Work Text:
Classical literature is boring
Ranpo had never had any issue with voicing his opinions on things. He had been told time and time again that his mouth will get him into trouble. Ever since he was a child he spoke without a filter, to anyone and everyone regardless of class or level of superiority. One might blame his parents for such absurd behaviour, but his parents were the same.
Even after they died, he never once thought to put a lid on his eccentric behaviour. He thought the world was quite simple honestly, viewing everything in shades of black and white. Never once when he was with his parents did he sense anything wrong with his views, and never once did he see even a prospect stroke of grey in the painting that depicted his world. Every mystery was a mere four-piece puzzle that could be easily solved, it felt almost like a game.
It wasn't until they were gone from his world did anything seem strange. He joined the police academy and felt constrained by the rules he had been given. All around people looked taken aback by his honest comments, finding him insulting rather than gracious with his wisdom. Especially the way they couldn't seem to understand mysterious cases that looked blatantly obvious, It always left him perplexed.
Like how he saw things in black and white, he had a clear knowledge of what he liked and disliked. He liked snacks, particularly sweets of any kind. He liked to eat the red bean paste inside. He liked solving mysteries that interested him, especially when he received praise for doing so. His list of dislikes was quite long compared to his likes, most of the list consisting mainly of stupid people and transport. What he despised the most, however, were things that bored him.
Which brought back the point of his distaste for classics.
It would be going a bit far to say the dislike spread to all books, for there were a few he liked. He hated books that were too big, too wordy, and had a boring plot. He'd rather read short interesting stories, mainly mysteries, and multitudes of interesting pictures. Needless to say, he did not read much.
Fukuzawa did try his best to educate ranpo in literature, but to no avail. After the first page, he could accurately predict the ending, leaving the old man in well-hidden frustration. The only books he has seen the boy read were the Sherlock Holmes series, late in the night with nothing but the light of a flashlight that he used to read curled in the corner of the room when he thought he couldn't be seen.
Even though there was the hidden interest in his favourite childhood books, Ranpo wouldn't say that the writer was his favourite author. He didn't favour many people, as it seemed when he did things seemed to happen to them to cause tragedy. Though if he had to choose one, he would say without hesitation like he did everything else, that it would be Edgar Allen Poe.
Poe rarely had any lighthearted stories, and no matter how much he complained, rarely had any drawings to accompany his writing either. Despite that, every time the man presented a book to Ranpo, hoping that he would finally defeat him in his skill, Ranpo would take the time to look through it before he solved it in five seconds flat.
Despite his dark and eerie demeanour, Poe was quite enjoyable to be around. He considered himself the esteemed rival of the world's greatest detective, though he had yet to win against him. Even more, Ranpo knew everything. Nothing went past him, and when he had a plan, despite the supposed rivalry, Poe would be the first to offer his services to aid him.
This is why, with the looming threat of Fukuchi creeping upon them, he wasn't at all worried. He had a plan, he knew every move the man would make. And as he tossed the empty pack of crisps over his shoulder, the author in question stood nearby, nervously glancing at him.
"I finished what you asked for" He stretched his left arm toward him, a small blue book in his outstretched hand.
"Perfect!" Ranpo snatched the book from the man's hand and placed it in the back right pocket of his trousers. He didn't bother to check the writing, or even the cover. Anything Poe wrote was exceptional, and it would get the job done.
Poe examined Ranpo uncertainly through his bangs, the fringe obscuring his eyesight tremendously. On his shoulder sat his beloved racoon. Sensing his owner's uncertainty, Karl's tail swished, batting Poe's face before he leapt off his shoulder and scurried away.
Poes mouth quivered, as if he was contemplating asking a question, but deciding against it. It annoyed Ranpo a bit, he already knew what he was going to ask, and he'd rather he be out with it instead of trying to be polite. They were alone, safely secluded within one of poes many works, "the spectacles" or something of the sort. The story was quite short, and quite easy to deduce the ending. It reminded him of his ability, though he didn't bother to ask whether or not was he the inspiration.
"...Are you sure about this?" Poe finally risked asking, after what felt like many hours of inner turmoil.
"Very sure."
"You're certain that the book you've requested for me to write is the key to ending that man's terror?" He asked again, doubt Deeping into his word-riddled mind as he watched Ranpo pull out another sweet from what looked like thin air. If he didn't know any better, he would have assumed manifestation was his ability.
"Yes, I am" Ranpo responded, not bothering to look up from his seat on top of the old oak desk in the office room where they resided as he wrestled the blue wrapper from his lollipop. Throwing the wrapper over his shoulder in the same direction that he had thrown his crisps, he shoved the sweet in his mouth, muffling his speech.
"When have I ever been wrong?"
Poe didn't answer, he didn't have one. For as long as he had known Ranpo, he had never been wrong. Not once, ever, and he had had a feeling that he never would be. And yet, even though he knew Ranpo couldn't possibly be wrong, something felt wrong. He couldn't place it, as if it was a word that had vanished from his mind amid writing, leaving him in deep frustration. It felt as if a dire detail was being forgotten, and he couldn't figure out what it could be.
Giving no care to the worry that radiated from the writer. Ranpo looked at the large antique grandfather clock that stood in the corner of the room. He couldn't care less about what direction the hands were pointing on the clock, he didn't know how to tell analogue time anyways. It felt like it was time to confront Fukichi, and Ranpo trusted his ability.
He jumped off the desk and stalked past poes lanky frame. He looked around for a moment, before sticking his hand behind the grandfather clock, removing an old pair of round wire frame glasses from the crevices.
"It's almost time to go, better to talk to him soon before I get tired of walking"
Ranpo pulled out his rectangular spectacles with the same hand and began to place them upon his face to deduce the story and escape the book. Before he could place them upon his face, a pale hand gripped his wrist firmly to prevent it from moving. Ranpo looked up at Poe questioningly, making contact with the pools of lavenders through the Fringe that framed his face. He felt like he was staring, if Fukuzawa was there at that moment he would have scolded him and told him staring was rude. Poe didn't seem to mind his shameless behaviour, and he did not comment on it, other worrying thoughts on his mind.
"Tell me your plan is going to work."
"But I already-"
"Will it work?"
Silence. Ranpo already said yes, he didn't know what supposed to say. Scratch that, he knew what Poe wanted him to say. He also felt like something crucial was missing from the plan, and he knew the flaw. He had planned for it in case it did happen, but he had no intent on telling Poe what it was. It was too much work, and he didn't feel like explaining. It would only bring him more worry anyways.
Ranpo cracked a smile, causing a spark of surprise from Poe.
"Of course, it will work" He handed Poe the remains of his lollipop, he didn't crave it that much anymore. "I'm the world's greatest detective."
He broke from Poe's grip and put on his glasses. Deducing the story's ending, the man who had initially thought the woman was youthful and breathtaking but his horror after putting on a pair of spectacles and discovering that she was not a youthful woman but an old toothless woman. A flash of yellow light and he was gone, leaving Poe alone in the room with nothing but the scratching sounds of Karl's movement filling the sound.
Poe sat on the floor, unsure what to do. He didn't want to leave just yet, he had done his job and played his part for now. He didn't feel like speaking to Mushitarou at the moment either. He still worried about the plan, certain that something may go awry and it would be the fault of his.
Sensing his worry, Karl scurried toward his owner and climbed to his home upon his shoulder and nuzzled into his neck. Remembering the lollipop, he held it up for Karl to lick. The raccoon began to devour the sticky candy, and with the scent of the artificial blueberry easing his senses, Poe felt less worried about Ranpo.
After all, he was the world's greatest detective
...
Ranpo walked alongside Fukuzawa as they made their way to the meeting point to come into contact with Fukichi. Neither said anything and for the rare circumstance, Ranpo was fully alert as they got closer towards the renowned warrior.
Fukichi didn't seem to notice them at first. his back was to them, staring off into the distance as if he was recounting a memory. His hand rested firmly around the hilt of his infamous blade, ready to cut through an opponent if necessary.
As they got closer, Ranpo mentally took note of the large shape that stood next to the man, coincidently covered by a pristine white sheet and concealing what was hidden beneath. Thoughts ran through his head miles a minute, ideas popping up and fizzing out just as quickly as to what it may be. There were many possibilities, and many threats that could be hidden under the sheet, but none posed a threat to him or the president at that moment, so he chose to shift his focus for now.
Fukichi turned his head, sensing their presence. Despite the length of time that he had known the two, his face held no expression. No anger, and no remorse. Not a sliver of guilt was sensed from the man for what he had done.
Ranpo didn't feel betrayed when he found out because he was close to the man. Why would he? He wasn't like the president. He hadn't taken him off the streets and given him a place to call home. In comparison to that, in Ranpo's eyes, he wasn't all that impressive.
It was the fact that the president had trusted him in the first place. Whenever he trusted someone, there was a good reason behind it. Fukichi and Fukuzawa had a history, that much was clear. It was that history that made Ranpo trust the man, and even on occasion laugh at his stupid jokes.
What he was doing right now to mankind wasn't anything worth him laughing at, other than the soldier's hope of success being laughable.
The two stopped walking, standing before the man. Neither party moved, as they regarded one another. Everything felt as if it was at a standstill. No one uttered a word in those few moments, as if they were all holding their breath.
Something told Ranpo that at least one person wouldn't be breathing by the time this whole ordeal was done.
In his pocket, he felt the weight of the book pressed against him. Everything was going accordingly so far, but with the sword that Fukichi carried, there was no telling how long that would last.
Ranpo clenched his fist in one hand, before unclenching it and looking at the man before him.
The book would work. it had to work.
He did not doubt Poe's ability, of course, it would be perfect to trap him. Whatever mystery he had managed to come up with this time was no doubt exceptional. All they had to do was get their opponent inside, and hopefully put an end to all things. With the book in his pocket as reassurance, Ranpo felt more confident.
After all, he is the world's greatest novelist.