Chapter Text
« By wanting to forget too much, we remember constantly. »
- V. H. Scorp -
Tomorrow, it would be six years.
Six years that he thought only of him, six years that he devoted himself body and soul to the one who was his greatest rival.
But when we think too much about a person, when they become our only center of interest, we end up missing them. No matter how much we hate them.
This feeling of lack, as if he were forgetting an important detail of the face painted under his eyelids, Edgar Allan Poe had begun to feel it barely two years ago: When he was still totally obsessed with his revenge - don't get me wrong, he still is, but he's less extreme about it - a reporter had shown up on his doorstep. Edgar had never liked journalists, and this one was no exception: in a cold - but still polite - tone, he asked him what he wanted, to which the man replied with the following sentence.
- Do you know the japanese detective Ranpo Edogawa ?
The mere mention of the name of this show-off had made the writer's annoyance rise, and he had slammed the door in the reporter's face, spitting out a hateful "No."
He remembered locking himself in, leaving his pet - a raccoon named Karl that he had recently taken in - in a state of incomprehension. The little pet had subsequently tried to comfort his owner but to no avail, his common sense was as if plunged into a pool of ink, a sticky and dirty liquid in which it was easy to get lost
In an uncontrolled movement, like a rush towards a lifebuoy, Edgar had grabbed a blank book, and, almost breaking his pen, had scribbled, crossed out, framed, assaulted, in short, written with rage this name that haunted his thoughts day and night: Edogawa Ranpo.
Since then, whenever he needed to let off steam, whether about this subject or another, he would grab the book and start writing again in all its forms, those two little words. Small sketches - based on his memories - even ended up seeing the light of day, and there were not just one or two. About a year later, he unfortunately came across the last page of his "novel"
Conscientious to finish it according to the rules of the art, he decided to write the first sentence that came to his mind in calligraphy. A first stroke, then a second, an arabesques, a wave, another, a point, a trait... Contemplating the beauty of his own work, he was all the more surprised that the sentence that wrote itself on the paper happened to be « I miss you ».
In amazement, Edgar let go of his pen, and the drops of ink that spread over his work only embellished it.
He gently closed the book, a bad feeling had set in, as if it could harm him. Then, heading towards the large fireplace that stood in his living room, he placed the writing there and grabbed a pack of matches. But at the same moment, Karl came to stand between the hearth and him, ordering him to give up his future action.
Touched, Edgar took the small raccoon in his arms and retrieved the book, whose emerald front cover he later began to embroider with gold thread, a few arabesques and the name of the person who occupied it, intentionally omitting his own.
Reading it even today, he sometimes came across pages containing his feelings from that time.
Precisely, today, what had become our dear writer's desire for revenge ?
Well, after thinking carefully, considering the fact that Ranpo would surely come out of his novel unscathed, Edgar had found another form of revenge, a more destructive one, which would make him feel what he had done to him.
So, when Fitzgerald, the head of the organization he worked for, announced that he was leaving as soon as possible for Japan and was looking for members to help him in his quest, he saw the opportunity to put his plan into action: that's how Edgar, almost a year later, was on a train to Los Angeles where he was to board a ferry with his boss and colleagues.
The reflections of the passengers' faces, distorted by the windows, fed his macabre imagination. Having nothing to do, the brunette reread, for the thousandth time perhaps, the now three years old book but whose condition had not deteriorated.
He absently traced the outlines of the embroidered title with his fingertip, letting his gaze drift from the text to the outside.
The carriage was now passing near a magnificent forest with reddish colors, wich reminded him of his hometown, while the tear-soaked window reminded him of his childhood.
He soon dozed off, believing he could deceive boredom with sleep. Sleep... Edgar never really understood what it was for, except to feed his inventiveness during his nightmares.
It's a young employee who had the misfortune to wake him up, gently pulling his book out of his hands in order to make him react. The maneuver paid off because a few seconds later Edgar was up and almost screaming at the poor boy not to touch it.
Scared, he had run away apologizing while the brunette stammered weak excuses.
Half awake, groggy, he then headed towards the dock.
- Good morning, Mister Poe, said a sufficient voice behind me.
- Good morning, Mister Fitzgerald, he answered him in a more hushed tone.
They greeted each other with a handshake and began a rather one-sided conversation, heading towards the ferry.
Except that it was not a boat that presented itself to him; it was a giant mechanical whale that majestically came out of the water before his astonished eyes.
Fitzgerald politely invited him to come aboard, and he discovered a spacious and sparkling interior.
On the order of the meeting, Edgar sat at a large table, between a man with the appearance of a pastor and a young girl with two enormous braids of crimson hair.
After a long summary on their mission in Japan, on the tripartite system that reigned in Yokohama and on the different known members of each organization and their capacities, they finally arrived to speak of the Armed Detective Agency.
Edgar carefully memorized each member and their ability, down to the last one, the most important, his rival: he had an ability that allowed him to solve any mystery –"doubled with an ego far too big for his small body,” he added mentally– and was very attached to the boss of the agency.
That was all they knew about the great Ranpo Edogawa.
The meeting ended, and, frustrated at not having more information, the brunette headed to the dormitories.
If he hadn't known that the MobyDick was the result of a power, his first glance into the small room would surely have scared the shit out of him.
The only details that told him that it wasn't his real room were simply the absence of papers scattered everywhere on the floor and his personal library.
Breakfast, forgotten in the haste of leaving, as well as treats for pets were placed on the bedside table.
Edgar sat down and, after feeding his raccoon, slowly drank his cup of tea, while thinking about how he would approach Ranpo.
A few minutes later, seized by a strong migraine, he decided to leave the small room and familiarize himself with the ship.
He had barely opened the door that he was blinded by the light, much stronger than the dim glow that filtered lazily through the curtains of the previous room.
Having a hard time getting used to it, he slowly glanced outside: the corridors were not overcrowd but people wandering around were noisy enough. He quietly, almost like a ghost, walked through the labyrinth that was the MobyDick.
After a while, oppressed by the ambient tumult, Edgar began to worry. No room seemed quiet enough to allow him to calm down, and his own seemed terribly far away. He quickened his pace in the hope of finding somewhere to breath freely, until a large door stood before him. He opened it hastily and rushed into a huge silent room, probably the front of the ship.
Edgar was captivated by the beauty of the place; it was literally the void beneath his feet, as if he were floating, and he could see, through the immaculate clouds, the sea, a calm and beautiful blue plain. Despite he being a fan of nocturnal forests, cemeteries and their dark chapels or tearful landscapes behind a window, this view touched him particularly, differently.
- Do you like it, Mister Poe ?
The room, which at first seemed empty, was in fact inhabited by an old man, sitting on a very basic chair in the center, a pipe in the corner of his lips.
He quickly realized that he had surely disturbed him, and, answering with a simple "yes", he apologies.
The man – Herman Melville – was very talkative, a little too much even. But out of politeness and to thank him for letting him relax in this place, Edgar listened to him with a distracted ear, leaning against one of the pillars, and so on until he saw the sun set on the horizon, or in other words, until they arrived in Yokohama.
After receiving quick instructions, an apartment was assigned to each of them, in which they were to remain until further orders, without being noticed. Disembarking from the ship, the first general observation was that the port city looked more like a zoo than the promised quiet city, so Edgar began to walk quickly, already feeling homesick.
"It hasn't changed much in six years," Edgar though.
The city traffic was dense, and people kept talking loudly, between this blond man who was strangling another covered in bandages – both from the A.D.A. according to his memories –, those two redheads, an elegant woman in a kimono and a dwarf visibly on edge, this doctor who seemed gaga over a little blonde who looked like a spoiled brat...
In short, several rare specimens of idiots of all kind.
Yet, without knowing why, he suddenly stopped in the middle of the crowded street.
A presence bothered him, and, as he looked to see who it could possibly belong to, he felt it pass very close to him. Quickly turning around, he barely had time to see a short man with messy black hair, dressed in a strange way. He was speaking in a confident and playful voice to a woman with dark purple hair, in which was attached a butterfly-shaped hairpin.
By the time he recognized his rival, he was already far away in the crow.
Edgar went back into his new apartment and quickly poured himself a large glass of iced water, which he had needed since he had set foot on the pontoon.
"I can't wait for this mission to end, I can't stay here forever... And, of course, I had to run into Ranpo on the first day..."
Suddenly, a realization struck him: since the beginning of the day, of the mission, his mind had literally gravitated non-stop around the young man.
How could he compete with someone who monopolized his attention?
Was there even a chance that the detective would remember him among all of his opponents?
Would he succeed in defeating him ?
Would he even be enough ?
Air.
Edgar needed air.
He was gradually sinking into his endless questions, which stuck to his skin and pulled him down without giving him the chance to escape.
Although the crowded alleys scared him, he decided to go out, and having seen a coffeeshop on the corner of a street, he decided to go there, hoping that the place would be quieter. Once there, he was warmly welcomed by the owner, ordered a coffee and sat down on one of the benches at the back.
As he quietly began to drink, a small group settled behind him, chatting happily about everything and nothing. Recognizing members of the Armed Detective Agency, Edgar discreetly listened to their conversation.
- You're paying close attention to our conversation, tell me, said the mummy man he had seen a few minutes earlier.
He turned around slowly, looking for a plausible excuse.
- I-I heard you talking about ability, I'm really interested in that subject, he stammered in very approximate japanese and with a strong american accent.
The man stared at him for a long time, and Edgar thought he had made a mistake that would have deceived him.
- You're not from here, are there any nice and painless suicide techniques in your country? he asked him, looking really interested.
Stunned by the question, he remains silent for a second, but before he could answer, the suicidal man was knocked out by his bespectacled colleague and an argument broke out.
- Easy Kunikida-kun, Ranpo is coming soon and he'll tell the boss if you hurt me, he threatened him in a painful, exaggerated tone.
At the mention of the fact that the guy was heading in the next few minutes, Edgar hurried to finish his coffee. Noticing his agitation, the so-called Osamu asked him the following question :
- What is your job, friend ?
- I'm a novelist, Edgar answered before quickly slipping away, at the moment when the handle of the other door was lowered
If he had stayed a few more seconds, he would have seen a young man overflowing with joy opening the door with a great crash and happily greeting his colleagues.
"And I would have been given a look of disdain or disgust, or he would have simply ignored me... Maybe he wouldn't have even noticed me, like most people...", thinks Edgar, bitter.
But all that would soon change.
In just a week, he would begin his revenge, and in the end, Ranpo would be so broken, so destroyed that he wouldn't even be able to glue the remaining parts back together.
"I would come out victorious and avenged. And he would only have himself to blame for not having been smart enough."