were not much different from the talk that surrounded him almost daily. Everyone wanted to be friends with Ranpo, whether their intentions for doing so were good-hearted or not, and many envied his intelligence.
In Edgar’s case, he considered Ranpo somewhat of a rival. Even if his only grudge against the other man had occurred three years prior, he couldn’t forgive Ranpo for making a fool out of him and mocking his intelligence. He'd had never met someone who could outsmart him until Ranpo entered his life, crushing Edgar’s soul with that carefree yet arrogant personality.
Ranpo’s addition to the class made him all the more weary about the school year. His goal was to lay low, get through his classes, make minimal social endeavors, and become a full-time writer. But, where there was Ranpo, there was bad news for Edgar, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that his presence would become even more of a problem for him.
He tuned back into the lecture in time to hear his professor announcing the major project for the semester, which would account for 60% of their final grade. Basically, students would work in pairs to research and create an in-depth news article on any topic of their choice. Then, it came time to pair off and discuss initial ideas.
It quickly became clear that Edgar was just about the only person in Journalism 200 who did not have a single friend. Before he could muster up even an ounce of courage to ask someone to work with him, everyone had already paired off.
Well, almost everyone. Apparently being a popular genius doesn’t guarantee that people want to write a news article with you.
“What? Don’t tell me I have to work alone, that’s so boring,” came a loud voice feigning annoyance from two rows in front of Edgar.
He wanted to disappear. There was no chance he would work with Ranpo as his partner. He would rather drop the class and have to graduate a semester late. He sunk down into his seat, hoping that if he went low enough he would become invisible.
“Hey, you, hiding in the shadows!” Oh no, “You’re alone aren’t you?” Well, that hurt, “C’mere, we’ll be partners.” Anyone but you.
Edgar slowly rose out of his chair, collected his belongings, and made his way to where Ranpo was sitting - feet kicked up on the chair in front of him.
“Err… hello,” Edgar croaked out when the other man didn’t appear eager to start the conversation.
“Do I know you? You seem familiar.” Ranpo responded, without even opening his eyes to spare a glance at him.
So he doesn’t remember, Edgar thought, - but then, of course he doesn’t.
For Ranpo, it was just another successful competition, an effortless win. But for Edgar, it was an initial defeat, a realization that he would never be smart enough. As long as Ranpo existed, he could never be more than second best, and he despised how effortless it was for Ranpo. He didn’t even have to try to be smart, he was practically born a prodigy and had an easy life full of success because of it. Edgar had never been able to stop tirelessly working; writing every day until his hands ached or bled, reading any books he could find over and over again until he had them memorized, learning how to protect himself in a world that just didn’t seem to want him.
When Edgar moved to Japan and started University, he finally felt like he belonged; like he had a purpose. He felt good about himself for the first time in his life, everything came easily to him, and he felt confident in his abilities and proud of his writing. Then, everything shattered when he had the confrontation with Ranpo, and the illusion he had unconsciously crafted abruptly ended. He was reminded of what he had truly known all along, he just wasn’t good enough.
If Ranpo didn’t remember their shared history, then Edgar didn’t think he wanted to remind him. Instead, he swallowed his emotions and simply spoke his name, “Edgar Allan Poe.”
Ranpo didn’t miss a beat, “Alright, Poe-kun, then. Let’s start planning our project. It seems pretty boring so I’d rather get it over with.”
Did he just say Poe-kun? Why is he acting like we’re friends when he thinks this is the first time we met? He started to panic, feeling heat rise to his cheeks out of embarrassment. Ok, Edgar, calm down. Two can play at this game, right?
“What topic did you have in mind, R-Ranpo… kun?” Edgar internally cursed himself for stuttering - Ranpo didn’t seem even the slightest bit phased.
“How about we interview all of the local cafes and see if they’ll give us free pastries?”
Edgar didn’t even know how to respond, he just hoped the other man was joking.
——
The 20 minutes left of class followed a similar routine. Ranpo made offhand, off-topic comments and Edgar tried to keep him on track, so that they could make progress on their project, without making a fool out of himself in the process. Wasn’t Ranpo the one that said he had wanted to get it over with?
In the end, he made an executive decision and chose the first topic he could think of for their article, and while Ranpo said it sounded “like the most boring thing ever,” he didn’t outright reject it, which Edgar considered a win.
Much to his appreciation, the rest of Edgar’s first classes were uneventful, peaceful, and rival-less. Even though he often felt more well-versed in literature than his literature professors, Edgar was excited about some of his classes. Now that he was a fourth-year, he would get to dive into the obscure corners of the literary world while preparing to be a full-time writer.
During his second class on Monday and three on Tuesday, Edgar did his best to stay mentally present and listen to the lectures. Even so, he found that his mind kept wandering back to Journalism, and his reunion with Ranpo. Can you even refer to it as a reunion if only one of the parties remembered the other?
He could hardly sleep on Tuesday night, he desperately didn’t want to see Ranpo again the next day, not to mention that he would have to talk to him. He despised how Ranpo pretended like they were friends, and how he didn’t even remember their meeting in first year while Edgar had been constantly haunted by it. He dreaded how he would have to cooperate with Ranpo for the entire semester just to pass Journalism. Just the sight of Ranpo still brought painful memories to his mind.
Apparently, Edgar had lost sleep for nothing, because Ranpo didn’t even show up to class the next day. His eyes burned a hole into the empty seat two rows in front of him as he completely abandoned all attempts to pay attention to the lecture. Edgar tried to busy himself with writing in his head, but he found he wasn’t able to without adding a certain spiky-haired, pretentious character.
As the minutes ticked by, Edgar began to wonder if Ranpo would ever come to class again. Usually, people wouldn’t start skipping until at least the second week of classes. His dad is the president, he thought, if Ranpo really didn’t want to take a class, he’d probably let him graduate without it. Yes, that does make sense. Edgar smiled to himself, now he’d be able to easily complete the project solo and guarantee himself a passing grade without any effort at all. His first week of classes had already been filled with enough dread and anxiety, but now he would be free for the rest of the semester.
As he left class, mouth still slightly raised at the corners as opposed to his usual frown, Edgar’s sunny disposition was interrupted by the sound of raven caws accompanied by the feeling of something buzzing in his front pocket. He was confused at first until he remembered that his phone had that reaction when he received a notification. Edgar pulled the rarely used object out of his pocket and was met with a single text from an unknown number:
hi poe-kun!! come over tonight to work on project. dorm 214 (￣▽￣)☆
And with that, Edgar lost all hope for a peaceful year.