Work Text:
Beijing, China. 2:14 PM.
The airport was too bright. Too loud. Too… not Yokohama.
Atsushi blinked at the crowds of people, gripping his bag a little tighter. “So, uh… we don’t speak Chinese. At all.”
“Incorrect,” Ranpo said, adjusting his glasses with a lazy grin. “I know exactly what everyone’s saying.”
Dazai sighed, tossing his arm around Atsushi’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, Atsushi-kun. If things go wrong, just smile and look helpless. Someone might feel bad and help us.”
“That's not a plan!”
Yosano rolled her eyes and walked ahead, heels clicking with confidence. “We’re here on an international cooperation request, remember? Fukuzawa pulled strings. We're officially investigating timeline irregularities—possibly caused by an ability user. Let’s act like we belong.”
“Then where’s our translator?” Atsushi muttered.
As if on cue, a woman in a blazer held up a sign near the exit:
“Armed Detective Agency - Welcome”
Dazai squinted. “Oh thank god. I thought we’d have to mime everything.”
Later, at a small café near the city center…
"So you're saying there's a rumor of people who can 'see into the past' through photos?" Yosano asked, sipping tea. “That’s… oddly familiar.”
“Yes,” the translator said. “A pair. Young men. One tall, a bit loud. One quiet and always serious. Locals say they’re miracle workers.”
Ranpo hummed. “They’re hiding something. But not from greed—something deeper.”
Atsushi leaned forward. “What if it’s just an ability user who slipped under the radar?”
“Then why hasn’t the Port Mafia tracked them down?” Dazai asked, unwrapping a candy. “This smells like something outside our system. A wild card.”
Meanwhile, across town…
Cheng Xiaoshi slammed his phone on the counter. “Lu Guang. There are Japanese tourists snooping around asking about ‘weird photo guys.’ One of them is apparently weirdly obsessed with bandages. What the hell did we do?!”
Lu Guang glanced up from his laptop. “They’re not tourists. They’re from an organization. Armed Detective Agency. I traced their travel files.”
Cheng groaned. “Oh cool. So now we’re getting international attention. You know, I was this close to a peaceful week.”
“You said that last week.”
Back at the café…
Ranpo stood up suddenly. “They’re nearby.”
“How do you know?” Atsushi asked.
Ranpo smirked. “I just do. Let’s go, kitty.”
Fifteen minutes later… outside the Time Photo Studio.
Dazai squinted up at the small shop. “This is it?”
Atsushi hesitated. “Are we just… going to walk in?”
Yosano knocked politely.
Inside, Cheng Xiaoshi immediately panicked. “Lu Guang—there’s a scary woman in heels at the door and—OH GOD THE BANDAGE GUY IS HERE.” [chinese]
Lu Guang stood, calm but tense. “Play it cool. And for the love of god, don’t let the loud one touch anything.”[chinese]
The door creaked open.
Four strangers stepped into their world.
And none of them spoke Chinese.
Cheng and Lu Guang stared.
Cheng Xiaoshi stared at the four strangers now standing inside their tiny studio. A woman in heels who looked ready to dissect someone, a kid with tiger eyes, a smug guy with glasses sucking on a lollipop, and—oh no.
The bandaged man waved, grinning. "Konnichiwaaa~!"
Cheng stepped back instinctively And blinked blinked. "Uh… what did he just say?" [Chinese]
Lu Guang didn’t move from behind the counter. "I’m guessing it was ‘hello’. That tone was really strange." [Chinese]
Cheng whispered, "Do you think they might just get violent right away?"[Chinese]
Dazai leaned in toward Atsushi. "I have no clue what they’re saying, but I’m 70% sure I’m the topic. That one with the ponytail keeps looking at me like I’m a virus."[japanese]
"I think they’re panicking," Atsushi whispered back.[japanese]
Yosano scanned the studio, eyes landing on a stack of photographs by the desk. "So this is where the rumors come from…"[japanese]
Ranpo stepped forward with confidence and pointed to Lu Guang. "You. I know you’re hiding something. You’ve been interfering with events."[japanese]
Lu Guang blinked. "Do you speak chinese?"[chinese]
Silence.
Cheng tried anyway. He gestured at them. "You guys—don’t speak Chinese? Chinese? 中文?"[chinese]
The group stared.
Atsushi scratched his head. "Uh… do we have… a translator app or something?"[japanese]
Yosano raised a brow. "Didn’t our contact say there’d be a liaison?"[japanese]
Dazai was already typing into his phone. He held it up. It translated in a robotic voice, “Hello. We are nice. We come in peace.”[chinese]
Cheng blinked.
Lu Guang looked like he was reconsidering his entire life.
Ranpo took the phone and typed, holding it up to say: “Show us your time powers.”[chinese]
"...This thing is insane," Cheng muttered..[chinese]
Lu Guang sighed and finally switched to halting English. "You… from Japan?"
Atsushi’s eyes lit up. "Yes! Yes!"
Cheng raised an eyebrow. "You guys… speak English?"
Dazai grinned, tapping his chin. "Well, we can. It’s just more fun not to."
Ranpo tilted his head. "You could’ve led with that."
Cheng threw up his hands. "Are you serious?! We've been playing charades for five minutes—"
Lu Guang cut in, calm as ever. "Who are you? What do you want?"
Yosano stepped forward. "Armed Detective Agency. We’re here because of irregular timeline disturbances. Sound familiar?"
Cheng and Lu Guang exchanged glances. That pause was all the answer they needed.
Dazai smiled. "Looks like we came to the right place."
Lu Guang’s eyes narrowed. “You say you’re detectives. But how do we know you’re not Ability users from a different organization?”
Dazai gave him a mock-wounded look. “Oh come on, do I look threatening?” He leaned dramatically on the counter, one hand on his heart. “My only talent is being painfully charming.”
Ranpo wandered around the photo studio, tilting his head as he scanned every inch of the room. “Two beds upstairs. Shared fridge. Tight finances. One of you eats too much instant ramen and doesn't put the trash out. The other files everything digitally, organized by timestamps. You sleep an average of four hours a night.”
Cheng blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”
Dazai smiled without turning around. “He does that. Don’t worry, it’s only terrifying the first three times.”
Ranpo grinned. “Oh, and this place has traces of unusually high temporal energy. Definitely some kind of ability user activity. You’re careful, though. Too careful. Which means you’ve been doing this for a while.”
Lu Guang’s calm expression twitched for just a second.
Dazai straightened up. “You’re definitely not ordinary. But you’re also not dangerous. Yet.”
Yosano stood with her arms crossed, watching the two with mild amusement. “It’s like watching a circus. A very competent, unsettling circus.”
Atsushi looked between Ranpo and Dazai. “They’re actually good at this when they’re not being completely unhinged.”
Before anyone could respond, the front door flew open.
Qiao Ling stormed in, holding a bag of groceries. “Cheng, you left the back door unloc—”
She froze.
A woman with a butterfly hairpin.
A teenager with silver streaks and catlike eyes.
A grinning man covered in bandages.
And someone already digging through their trash.
“…What the hell is going on?!”
Cheng gestured helplessly. “I—I don’t know, they just showed up speaking Japanese and then English, and now they’re… analyzing us?”
Ranpo popped his head out of the bin. “No banana peels. Suspicious.”
Qiao Ling squinted. “Are they... cosplayers? Is this like a prank show?”
Dazai stepped forward, offering a small bow. “Apologies for the intrusion, miss. We’re from Japan. We heard there were rumors of time travelers in this city. We simply followed the trail of paradoxes.”
Qiao Ling raised an eyebrow. “...What kind of tourism brochure are you people reading?”
Lu Guang pinched the bridge of his nose. “They’re real. They’ve been tracking timeline anomalies. Like us.”
Atsushi smiled politely. “We’re just here to talk.”
Qiao Ling sighed, setting the groceries down. “Great. Time-travelers, weirdos, and now international investigators. I need coffee.”
She paused. “Wait—how did you know about the time thing?”
All four ADA members smiled at once.
Cheng looked around nervously. “Okay, yeah, this is getting creepy.”
Qiao Ling stood frozen by the door, keys still in hand, staring at the scene unfolding inside her shop.
Ranpo was crouched under the desk, humming as he poked at wires and sockets. Dazai was lounging on the edge of the couch, grinning at a wall of photographs like they were a comic strip.
“Your feng shui’s off,” Ranpo called out from below. “This corner’s too cluttered. And that cable’s been rewired. Tampered with?”
Cheng glanced at Lu Guang. “Why does it feel like they know more about us than we do?”
Lu Guang didn’t respond. His gaze was sharp and calculating as he studied the pair across the room.
Qiao Ling finally moved. “Okay, who are you people and why are you rearranging my shop?”
Dazai turned to her with a bright smile. “We’re detectives from Yokohama. Just imagine us as very… nosy tourists.”
Ranpo popped up beside him. “Very observant tourists.”
Yosano, seated near the table, looked almost amused. “You’re not going to believe this, but they really are detectives.”
Atsushi gave Cheng a gentle, polite smile. “I promise we’re not here to hurt anyone. Just looking into something strange that led us here.”
Cheng sat beside him, arms crossed. “You all seem… very strange yourselves.”
“No stranger than time travel,” Yosano murmured, eyes flicking subtly toward Lu Guang.
Lu Guang, seated with a straight back, met her gaze. “You’re not surprised by that term.”
“We deal with strange things all the time,” she said. “But this is… new.”
Silence settled for a moment. Ranpo and Dazai continued their quiet inspection of the shop—one bouncing from drawer to drawer, the other circling the walls like a cat in a museum.
“Your photos,” Dazai said suddenly, running his fingers along a frame. “They’re moments just before something happens. People looking afraid, shocked. Caught in-between.”
Cheng straightened. “How do you know that?”
Ranpo answered without looking up. “Because this one…” he pointed at a photo on the counter, “is a man who died five minutes later. Jumped into traffic. You captured his decision.”
The air turned cold.
Lu Guang’s eyes sharpened. “You’re bluffing.”
“Maybe,” Ranpo replied with a teasing lilt. “Maybe not.”
Cheng clenched his jaw. “Why are you really here?”
Dazai smiled. “To ask that very question.”
Qiao Ling finally sat down beside them, still looking half-dazed. “Are we sure these guys aren’t, like… some government division?”
Ranpo chimed in from behind the counter. “Nope! We’re freelance. Just unusually competent.”
Atsushi rubbed the back of his neck. “Ranpo-san and Dazai-san act goofy, but they’re… kind of terrifying when they’re serious.”
Cheng muttered under his breath, “Yeah. No kidding.”
Lu Guang leaned forward slightly. “And you? What’s your ability?”
Atsushi blinked, caught off guard. “Me? I’m… just a junior. I follow orders.”
Yosano chuckled. “And turns into a tiger.”
Cheng stared. “A what?”
“Long story,” Atsushi mumbled.
They all sat there, studying each other. Four strangers on one side of the table. Four strangers on the other. Smiles, small talk, and quiet calculations filling the room like smoke.
No one trusted anyone.
Not yet.
But something was coming.
And everyone could feel it.
For a moment, everything felt almost calm—like a still lake before the storm hits.
Ranpo was adjusting his hat, muttering something about the dust on Qiao Ling’s shelves. Dazai was lounging lazily, eyes half-lidded as if bored. Yosano crossed her legs in perfect elegance, and Atsushi tried to politely make conversation with Lu Guang, who remained unreadable.
Then, Dazai’s expression faltered.
Just slightly.
A shift in his eyes. A pause in his fingers, mid-fidget.
His head tilted ever so slightly toward the window behind him.
“Hmm…” he hummed, so quietly it was nearly missed. “That’s… not good.”
Ranpo froze, halfway through opening a drawer. His head snapped up, eyes now gleaming with awareness.
Yosano noticed instantly. “What?”
“Gunmetal,” Dazai murmured, voice still too casual. “Sharp click. Suppressed rifle. Rooftop. Watching us.”
The mood shifted in a heartbeat.
Ranpo straightened, dusting off his coat with eerie calm. “Someone’s been staring through that curtain for eight minutes. Thought we wouldn’t notice.”
Yosano rose slowly, the softness in her smile gone. “How long have they been there?”
“They started watching when we stepped inside,” Ranpo said, adjusting his glasses. “Too still. Too careful.”
Dazai stood, now fully alert. His usual grin stayed—but something dangerous now flickered behind it. “And they’re professionals. Trained. But still human.”
Qiao Ling blinked. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“They’re going to move soon,” Ranpo added. “They know we’re aware.”
Across the room, Lu Guang had risen too—but not in alarm. In calculation.
Cheng blinked between them, wide-eyed. “Wait. You’re saying someone has a gun pointed at us?”
“Not right now,” Dazai said. “But they could. And they will.”
Cheng looked to the others—everyone was still, tense.
Except him.
“Then… I’ll go talk to them,” he said, walking to the door like it was just another delivery.
Everyone—everyone—snapped their heads toward him.
“What?” Atsushi gasped, almost lunging forward. “You can’t just—!”
“Cheng Xiaoshi” Qiao Ling’s voice was sharp now.
Ranpo blinked. “You’re either brave or completely oblivious.”
Dazai chuckled under his breath. “No… he’s just stupid.”
Cheng hesitated, hand on the doorknob. “But if they’re watching us, maybe they want something? I can ask!”
Yosano sighed, brushing her fingers through her hair. “Is he always like this?”
Lu Guang rubbed his temples. “Unfortunately.”
Ranpo walked slowly toward the window, peeking through the edge of the curtain. “They’re gone. Slipped away the moment Dazai spoke. They’re good.”
Dazai turned to Qiao Ling, his voice calm but firm now. “Do you have a roof access?”
She nodded slowly. “Through the back hallway.”
“Stay here,” Ranpo said to Cheng without even looking at him. “Don’t go out again unless you want a bullet in your forehead.”
Cheng blinked, then took his hand off the door.
“…Okay.”
Dazai and Ranpo exchanged a glance. For once, no jokes. No smiles.
Only understanding.
Professional mode: activated.
And for Lu Guang, Cheng, and Qiao Ling—it was the first time they realized just how terrifying these so-called “detectives” could be when serious.
They weren’t just cheerful weirdos from Japan.
They were dangerous cheerful weirdos from Japan.
And something had just begun.
The rooftop door groaned open.
Cold wind swept in, tousling hair and coats as Dazai, Ranpo, Yosano, and Atsushi stepped into the fading afternoon light. The sky above was heavy with clouds, smearing gray across the concrete.
But the real weight came from the six figures already waiting.
Black suits. Steady eyes. Cold, metallic smiles.
Guns raised.
“…Welcome party?” Dazai mused, hands still in his pockets.
One of the men cocked his weapon. “You shouldn't have come here, detective-san.”
Ranpo narrowed his eyes. “They’re not government. No insignia. They’re mercenaries.”
“Correct,” Dazai said. “Which means we don’t need to hold back.”
His coat fluttered in the breeze as he reached behind—click.
Two sleek black pistols, drawn in one fluid motion.
And just like that, the smile on his face became something sharper. Older. Hollow. The kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Not the ADA’s clown.
But the former executive of the Port Mafia.
Atsushi was the first to move.
His legs bent. Muscles surged. Fur rippled across his arms and face, and in the blink of an eye—he leapt.
Gunfire exploded across the rooftop.
Yosano ducked behind a vent, already pulling scalpels from her bag, her expression dark and delighted. “No survivors, then?”
Ranpo, of course, didn’t fight. He simply stood to the side, beside the doorframe, eyes tracking every move like a hawk. “That one’s going to the left. Dazai, watch your right—”
Bang.
Dazai spun, one gun straight to the skull. A man dropped instantly.
Another raised his weapon toward Yosano—
—only to find a butterfly knife lodged in his wrist, followed by the brutal sting of Yosano’s medical saw.
“Oops,” she cooed.
Atsushi roared, claws flashing as he slammed another enemy into the rooftop’s concrete. It cracked beneath the force.
“Three left!” Ranpo called.
Dazai turned, gun aimed—
Then the rooftop door slammed open.
“Hey!!” came Cheng Xiaoshi’s voice, breathless. “I—! I figured you might need—”
“CHENG—!” Lu Guang’s scream echoed up from below—
Too late.
One of the mercenaries, still standing, turned.
Gun aimed straight at Cheng’s heart.
Dazai’s body moved before his mind did.
He twisted, stepped forward, and fired once—bam!—right through the attacker’s hand.
The man screamed.
But not before the trigger had been pulled.
Bang.
Dazai grunted.
A red line split across his temple, just above his eyebrow.
He staggered slightly, gun dropping for half a second.
“Dazai!” Atsushi shouted, panic surging.
But Dazai waved a hand. “It’s fine. Just a scratch.”
Blood dripped down his cheek, just a small rivulet—but Cheng was staring, wide-eyed, frozen in place.
Yosano caught Dazai’s arm. “Let me see—”
“I said it’s fine,” he muttered, pushing past her. He turned to Cheng. “Next time, maybe don’t walk into a gunfight, yeah?”
Cheng just nodded, pale. “…S-sorry.”
Dazai exhaled, holstering one pistol. “Ranpo?”
“All down,” Ranpo confirmed, finally stepping forward. “One unconscious. Five dead. One crying in the corner.”
“I call that a win,” Yosano said, cracking her neck.
Atsushi returned to his human form, panting. “Who were they?”
“Not amateurs,” Dazai said grimly. “But not from this timeline either.”
Ranpo looked toward the edge of the rooftop. “Something’s happening here. And we’re at the center of it.”
Cheng glanced around at the destruction. “So… what now?”
Dazai wiped the blood from his cheek and gave that same dangerous smile again.
“…Now we find out who sent them.”
The scent of blood still clung to Dazai’s shirt as they stepped back into the photo studio.
The door clicked shut behind them. Qiao Ling instinctively locked it—then double-checked the bolt. The lights buzzed overhead, casting the group in a soft, sterile glow that contrasted the chaos they had just left behind.
Dazai sank into the nearest chair with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.
“You know,” he said, voice light, “I almost missed this kind of thing.”
“Getting shot?” Yosano raised a brow as she opened her medical kit.
“Getting answers.”
She tossed a bandage roll at him without a word. They both knew she couldn’t heal him. Her hands hovered over her scalpels before she sighed and pulled back.
“Wrap it yourself,” she said. “I’m not wasting gauze for show.”
Dazai wordlessly tied the gauze around his head with slow, practiced fingers. The blood stained through almost immediately.
Cheng Xiaoshi stared, wide-eyed. “You’re not… freaking out or anything?”
Dazai looked up, his smile strangely gentle. “I’ve had worse. It’s just a scratch.”
“It’s on your head!”
Qiao Ling exhaled sharply. “He’s like you,” she said to Cheng. “A danger magnet.”
Ranpo hopped up onto the counter and swung his legs. “Alright, alright, everyone relax. Let’s get back to the real question—what just happened, and why were they after us?”
“We don’t even know who they are,” Atsushi said, still near the door, his shoulders stiff and alert.
Lu Guang finally spoke, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in thought. “Let’s assume none of this was coincidence. You were looking for ‘two time travelers.’ That’s us. But if those people were just after us, why show up now? Why wait until everyone was here?”
Silence.
Cheng looked at Dazai. “Wait—you guys were looking for us?”
Ranpo nodded. “We got a request from an anonymous client. Something about temporal irregularities. Your little memory trick thing is a bit… rare, you know.”
“That's not something you just stumble on,” Yosano said.
“But here's the thing,” Dazai added, leaning forward, fingers tapping against his thigh. “You’re not the only ones with abilities in this room.”
He looked around slowly. “Everyone here… has something.”
They all exchanged glances.
Cheng rubbed the back of his neck. “But we’ve been here the whole time. Running this shop. Using our powers quietly.”
“Maybe that’s what the client wanted,” Lu Guang said. “Not to capture anyone. Not to warn anyone. Just to... gather.”
“Like putting puzzle pieces on a board,” Ranpo murmured.
“And watching which ones fit,” Dazai finished.
A low, sick feeling settled in the room.
Atsushi’s claws flexed slightly. “Then whoever this client is… they want to test us. See how we react. Or maybe—see who survives.”
The idea hung there, heavy and poisonous.
Cheng laughed nervously. “So what, this is some sort of reality show now?”
Qiao Ling didn’t laugh.
She went to the door and looked through the peephole.
“They know where we are. And they’re probably still watching.”
And then—
Click.
A shutter. Somewhere nearby.
Lu Guang was the first to react, shoving the blinds closed.
“Someone took a photo,” he said sharply.
“Then they’ll know we’re alive,” Yosano muttered.
“Let them come,” Dazai said, tying off the bandage knot behind his head. “Now we know what we’re looking for.”
Ranpo stood, suddenly dead serious. “No. Now we know we’re all the target.”
The photo studio smelled like noodles and panic.
“Why is there egg in mine? I didn’t ask for egg!” Cheng Xiaoshi whined dramatically, holding his bowl at arm’s length.
“Be grateful you’re not eating hospital food,” Yosano replied, already halfway through hers. “I once did surgery for twelve hours straight with only instant ramen and rage.”
Ranpo poked at his bowl suspiciously. “Where’s the sugar?”
“You’re not supposed to put sugar in ramen, Ranpo-san!” Atsushi said, looking horrified.
“I put sugar in everything. It makes my brain happy,” Ranpo grinned.
Meanwhile, at the corner table, Dazai sat with a faint smirk on his face, balancing two laptops and three borrowed phones like some unholy tech wizard. One of the devices still had a glittery pink bunny sticker on it—Qiao Ling’s.
“Careful with that,” she warned. “That’s my personal phone. If you scroll too far, you’ll find my angry rants about Cheng.”
“I’m honored,” Dazai replied, eyes already scanning files on one screen while his fingers typed on another.
“What exactly are you two doing?” Lu Guang asked from across the room, arms crossed, chopsticks untouched.
“Searching,” Ranpo chimed in, bouncing beside Dazai. “Well—he’s searching. I’m just here to look pretty.”
“More like annoyingly smug,” Yosano muttered.
“We’re digging into the client's digital trail,” Dazai explained. “Encrypted requests. Dummy accounts. A few… very interesting breadcrumbs.”
“Breadcrumbs?” Cheng asked around a mouthful of egg he swore he wouldn’t eat.
“Yup,” Ranpo said, suddenly sounding sharper. “This person didn’t just pick us at random. They’ve been watching for a long time.”
Lu Guang’s eyes narrowed. “How long?”
“A year,” Dazai said, clicking something on the screen. “At least.”
The room went quiet.
“One year?” Qiao Ling repeated. “Why?”
“Because,” Dazai continued, voice softening into something darker, “this isn’t about time travel. Or abilities. It’s about intersection.”
Ranpo tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Every one of us, at some point in the past year, touched an event that shouldn’t have happened. We altered something. Protected someone. Changed the course of something small.”
“Not enough to be noticed,” Dazai added. “But enough to be logged.”
Cheng Xiaoshi froze. “You mean… like when we saved that girl’s father from being hit by a car? That was—”
“Recorded,” Lu Guang finished grimly. “It shouldn’t have happened.”
“And me,” Atsushi muttered. “A few months ago, I saved a kid from a building collapse. The report said he’d died. But I got there just in time…”
Yosano blinked. “I healed a man who’d slit his throat. He was supposed to die. But I stitched him up fast enough that he lived.”
They all looked around at each other, realization blooming like a slow, bitter poison.
“Someone’s keeping score,” Dazai murmured. “Someone who wants to know what happens when people with power... start rewriting fate.”
“Not controlling time,” Ranpo said. “But disturbing it.”
Cheng slowly sat down, suddenly pale. “So the client… wants to see what happens when you put all the ‘disturbances’ together in one place.”
“And maybe,” Lu Guang said softly, “they want to break us.”
A long pause.
Then Ranpo suddenly clapped his hands. “Well! At least the food’s good.”
Cheng blinked. “You’re not… freaked out?”
“Of course I am,” Ranpo said brightly. “But if someone’s playing chess with us, the least we can do is flip the board and smack them in the face with a rook.”
Dazai laughed softly. “Agreed.”
“And what’s the next move?” Atsushi asked, determined but clearly shaken.
Dazai leaned back in his chair, gazing at the glowing screen in front of him.
“We trace the signal,” he said. “Find the client. And then…”
He smiled, bloodstained bandage still wrapped around his head.
“…we return the favor."
The ramen bowls were mostly empty now, save for a few lonely noodles and one piece of shrimp that had been fiercely debated over but left untouched—no one trusted where it came from.
Outside, night had crept in. The city buzzed faintly beyond the windows, but inside the studio, the mood was quieter. Heavier.
Dazai stood near the window, watching the streets below with his usual lazy smile. “Kunikida should’ve been here by now.”
Ranpo, sprawled across a beanbag chair with a lollipop between his teeth, casually added, “He said he’d land at 9 p.m., right? It’s already 10.”
“Kunikida?” Cheng Xiaoshi looked up. “Who’s that?”
“Our colleague,” Atsushi explained, stretching his arms. “Very reliable. He wouldn’t miss something like this.”
Lu Guang narrowed his eyes slightly. Something about Dazai’s voice was off. It was still cheerful—but too clear. Too deliberate.
“You’re sure he said tonight?” Qiao Ling asked, tilting her head.
Dazai gave a small shrug. “Mm-hm. He booked a flight. Said he couldn’t let us cause chaos unsupervised.”
Ranpo snickered. “Like he could stop us.”
But Lu Guang noticed it too now. The way Ranpo’s words were carefully chosen. How neither of them looked at the others directly.
Then Dazai suddenly stretched his arms and yawned. “Guess we’ll know soon enough if he’s walking through that door.”
Seconds ticked by.
And then—just as Ranpo unwrapped another lollipop—the door creaked open.
Everyone turned.
A man stood there, tall and stiff, in a long beige coat and glasses. His expression was serious. His hands were gloved. “Sorry I’m late,” he said calmly. “I ran into delays.”
Atsushi blinked. “Kunikida-san?”
Ranpo slowly sat upright, no longer smiling.
Dazai’s entire posture shifted—his hand subtly moved near his coat, close to where his gun was hidden.
“Kunikida,” Dazai said, “what’s your favorite kind of notebook?”
The man paused. “Leather-bound,” he answered. “Standard size. White paper.”
Ranpo frowned. “You hate white paper.”
The room went still.
Dazai’s smile vanished. “Nice try.”
And in a flash, the man leapt toward them—but Dazai was faster.
One shot rang out.
The not-Kunikida stumbled back, arm bleeding, and hissed. “Damn.”
Cheng Xiaoshi jumped behind the couch with a yelp. “WHAT THE HELL?!”
Yosano was already standing beside Atsushi, her eyes sharp. “Another fake?”
“Someone was listening,” Ranpo said, his tone cold now. “Our little lie flushed them out.”
“How did they know what Kunikida looks like?” Lu Guang asked.
“They’ve been watching us,” Dazai replied grimly. “Not just data. Footage. Recordings. Enough to recreate one of us.”
“Or use an ability,” Yosano muttered.
The intruder clutched his arm, glaring. “You’re smarter than expected…”
“We always are,” Dazai said softly, stepping forward. “So why don’t you tell us: who sent you?”
The man grinned despite the pain. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Then—pop—a flash of smoke burst from a capsule in his pocket. When it cleared… he was gone.
A stunned silence followed.
“…Was that a smoke bomb?” Cheng whispered.
“Do those actually work?” Qiao Ling asked, coughing.
“They do when you don’t know where the exits are,” Dazai muttered, eyes scanning the room.
Lu Guang stepped forward, voice quiet. “They’re testing us.”
Ranpo stood beside him, frowning. “No… they’re toying with us.”
Atsushi looked shaken. “Dazai-san… what now?”
Dazai’s eyes gleamed. “Now? Now we track everything. This client isn’t hiding anymore. They want a game?”
He smiled, something sharp and dangerous under it.
“Let’s give them one.”
The detectives didn’t sleep that night.
Dazai and Ranpo had their eyes glued to the laptop screens they’d borrowed, with Yosano cross-referencing names and locations from intercepted files, and Atsushi and Lu Guang working silently at their side. Even Cheng Xiaoshi was strangely quiet, though every once in a while he offered a helpful (if naive) suggestion like, “What if the guy lives in a castle?” or “What if he’s invisible?”
Qiao Ling just sighed.
By dawn, they had a lead—a warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Old surveillance logs, encrypted emails, and an unusual spike of energy readings all pointed there.
---
Warehouse – 6:42 a.m.
The place was crumbling at the edges. Rusted chains swung gently in the morning breeze. Crates, dust, and an eerie silence met the group.
They stepped inside.
No one spoke.
Until a voice rang out—calm, robotic, filtered through a speaker.
“So you found me.”
Dazai glanced around. “How dramatic.”
The voice continued. “You’re probably wondering why I sent for you—why I brought together two detectives from different worlds and two time travelers.”
Ranpo crossed his arms. “You’re not gonna monologue, are you? I skipped breakfast.”
“I had a reason,” the voice said. “A selfish one.”
A screen lit up in the shadows.
A video played—grainy, flickering.
It showed a man. Mid-30s, tired eyes, black hair graying at the temples. He was holding a child’s drawing. A photo of a woman was tucked into his shirt pocket.
“My name is Shen Wei,” the recording said. “You don’t know me. You won’t find any records of me. But I lost everything in a single day. My wife. My son. My city. All because I made the wrong decision.”
Everyone in the warehouse was still now.
“I watched time fall apart. A disaster that never should’ve happened—caused by a man who could move through time… and a woman who could rewrite minds. I was powerless. But then I learned about you.”
The screen flashed images—Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi in action. The Armed Detective Agency’s missions. A tiger leaping through fire. Dazai, laughing in the middle of chaos.
“I thought… maybe, if I could gather all of you together—people who know how to fight fate—maybe you could stop it before it begins.”
Dazai stepped forward, arms folded. “So we’re your puppets in some grand plan to undo your tragedy?”
“No,” the voice whispered. “I’m dead. I left this message to explain. The people who killed my family—they’re still out there. And they’ve started watching you.”
Yosano exhaled slowly. “He’s not our enemy.”
Lu Guang stared at the screen. “He saw the future. And tried to change it.”
Cheng blinked. “...So, we’re like the Avengers?”
“No,” Dazai said with a grin. “We’re way more dysfunctional than that.”
Suddenly, the screen glitched.
A new voice took over, this one deeper. Warped. “You weren’t supposed to come this far.”
Everyone tensed.
A symbol burned onto the screen—a spiral eye.
“You were just bait.”
And then the screen shattered from a bullet fired through the wall.
A sniper.
“GET DOWN!” Atsushi shouted, shielding Cheng.
Ranpo and Dazai were already moving. “There’s more to this,” Ranpo growled.
Dazai’s eyes narrowed, that post-Mafia glint returning. “We just found the real enemy.”
The shot shattered the screen—and silence exploded into chaos.
“GET DOWN!” Atsushi yelled, shielding Cheng Xiaoshi with his body. Lu Guang grabbed Qiao Ling, pulling her behind a steel crate as another bullet cracked through the warehouse wall.
But Dazai and Yosano didn’t duck.
They smiled.
Almost in sync.
While everyone else dropped to the ground, the two detectives were already sprinting toward the source of the shot. Dazai’s trench coat fluttered behind him like a shadow. Yosano rolled up her sleeves, pulling a surgical scalpel from her medical kit.
“I’ll call you when we find him,” Dazai called out, grinning. “Be good while we’re gone.”
“W-Wait, you’re going alone?!” Cheng called after them.
Ranpo just smirked from the floor, dusting off his hat. “Ah… they’re in that mood again.”
---
Abandoned Building – Rooftop
The sniper had taken cover behind a water tank, hastily packing up his rifle.
Too slow.
Dazai appeared like a phantom behind him. “Boo.”
Before the sniper could aim, Yosano kicked his gun away. He stumbled, reached for a knife—only to find Dazai’s gun already pointed at his head.
“Now, now,” Dazai said, cocking the weapon. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your pretty face. Yet.”
The sniper didn’t speak. Just glared.
Yosano crouched beside him, her scalpel glinting in the morning light. “He’s not talking. Should we persuade him?”
Dazai’s smile widened. “You always know how to read my mind.”
The sniper’s eyes darted—between the scalpel, the gun, the grins.
“Oh? Nervous?” Yosano asked sweetly. “You should be. I haven’t practiced field surgery in weeks.”
She dragged the blade gently across his sleeve, not cutting—just a whisper of pressure.
Dazai crouched, leveling his gaze with the sniper’s. His smile faded just slightly. “Why did you shoot? Who are you working for?”
Silence.
Yosano pressed her blade into his shoulder—just enough to sting. “We can do this very slowly.”
The sniper grit his teeth. “I don’t… know the name. I was hired to watch you. The moment the video played—I had orders to silence it.”
Dazai leaned closer. “Who gave the orders?”
“Encrypted phone. Black card. Never saw a face. All I know is… the emblem.”
He hesitated—then lifted his sleeve. A tattoo of a spiral eye burned into his skin.
Yosano’s eyes narrowed. “Same symbol from the screen.”
Dazai nodded, and his voice dropped to a cold murmur. “We’re being hunted. Not by one man—but by a whole group.”
He stood, flicked the safety back on his gun, and looked down at the sniper.
“Thank you,” he said. “You’ve been very helpful.”
The sniper exhaled in relief—until Yosano grabbed his collar.
“We’re not done yet,” she said. “You’re coming with us. I need a new medical test subject.”
---
Back at the Warehouse
Ranpo looked up from his lollipop as Dazai and Yosano returned, dragging the barely-conscious sniper between them.
Atsushi gawked. “You’re kidding.”
“He was quite chatty,” Dazai said, brushing blood from his temple. “Turns out we’re not just dealing with a rogue client. We’re being targeted by an organization. Spiral eye.”
Lu Guang frowned. “That sounds familiar.”
Cheng Xiaoshi leaned over. “Doesn’t your database have something about cult symbols?”
Qiao Ling crossed her arms. “If this is a group, we need to know why they want people with powers.”
Ranpo tilted his hat. “Simple. Someone out there is trying to rewrite fate—and they’re collecting the ones who can break it.”
Back at the Time Photo Studio, the energy had shifted.
Everyone sat on the floor or old mismatched chairs, a warm meal of noodles, dumplings, and street food spread across the table. The air was thick with steam, exhaustion, and something unfamiliar: trust.
Atsushi quietly helped serve Lu Guang and Qiao Ling, while Cheng Xiaoshi munched happily on his fifth dumpling.
“So… we fought a sniper, got stalked by a shadowy organization, and now we’re just having dinner?” Qiao Ling asked, eyebrows raised.
“Welcome to the Armed Detective Agency,” Yosano replied, sipping her tea calmly.
Dazai, feet propped on the table, held a chopstick between his fingers like a cigarette. “Honestly, this is a pretty average Tuesday for us.”
Suddenly, Ranpo’s phone buzzed.
“Oh, right.” Ranpo wiped his hands on his cape and answered. “President?”
Fukuzawa’s calm, steady voice came through in Japanese.
Lu Guang blinked. “Who… is that?”
Atsushi leaned toward them, whispering, “That’s Fukuzawa Yukichi. Our boss.”
Qiao Ling squinted at the phone, confused. “Why does he sound like a samurai?”
Cheng Xiaoshi tilted his head. “Wait… is that Japanese?”
Ranpo nodded along, serious for once. “Yes, sir. Four targets. One organization. Spiral eye tattoo. We confirmed cross-dimensional interest.”
Dazai strolled up behind them and grinned. “Fukuzawa-san said to stay alert. Help is coming. And he’s sending us some files.”
Cheng looked suspicious. “How do we know that’s what he said? We don’t understand Japanese.”
Dazai smirked. “He also said I’m his favorite and I get a raise.”
“Dazai!” Atsushi snapped, horrified.
Ranpo burst into laughter. “He did not say that.”
Lu Guang pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. “Do you have a translator app? Or a real translator?”
“Ranpo is the translator,” Yosano offered dryly. “More reliable than Dazai’s lies.”
Then, the phone rang again.
Ranpo answered and put it on speaker.
Fukuzawa’s voice came through once more, calm but commanding. “—Their headquarters is in the abandoned subway sector beneath Line 9. Move carefully. They’re gathering more gifted.”
Lu Guang and Qiao Ling just stared.
Cheng blinked. “Is he angry? He sounds angry.”
Dazai leaned in, fake whispering, “He says if we fail, he’ll shave Ranpo’s head.”
“WHAT—?!”
Yosano rolled her eyes. “Dazai…”
Ranpo snatched the phone away. “I’ll translate! President says: they're using the subway to move gifted across borders. Our sniper’s tattoo links to an old cult that believed in rewinding time to ‘purify the future.’”
Everyone fell quiet.
Qiao Ling whispered, “That… sounds familiar. I heard rumors about some gifted kids disappearing. Even one who could stop time.”
Lu Guang’s expression darkened. “So that’s what they want. Not us. Our abilities.”
Dazai’s smile faded slightly. “And maybe… the future we could change.”
He stood, voice calm. “We move tonight. Underground. We find their base—and we finish this.”
Cheng looked up, half a dumpling in his mouth. “Wait, now?”
Ranpo cracked his knuckles, eyes glinting. “Time waits for no one.”
Yosano rose, dusting off her coat. “And neither do we.”
The subway tunnels were cold, damp, and silent—until the clash began.
It was chaos.
The organization had been waiting, and they weren’t holding back. Armed men with strange glowing devices, some gifted with unknown abilities, swarmed the narrow tunnels. But the ADA had come prepared.
Atsushi charged forward, half-tiger, half-blur, shielding Cheng Xiaoshi behind him. Yosano flanked the side with graceful brutality, knocking attackers out cold with her signature medical tools.
Ranpo stood still in the center of it all—eyes narrowed behind his glasses, piecing together strategies and traps the enemy didn’t even know they’d left behind.
And Dazai…
Dazai was smiling.
His coat fluttered as he danced through the battlefield with calculated madness. Any gifted that touched him lost their power instantly. He disarmed two men with ease and cornered the commander—the one with the spiral tattoo beneath his eye.
“You brought time, space, and illusion together,” the man growled. “You don’t even know what you’ve done.”
Dazai’s eyes flickered with quiet intensity. “No. But I know who I’m protecting.”
And he knocked him out cold.
---
At the heart of the tunnel, Lu Guang and Qiao Ling accessed a terminal—years of research flashing across the screens. Names. Abilities. Timelines.
“Look at this…” Lu murmured. “They were trying to create a system that predicts the future through the collective powers of gifted individuals.”
“A superpower algorithm,” Qiao Ling said, stunned. “But it could erase people in the process.”
Cheng Xiaoshi gently put a hand on her shoulder. “Then let’s end it.”
Lu Guang nodded, fingers flying over the keyboard. “Overriding... deleting records... and—”
System Wipe Complete.
The terminal shut down with a whine.
---
Later, back at the shop, everyone sat around again, but this time it wasn’t tense. They were quiet. Full. Safe.
Dazai leaned on the wall with a bandage still around his head. “Well, that was dramatic.”
Cheng chuckled. “You literally got shot saving me.”
Ranpo smirked. “He does that a lot.”
Yosano sipped her tea. “You should’ve seen him before he joined the Agency. Bloody mess.”
Lu Guang looked between all of them. “So… it’s over?”
Atsushi smiled gently. “For now.”
Qiao Ling tapped her foot. “So the client just wanted us all in one place? Why?”
Ranpo leaned back, arms behind his head. “Maybe to see what would happen when time and memory met justice and chaos.”
“Or maybe,” Dazai added with a smile, “he wanted to prove that we’re stronger together.”
They all sat in silence for a moment.
Then Cheng stood. “Okay, but like… you guys are staying for dinner, right?”
Everyone laughed.
And somewhere, in the shifting winds of fate and time, a new bond had been forged—between timelines, between countries, and between the broken and the brave.
The photo studio was quiet.
Soft rays of sunlight peeked through the blinds, casting pale stripes of gold on the wooden floor. The chaos of the past few days had finally ended, and now, for the first time since they arrived in China, the Armed Detective Agency was at rest.
Yosano slept soundly on the studio’s long couch, her arm draped over her eyes to shield them from the morning light. On the opposite couch, Atsushi was curled up tightly, his jacket acting as a blanket. His breathing was calm. Peaceful.
On the floor near the counter, Ranpo lay sprawled across a beanbag chair that hadn’t been there the day before—Cheng Xiaoshi had tossed it down the stairs late at night. His half-eaten bag of candy lay open on his chest, one arm still holding a phone he’d been using for some mindless game before falling asleep.
Not far from him, Dazai sat slumped against the wall, legs stretched out, a book resting on his stomach. His bandage was loose now, slightly stained with blood, but he looked completely relaxed. For once, there was no mischief in his face. Just silence.
Qiao Ling had gone home sometime after midnight, muttering something about “needing a real bed and a shower,” though she promised to return in the morning with breakfast.
Upstairs, in their small shared room, Lu Guang sat at his desk, quietly reviewing security footage and data one last time—just to make sure everything was truly over. Behind him, Cheng Xiaoshi lay flat on the bed, snoring lightly and mumbling in his sleep about noodle soup and Yosano's scary smile.
“Lu guang…” he yawned groggily. “Are the detectives gonna live here forever?”
Lu didn’t answer. He just exhaled through his nose with a hint of a smile and shut the laptop.
---
By the time everyone was awake, Qiao Ling had returned—with bags of warm buns, fried dumplings, eggs, and soy milk.
The smell alone was enough to rouse even the dead.
“I brought enough for seven hungry lunatics and one overworked genius,” she declared, kicking open the studio door.
Ranpo sprang up immediately. “I call dibs on the dumplings!”
“You called dibs in your sleep,” Atsushi said with a soft laugh, stretching as he stood.
“Dazai, eat before you collapse,” Yosano said as she handed him a bun, her voice gentle for once.
Lu Guang sat beside her on the couch while Cheng balanced a soy milk carton on his head.
They all gathered around the low coffee table with mismatched chairs and cushions, laughing, teasing, and eating as if they had always belonged together.
Different lives. Different timelines. Different languages.
But somehow, in the calm after the storm, they had become something like—
Family.
The sun was high when the detectives began to gather their things.
Yosano tightened her coat, giving a short wave to Qiao Ling who stood with her arms crossed, pretending not to be sad. Ranpo, eating one last candy, whispered something to Atsushi that made him smile. Their flight back to Japan was in a few hours—but they didn’t seem in a rush.
Outside the photo studio, Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi stood near the door, watching them with a mixture of quiet respect and something else… something that felt like the beginning of a long, unspoken friendship.
“We don’t normally do favors,” Lu said. “But if you ever need anything… time-related. No charge. Just ask.”
Cheng grinned, resting an arm on Lu’s shoulder. “Yeah! You guys are crazy, but kinda cool. And I owe Dazai for saving me, so I guess I should pay that back sometime.”
Atsushi smiled warmly. “Thank you. But I hope we won’t need anything time-related again anytime soon.”
Yosano agreed. “We deal with enough headaches in the present.”
Ranpo nodded, flicking Cheng’s forehead. “Keep that camera away from me, though.”
Everyone chuckled.
Except Dazai, who had been oddly quiet.
He stood near the edge of the street, coat fluttering gently in the breeze. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, worn photograph.
The colors had faded. The edges were frayed.
Three young men stood in the frame.
On the left—a younger Dazai. Smiling, in that rare, unguarded way. On the right—a man Lu and Cheng didn’t know. Calm, serious, glasses. And in the center…
A kind-looking man with soft eyes and a worn coat. His smile was small, but real.
Oda Sakunosuke.
Dazai held out the photo to Cheng Xiaoshi.
“I want you to tell the man in the middle something,” Dazai said quietly, his voice lower than usual. “If you ever happen to go back far enough to meet him.”
Cheng took the photo, blinking. “Sure. What do you want me to say?”
Dazai looked away, hands in his pockets, his usual grin nowhere to be seen.
“…Ask him this. ‘If I tried to be good… would you be proud of me?’”
The air stood still for a moment.
Cheng Xiaoshi tightened his grip on the photo. He looked at Lu Guang. Lu simply gave a small nod.
Without another word, both turned and walked briskly back into the photo studio.
Ranpo arched a brow. “Huh. They’re fast.”
Dazai remained where he was, expression unreadable as the wind tugged softly at the ends of his coat.
Inside, Cheng and Lu Guang set up immediately. The atmosphere was heavy, the kind of weight that didn’t come from danger, but from memory. From pain. From the question that had lingered between Dazai’s words.
“He wants to know if that man would be proud of him,” Cheng mumbled, staring down at the photograph again.
“He doesn’t want an answer,” Lu said quietly. “He wants to hope.”
Cheng didn’t reply. He placed the photo in the light, slipped on the headgear, and as always, Lu Guang’s hand met his shoulder.
In an instant, they dove in.
Inside the Photo
Cheng Xiaoshi blinked into the dim light of a small, smoky bar.
Lupin.
It was quiet, the air thick with the scent of old wood, smoke, and something nostalgic. Cheng sat at the counter, disguised in Dazai’s younger body. He didn't speak, just waited—watching.
At one of the tables, Ango was saying something in a low voice, the clink of a glass marking the end of his sentence. Dazai—the real one, back then—nodded and gave a half-smile.
Soon, Ango stood and left.
“You waited until Ango left,” Oda said casually.
Cheng swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
“…That’s new.”
Cheng hesitated. “I needed to talk to you. Alone.”
Oda studied him, then took a drag from his cigarette. “I’m listening.”
Cheng looked down at the counter. His reflection wavered slightly in the polished wood. “If I tried… to be good. Not perfect. Not selfless. Just… better—would you be proud of me?”
For a long while, Oda didn’t speak. He looked at Cheng—really looked at him.
And then came that rare, soft smile.
“I already am.”
The warmth in his voice settled like a blanket.
Cheng’s breath hitched faintly, but he managed a nod.
Oda turned his gaze to the doorway. “Whatever you choose to become… if it’s for something kind, something worth protecting—I’ll always be proud of you.”
Present Day – Outside the Photo Studio
The bell above the shop door jingled softly as Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi stepped out into the sunlight. The detectives were still standing nearby, pretending to chat casually — but every single one of them was very obviously pretending not to glance over.
Dazai hadn’t moved from where he stood, coat drifting in the breeze, eyes half-lidded like he’d never asked a question in the first place.
Cheng held the photo tightly in both hands.
He approached slowly, Lu at his side. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. But Dazai turned toward them with his usual lopsided grin before he could speak.
“Oh? You’re back already?” Dazai asked, voice light. “I was starting to think you two ran off to start your own little agency.”
Cheng looked at him, eyes searching. “We found him. Oda.”
“Ah…” Dazai’s expression didn’t change. “And?”
“He said yes,” Lu said softly. “He said he’s already proud of you.”
There was a flicker — a tiny, near-invisible shift behind Dazai’s eyes. But the smile never left his face.
“Well then,” he said, stretching his arms behind his head, “that’s a relief! I was worried he might throw a glass at me.”
Cheng blinked. “You’re not gonna… say anything else?”
Dazai tilted his head, still smiling. “What else is there to say? That was a long time ago. I’m just a humble detective now.”
Behind them, Atsushi turned away, biting his lip. Yosano folded her arms tightly. Ranpo crunched louder than usual on his candy.
“You’re a terrible liar,” Cheng muttered.
“I’m Dazai Osamu,” Dazai said brightly, spinning on his heel and heading toward the others. “Lying is practically my brand!”
Lu watched him walk away, still wearing that ridiculous grin. Still hiding everything.
Cheng stood there for a moment longer, then tucked the photo carefully back into Dazai’s coat pocket when he wasn’t looking.
No one said anything more.
But when Dazai glanced down later and found the photo had returned, the wind suddenly felt warmer than before.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚