Chapter Text
Paris, France.
Goro Yatagarasu, or “Yata” as everyone called him walked down a random Parisian Street. Right hand man on the Lupin case, and a proud member of Interpol. Sure, he was young. Sure, he had only been on the case for a few years. But he was eager to learn, and according to the Inspector, he had potential.
It was a slow night for Yatagarasu, alone to do his patrols. He found himself missing the Inspector, but Zenigata was busy on the other end of town hunting down Lupin after tonight's latest calling card. Something about a mystic amulet called the Phantasmos, Lupin wanted to steal it from the museum where it was on display. Every other Interpol agent and local cop was there to try and stop the theft, all except Yata. Yata sighed slowly, after the action of the Lupin case regular police duty felt extremely slow.
Lupin the 3rd, “the world’s greatest thief”, as his file said. Yata hadn’t known just how accurate that title was before he had met the thief in person. Lupin was a charismatic figure, popping around the globe with a grin, getting into adventures and stealing treasures. Always just evading capture. It was fun, chasing Lupin to new and exciting locations with his mentor.
Yata’s stomach growled, making him sigh even harder. It was approaching midnight, and he was going to need coffee and a croissant if he was going to make it through this shift. He steered course towards the glowing sign of a late-night bistro, a little detour from patrols wasn’t too bad.
The door chimed as Yata stepped through, and he beheld the scene in front of him.
A stick thin man with long brown bangs over his face was behind the cash register shoving euros into a backpack. On the floor behind the counter, the barest licks of flame could be seen and screams of pain could be heard.
The man turned to look at Yatagarasu, and Yata recognized the man from one of the oldest files in the Lupin case. Pycal looked the exact same as the photo taken fifty years ago, which wasn’t actually all that surprising for the Lupin case. Aging was kind of optional for all involved, Yata was learning.
“Interpol! You’re under arrest!” Yata yelled panicked. He immediately broke into a run towards Pycal, who raised a pointer finger towards Yata. It was sort of menacing, in a strange way Yata couldn’t quite pin.
Fire shot from the outstretched finger and clipped Yata in the shoulder as he ducked to the left. It was a searing pain as the flesh bubbled and burned, the smell of cooking polyesther filled the air as Yata’s cheap suit melted against the heat. Yata bit back a scream as he stumbled. Yata caught himself and kept running. Pycal laughed but was cut off by Yata’s fist colliding with his teeth.
Now it was Pycal’s turn to stumble, a little bit of blood splattered on his lip. Yata felt a tooth knock loose inside the man’s mouth and embed itself into the space between two knuckles. His shoulder was still on fire as Yata grabbed Pycal’s shirt and tossed him. The older man hit the ground with a slam and Yata quickly pinned his arms beneath his knee.
Yatagarasu didn’t even think to put out the fire as he cuffed him.