Chapter Text
Fyodor has always adored chess. The intricacies of every move, the analyzing of your opponent. Most have bored him. But oh, his most recent has been quite a thrill. Edogawa Ranpo is no pawn, certainly not a king, and queen isn’t right either.
Ranpo’s behind the board as Fyodor is, their fingers dancing along the edge of the smooth wooden corners, a grin fixed on every person they tear apart with that oh-so-analytical gaze. Fyodor doesn’t mind it being him so much. His blood under their nails is appealing, really.
Another thing Fyodor enjoys about chess is winning, and what a victory he’s assured today. It’s one that’s going to echo forever, even if barely anyone will know. He’s satisfied to keep the knowledge to himself as he stares out at the new world. It has rebuilding to be done, sure, but Fyodor isn’t concerned.
There are no more abilities. The world is free, the world is reborn better than it ever was. Victory tastes like blood and poison and all that makes Fyodor feel alive.
“Heyy!” He whips his head around at the interruption, staring at the detective. His expression isn’t as guarded as he meant it to be, judging by how they snicker. They fearlessly sling an arm around his shoulders, and look him in his eyes with those intense emerald ones of their own.
“You failed!”
Fyodor stares, expression dipping into an annoyed scowl as he shoves them away. They’re unbothered, taking out a lollipop to lick it.
“You’re wrong, Ranpo.” He replies bitterly. Ranpo laughs.
“I’m never wrong. Because you failed.” They boop him with the lollipop. It drips saliva onto his face, and he calmly wipes it off. Right. This arrogance of theirs, their personal delusion that they actually fit into their agency as smoothly as all the others.
“What, do you want me to prove it? Is the world as it is not convincing enough for you?” He gestures to the city below. No Gifted wind through its streets any more.
“Can you?” Ranpo gets up close, tongue lapping lightly at the candy in their hand. Fyodor bites back a hum. “You can’t actually get rid of abilities.”
“Yes.” He grabs Ranpo by the neck, and their eyes flutter for a moment before they smirk as Fyodor takes a lick at the lollipop too. It’s disgustingly sweet and he decides he doesn’t like it at all. “I can.”
“Then do so.” Ranpo coos, “I want to see it.”
Even in the wake of such a glorious victory, Fyodor’s immediately itching for another game. Call it foolishness, call it whatever. He reaches into his pocket for the one scrap of the Page left, and he matches Ranpo’s smirk with his own.
“Let’s play a game.”
The rules are simple, really.
If Fyodor proves he truly has rid the world of abilities, then he wins. If Ranpo somehow proves him wrong, then they win. They’ll travel for this, so that Fyodor may show as much evidence as he likes. (So that Fyodor can show Ranpo enough to break them.)
Fyodor keeps the rest of the conditions secret.
“To keep it interesting,” he whispers in Ranpo’s ear as he shoves them off the building.