Chapter Text
꒰ྀིㅤㅤ ಿㅤ ﹒ ׅ ㅤׂ ݃ ♱
November 15th 1950
“Phantom thieves…huh…”
The young man muttered out the words, cyclical and suspicious. His fingers on one hand fidgeted with his now somewhat messy braid that fell on his shoulders, along with the white ribbon that held it together.
His eyebrows knitted together as his eyes narrowed, scanning the details of the case files. Letter by letter, word by word. Picking apart the information on paper by paper.
He swiftly opened his desk cabinet, looking at other contents, analyzing them.
In all of Chuuya's experiences as a patrol officer, Christ, the guards in this case were really unaware of their surroundings; it annoyed the life outta him. His mouth agape as he let out a sigh.. he leaned back against his chair. His frustration grew at the lack of details, and witnesses in this mystery filled with shadows as autographs. All the law enforcement currently has is a calling card. Doesn't seem violence driven, just more mischievous in words, more fancy in writing; “Watch out for next month, mister police!”
The CID was low on investigators; the cause being that they were recently bombarded with many other important cases like a double homicide. So the boss thought it’d be a great idea to hand this case over to Chuuya Nakahara, a newly promoted detective who specializes in criminal behaviors or so they were told. He had just gotten into the job a few months earlier and had assisted many other seniors when it came to criminal behavior, how the crime happened, and many other things. The young man, aged 20, showed a lot of potential within these few months; it's no wonder that they’ve given him this case, solo, this time, other than the fact that they're low on employees.
Chuuya thought it was gonna be just the usual cases; fraud, robbery..
But GOD, was it ever more frustrating than Nakahara had ever anticipated.
Not having many witnesses was one thing, but even a small amount of evidence wasn't found even if they had to sweep up all the dust and junk to find it! Not a trace, at least, not now.
It didn't take long for even the media (or better known as the newspapers) to figure out what happened, the gingerhead was a bit surprised that the general public was interested; after all, for all he could know, it could just be some cat and mouse game. But then again, a very important and expensive item was stolen from a well-known museum. Not exactly from within the display halls, but from the storage area. A portrait.
Some felt fear and concern for their own safety, others were fascinated..
And the small rest had some weird romantic attraction to the supposed criminals of the case; I mean, earlier today, a woman came up to Chuuya about it, and she was certainly interested in a way he found somewhat unnerving. The CID strictly told him that he shouldn't open up any information about any cases yet (the standard for every detective), so he drank his coffee fast and rushed before anyone even saw it coming.
“Hmph.” He huffed, looking through the other files that he had just gotten out of the cabinet.. There were previous cases of burglars within the streets of London, as there isn't much trace of the supposed “phantom thieves” in this case, it forced Chuuya to look at similar cases for behavior and appearance patterns.
“..so from the crime scene alone..” his bright blue eyes shifted to a black and white photo from the crime scene of his case, his foot clicking against the floor as he straightened up while he sat in his chair “..the lack of evidence and witnesses suggests whoever this culprit is..”
Is really bloody organized.
A pain in the ass, this means whoever this person is, planned this long term.
Or rather..
Abruptly, Chuuya got up from his office chair, and he marched over to a very tall wooden cabinet that loomed over the small private office, the curtains casting a shadow as soft as cotton alongside the huge storage. His hands rummaged through the many files, supplies, and once he reached the top container while on his toes, he finally found his notebook.
“Bloody hell..” he grumbled, dusting off the cover, his expression went from grim to soft, thoughtful. “I should organize my cabinets and desks like how Dad used to. Much more practical.”
A breath of relief was heard, and he began to move back to his desk. Pen now in hand, he began to write out, like he used to three years ago;
‘The crime was organized, barely any evidence, and witnesses other than the guards, the calling card was purposeful = long-term planning’
‘The museum is big, the word “phantom thieves” signed on the card suggests it's a group of people = likely 4??’
He crossed out four, his handwriting not as neat
‘5?? (+ pattern from older bank heist cases.)’
Chuuya's eyebrows furrowed, he’s gonna have to visit the crime scene in person. Plus, he was getting real restless in this small arse office the CID assigned him to. He needs to be there himself. What kind of detective is he if he isn't there?
He needs to consult and do paperwork first though. He sighed for the fifth time now. This case has him stumped; being a rookie didn't help much either.
Well, it's settled, tomorrow; Wednesday Morning.
꒰ྀིㅤㅤ ಿㅤ ﹒ ׅ ㅤׂ ݃ ♱
November 16th 1950
7:36 am
Ughh…
Today was sunny, way too sunny.. Yesterday was already a pain in the ass to deal with.. and earlier this morning, Chuuya dealt with the crowded spaces of the train station, newspaper boys shoving the latest headlines of the day.. He avoided all people like the plague.
And speaking of the day before, the detective had to sign a LOT of paperwork;
“I thought I was supposed to be the one in charge of this case? What's with the restrictions about questioning the guards??” He remembered asking in a voice that could barely hide his frustration, the person who gave him these papers to sign; to visit the crime scene, was none other than his own father, who let out a small breath before explaining in clear terms
“The CID may have given you the case, however, there are specific protocols that you still have to follow,” he paused, meeting Chuuya's blue eyes. The older man’s brown-blonde hair shimmered in the moonlight that peeked through the office windows.
“Yo,u are still new to being a detective constable after all. Don't mistake these rules for underestimation, son.”
And now, here he is, in front of the doors to the storage space of the museum, the crime scene. With no backup, since there were already police officers around the room.
The ginger glanced at the map he was given (the old lady at the front insisted that he should take one) then, his eyes went back up at the door
“..this is way above my pay grade..” he grumbled, dusting off his soft blue-grey coat, his feet began to move, the leather shoes clicked against the ground as he walked. He greeted the guards, who surprisingly let him in
“We were informed of your arrival, mister. Nakahara.” One would add.
Well, Chuuya would take that over someone calling him ‘a man playing dress up’ any day. He held his breath as he went in.
And the first thing that greeted him?
Dust.
He felt it in his throat and coughed it out a bit.. Christ! When was this place last cleaned?!
He grumbled, the dust bunnies are certainly showing themselves off..
Wait...
His sky-colored eyes went from narrow to bright within seconds. Dust might be his savior after all! Not hurriedly, he made sure the bottom of his shoes were covered with the plastic bags he got, just in case. He huffed proudly
“Time to get to work.” A self-assurance. A determined one.
One step followed by the other, Chuuya flashed a light on the ground, and a thin layer of dust was on top of the supposedly clean floor.. It's hard to see any footprints left by the thieves, but..
Once the detective looked up and saw a loft-like metal second floor, he looked for the stairs and inspected them. The painting was supposedly placed in the middle of the room (what an odd spot) so.. as he walked, he noticed a small window on the second floor, he hummed as if he already had an idea of how the culprits moved and thought, and wouldn't you know it.
“I knew it.” He kneeled down, holding the flashlight close, hovering over the frame, which had dust on it, but. Even if the thieves are ‘phantom thieves’, there was still a trace. A long line that's been untouched by dust, say like: as if someone had dragged a portrait? Plus, if the object that's been stolen also collected dust, it would explain why the dust around the trace would have a layer thicker than the rest.
“The movement of the painting must’ve caused the dust from the painting to fall off.. he finally faced the window .“They dragged it out there…” carefully and hesitantly, his hands unlocked the window before lifting it open.
His eyes scanned the outside, slowly, and the pieces started to come together;
The storage room is not as secure as the rest of the building.. There was enough of a surface just a bit below the window to suspect that they could have come in from here, and it was close to the roof as well.
“A convenient escape.” Not bad, the young man thought, closing the window quietly, he went back down, grabbed his camera from his bag, and took a photo of the trail in the dust.
He sighed, man.. this is really all the evidence he could capture for now until he was allowed to question the only two witnesses that night.
“..wait..” questioning, that's right! He could ask some ‘innocent’ questions to the elderly woman at the front desk of the museum! Just a simple confirmation, that's all. A solid answer is a solid case.
꒰ྀིㅤㅤ ಿㅤ ﹒ ׅ ㅤׂ ݃ ♱
November 16th 1950
8:52 am
“Ah, that area hasn't been cleaned since two months ago, young lad.”
Her raspy weak voice echoed in Chuuya's head.
That's the answer he needed
Pacing back and forth in his office, notebook left alone and untouched for the past hour, written in ink, it said;
‘timeline: storage hasn't been cleaned since September -> phantom thieves break-in happens on November 3rd -> current investigation’
And thank the lord, Chuuya wasn't as restless as before, at least he got a bit of evidence now.. dust.
“Until the CID allows me to question the witnesses,” his own voice played in like a recording of earlier this day, when he was talking to a senior, “this is all the proof I can find for now. It's just theories I have to work with.”
He immediately sat down on his chair and leaned against it, in deep thought. Nakahara is used to moving around, being active, and being in the small room for too long can give him a bit of a headache. As much as he hates crowds sometimes, especially in the mornings, they're probably the only sources of energy he can get from. He could pass by nice behaved strangers who invite him to small talks, newspaper boys, even if they're annoying at times, give him something to look forward to every time.
But this job..while it was his dream, it takes a long time to adjust for certain. He’s trying his best to get used to the lack of actions he could do, spinning his pen and all, he didn't realize how much time had passed even as the grandfather clock beside his door ticked, ticked, ticked…
A knock came at the door.
“Hm? Come in” Chuuya absently called out.
The door creaked open, revealing a familiar figure with red hair and golden amber eyes.. a fellow patrol officer that the detective was acquainted with back in his own years of patrolling.
“Ah, Tachihara.” The ginger stood up to greet his co-worker with a fond smile. “What brings you here?”
The 17-year-old officer smiled back, nervously dusting off his sleeves when he answered;
“Well, the seniors wanted me to remind you that it's lunch hours.” Chuuya glanced at the clock, the time showing ‘11 pm’, his eyes widened.
“Oh Christ, I forgot I have to leave early today—” he clumsily rushed across his office, gathering his things in a not-so-organized way. Tachihara was awkwardly standing at the door, watching his senior panicking over being late for leaving work.
“Pardon me, but can you tell me why?”
“My mum wants me to tend to some of the chores—” he hurriedly answered, closing his briefcase “it's only me and my dad after all, she gets somewhat tired sometimes.”
The younger lad nodded before stating that he’ll let the rest of the upper ranks know about it. His footsteps echo through the hallway as he leaves the lonely small office.
The click of Chuuya's shoes followed less than an hour later, his coat didn't flap much in the air, no flair, just quietly moving along.
The mental fog cleared up as the pattering of rain cut in, gentle but firm. It's a causal storm tonight, Chuuya gets his hat out as he swiftly puts it on his head. Walking down the sidewalk, his mind began to wander..
It was the Second World War,
He thought he’d never see the rain again.
He used to be annoyed at it, the weather caused him to be sick most times.
But now, it's a sign of life that he’s still here.
It feels surreal…to survive.
He’s grateful that he didn't lose his parents in the war, but.. his family still didn't go without losses;
His father’s brother was gone among the trenches of the grounds. The day Chuuya turned 15, it was his fifth time seeing a dead body, it hurt more knowing it was his own blood, his family.
His hands were trembling more than they should’ve.
He shouldn't cry, not now. It's not over just yet.
A dirty hand on his back, the familiar warmth of the woman who raised him.
“It's ok, Chuuya.”
The gentle voice echoed
“Don't be too harsh on yourself, war is no easy thing to not cry about.”
He couldn't recall the moments after.
Did he really cry?
Or did he hold it all in again?
A sharp pain to his head interrupted the thoughts.
He was pulled harshly from the recalling of his childhood, rubbing his forehead, his eyes fully open.
Ah.
A brick wall.
Wait, brick wall?
“..where did I end up this time..” he grumbled to himself, god, this habit of his is really getting worse and worse; day by day. It didn't take long for him to realize he was at the train station now, specifically the back of it. It's like he sleepwalked there. Bloody hell..
The puffing of smoke and the screeching of the rails approached.
OH DEAR LORD, HE’S GONNA MISS IT—he hasn't even bought a ticket yet!
꒰ྀིㅤㅤ ಿㅤ ﹒ ׅ ㅤׂ ݃ ♱
November 16th 1950
6:54 pm
“You're getting better at this.”
The ginger-haired woman smiled at her son, needle in hand as he sewed up a tear in his old coat.
The rain poured outside, tapping against the windows. Grey clouds hovered over the streets of London and this humble small house felt welcoming. The fireplace crackled with the heat from the blazing light. Providing the two individuals occupying the living room a much needed warm temperature.
Mrs. Nakahara’s hands were drying from washing the dishes a few minutes before Chuuya came into the door. She was glad to have such an attentive son, he helped around the house every few days or weeks. Now…
He's incredibly focused on fixing some of the clothing the family had, holes were fixed with careful steady hands.
He’s been doing this for years, spending time with his mother most of his childhood made him learn a few things even his co-workers could learn from. Not that his father wasn't present, he was just..busy then and now, but Mr. Nakahara always tried to spend as much time with his son and wife as possible.
The final tear was sewed up as Chuuya repiled “It's no problem at all, mum.” warm and well-mannered. A mum’s son to the end.
“say, didn't you want to go out to get some groceries from the markets?” the young man continued as he tilted his head slightly in curiosity, his mind had already worked up a few routes and plans. In this age of rationing, it's best to spend wisely.
His mother nodded, she slowly got up, approaching the rack near the door, and swiftly puts one of the coats, adorning a scarf and hat.
“Yes” while adjusting her buttons “i was planning to wait until your father returns so I can go with him instead—”
“But he’s working late” Chuuya added, removing himself from the seat. Following his mum “I'll come with you instead.”
Ladies’ safety comes first, especially after recovering from the second world war.
The shorter woman chuckled lightly, “of course hon.” She grabbed her bag from near the door “but anything you want to buy is on you, alright?” Looking up at him with a smile and a raised eyebrow, a joke passed down from childhood. But honestly, now, Chuuya is really gonna abide by that, seeing how he shrugged and smirked, offering a bolder exchange.
“How about I pay for all of what we buy?”
“Oh? Feeling spendy today?” She patted his back “well, you better be true to your words, we're gonna need more than just a tenner for some groceries.”
The keys jingled in her hands as she placed it in her bag, the older woman opened the door gesturing to Chuuya to follow her with a wave of a hand.
Two sets of footsteps settled with the patterning of the rain, the young detective had his umbrella open, sharing it with his mother. The sidewalk was covered in water puddles, the soles of their shoes hit against them, they were a little messy.
The streets of London were surprisingly yet unsurprisingly quiet, most folks just decided to stay in their residence or most of them are at the markets. Stalls and shops, some for food, some for the youngsters to hang out around.
They reached a street with lights and bustling people, the short woman’s face brightened; out of habit, she got a hold of Chuuya's hand and walked towards the market. Some sellers were already yelling out prices and special deals, and it was extremely crowded.
“You sure pick the best time to pick up groceries..” the young lad swore he was getting pulled by his mum more strongly by the minute as he just sarcastically commented
The older woman rolled her eyes “Oh hush! The morning or afternoon would’ve been worse.” lightheartedly she responded. And as much as Chuuya disliked to admit it, she wasn't wrong, the morning rush would have had both of them trampled on the ground no matter how strong either of them are.
Before the ginger haired man knew it, they had arrived at one of the stalls already. His mother was already chit chatting with the seller.
“Ohoho! My regular customer!” The tall man greeted in a rough voice with a friendly tone, a cigar in his mouth. “What can I do for ya?” He moved around, his hands waving to the many vegetables on display. “Let me guess, Potatoes and cabbages?”
“Quite the observation!” The older woman complimented, flattering the young man. “Haven't been eating much other than those two, bring some carrots onto the table.” The bigger man rummaged through the many vegetables, putting them in a basket, but not hurriedly.
Chuuya felt a bit awkward standing next to his mum, she was always someone who was good with words and persuading people with her friendly charms. It was one of the many reasons why he and other people respect her so much.
His thoughts were cut off by Ms. Nakahara;
“Tata!” She waved the vegetable seller farewell, taking a hold of Chuuya's hand again and was on her way.
Apparently, the vegetables were on the house! Christ, just how much respect did his mother gain?! Not that he’s complaining, but still! It’s hard to believe anyone would give away a pound's worth of editable supplies to anyone in this age and time. Then, again…
The young detective smiled a bit, the pride of being a son of someone like her blooming in his chest. How could he forget that his mother has connections? Friendships, and had helped many people before. Even if..Chuuya was a detective because of his dad, his mum was the reason why he handled the things the way he did.
Stall after stall, they encountered old faces.
“Ah, Ms. Nakahara!” The elder lady at a small bakery’s stall greeted, before being pleasantly surprised by Chuuya, who was obviously running errands with his mother
“My my, your son has grown quite a bit.” She commented, as she shook her head “I still remember when he was this little.” Her left hand moved next to her, comparing his former height to her shoulder.
Chuuya was legit screaming on the inside, his eyes widened a bit, his lips pressed together. Skin pale, just the very picture of a mortified young man. You’d expect someone like him to start yelling but—IT’S AN OLD LADY, WHY YELL???
“He’s grown to quite a handsome lad.” The elder switched from a smile to a curious look, raised eyebrow and all “but I see he’s still a bit shy?”
His mother chuckled in return “oh, quite the opposite!” Her hand waving politely and dismissively, her smile warm “he’s just humble is all! He’s not usually quiet, Mrs. Stones.” Ms. Nakahara would glance at Chuuya, who looked a bit startled; like the same boy who flinched when he was caught eating cookies when he wasn't supposed to. Something in her eyes: sharp and worried.
“I’ll have two loaves of bread, please.” Her tone softened down, but it wasn't noticeable to the kind hag, replying ‘in a jiffy, love’ to the younger lady. Chuuya's breath caught in his throat as his mum turned to him.
“..ma, please believe me.” He pointed to himself “I'm not tired, I swear-”
“Eyebags, tense shoulders and posture..” the words that spilled out of her mouth made Chuuya pause; his mother wasn't a foolish woman, there's basically nothing he can hide from her, at all. “You expect me to believe that, Chuuya?” She shook her head in disappointment. Chuuya's expression softened into something akin to shame.
He just didn't want his mum to worry.
That’s all.. yeah, that's all..
He heart pounded less as he felt warm hands ruffling his hair
“If you're tired, take a day off when you can, hon.” A reassuring small smile on her face as she spoke out. Chuuya couldn't help but nod, even if he isn't sure if he can keep such a promise; although, the woman didn't say it was a promise.
“Of course, mum—”
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”
A crowd of screamings came from the side, the pair turned to look in shock and something that's like terror, facing the direction of the cause of the loud noises.
The market is filled with people trying to escape or get as far away, pushing each other and trampling like elephants on a zoo-outbreak. It was almost deadly, Chuuya grunted and immediately pulled his mother with him, leading her inside of an antique store. She almost tripped from how fast the young lad was, she trembled as she felt the grip of her son’s hand slip away, getting pulled away by the crowd.
“Chuuya!” The mother tried reaching for him, her umbrella fell to the ground, before she was ultimately held back by the shopkeepers
“It's too dangerous out there, Ms. Nakahara!” one of them yelled out, and she can't deny that he was right. But it doesn't mean the thought of her kid getting smashed dead by the crowd wasn't at all nerve-wracking.
“I’ll meet you later! Stay safe!” The gingerhead promised, his voice slowly fading in the distance as he was pushed away from the front of the store. His sense of justice coming in strong, something must've happened—it feels so wrong. What could’ve happened?
Chuuya shoved himself through the moving crowd, going the opposite way of where the folks were running towards. He needs to investigate, now and fast. Detain anyone before they can get away. “THERE'S SMOKE! FIRE!” a loud panicked voice of a work-aged man between the seas of people, it caught Chuuya's attention.
“.. there's no fire.” the detective thought, his eyebrows furrowed “otherwise it would have spreaded to here much quicker, it would have been put out by the rain, and it wouldn't cause this much of a ruckus,—”
“AAA, IT'S THE PHANTOM THIEVES!”
A woman screeched out
….huh.
Phantom…thieves?
WAIT PHANTOM THIEVES?
Now Nakahara REALLY needs to get going! Arrest them, any one of them, before they get away. They might not be just thieves anymore, perhaps they might be terrorists if they're able to scare an entire crowd!
꒰ྀིㅤㅤ ಿㅤ ﹒ ׅ ㅤׂ ݃ ♱
November 16th 1950
8:54 pm
Lights..checked.
A tall building, checked!
Microphone in hand..
“Don't you think we used too many smoke bombs?” a lazy tone from the childish lad with messy black hair. Expected from someone like him, looking down at the smoke and screaming-filled market streets. He was skeptical of the plan, presented by the one and only.
The man beside him, chuckled while tossing the microphone from one hand to the other. The black top hat he adorned on his head. The purple ribbon on said top hat swayed in sync with his raven cape, the wind was average today. “Oh Mister.Ranpo, don't you get it?” His honeyed voice replied, “people in London love to cling onto their hysteria!”
Even if Ranpo had his eyes closed, the taller man could feel the fact that he rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Then you better explain to Yosano why you wasted so many of them. When you do your so-called..introduction.” Red masked and all, the thief left the other to his own devices. “Call me when you need backup. You know what to do.”
And then, the searchlights on the roof they're on, lightened up as spotlights
But even with all the lights, his face remained shadowed, perhaps by his top hat. He tapped the microphone.
1..
2..
“Why, why hello fellow citizens of London!” He spoke into the microphone, smooth and playful. “So sorry for any inconveniences caused in the broadcasting! We phantom thieves aren't a part of the BBC after all!”
and broadcast indeed, many of the radios from below and nearby are playing in his voice, live. He moved around, and played with the microphone in hand.
“i’m issuing a warning.” His once playful, seemingly harmless tone turned into something sinister. “One of you is already on our target list.” The expression is deadpan. “Be prepared for December 10th, your very oh so precious painting will be stolen. At any moment of said date.”
Before he finished the broadcast, his gaze moved down below. The sight of a certain ginger haired man; escorting and helping anyone who was injured or trapped in certain stores or areas. There was a certain familiarity in the phantom thief’s eyes even as it was covered by the shade of his hat. His smile returned, it was oddly knowing yet, perhaps..gentle.
A knowing smile that his plan worked.
“That is all, I’ll be waiting for your arrival,” the microphone turned off, ending the radio session. Cutting off his last words, spoken in a way that seemed to be towards himself, like a thought..not a statement.
“—Mister. Detective.”
Even as Ranpo was just in the background, watching. He knew this whole ordeal was not at all about jewels and works of art.. at least, not mainly. He walked over casually, his soles kicking.
“You're seriously ridiculous, Dazai.” He commented as he popped a lollipop in his mouth. “All this just to lure out one shortie?”
The coffee-haired man only turned around; intending to leave the rooftop through the emergency exit while the smoke still lasted, beckoning the one with messy black hair to follow. The rain of that day, continued to pour down. Leaving the two of them soaking wet.
“You already understand, don't you, Ranpo?”
꒰ྀིㅤㅤ ಿㅤ ﹒ ׅ ㅤׂ ݃ ♱