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It was an unspoken rule in the Armed Detective Agency: when things went wrong, blame Ranpo.
Not because he was responsible — far from it — but because he was Ranpo. Fukuzawa’s prodigy, his golden child, his favourite. Everyone knew it. Even Yosano, who usually claimed to be above petty schemes, had once muttered to Kunikida that “Ranpo could commit treason and still get a pat on the head.”
And the worst part? They were right.
1. The Coffee Catastrophe
It started, as most office disasters did, with Dazai.
Morning light streamed through the windows as the detectives gathered around the break table. Kunikida’s voice was sharp, ranting about schedules and budget reports, while Dazai lazily stirred his coffee with a pencil.
“Dazai, for the love of god—” Kunikida snapped, but too late. The pencil slipped, and a full mug of coffee cascaded across the table and onto Fukuzawa’s paperwork.
The President, silent and calm, turned his head very slowly.
Dazai froze. Kunikida froze. Atsushi, halfway through his pastry, froze.
“Who,” Fukuzawa said, voice dangerously even, “caused this mess?”
Dazai’s eyes darted around the room like a trapped animal. Then, inspiration struck.
“It was Ranpo-san,” he said with the faintest of smiles.
Every head turned. Ranpo, sitting cross-legged on the desk, nibbling a bag of potato chips, blinked up from his snack.
“Me?”
Dazai nodded solemnly. “You see, Ranpo was experimenting with a new deduction technique — trying to see how liquid diffusion patterns can be used to track criminal movement. I merely provided the coffee for his research.”
Ranpo looked at him for a long moment, then sighed. “You’ll buy me strawberry mochi for lunch.”
“Two boxes,” Dazai agreed instantly.
Fukuzawa’s gaze softened. “Ranpo, next time, please keep experiments off the paperwork.”
“Okay~,” Ranpo said, and popped another chip into his mouth.
The matter was closed.
2. The Broken Window Incident
The next time was entirely Kyouka’s fault.
She had been practicing with her sword indoors — despite repeated warnings not to — when a miscalculated swing shattered one of the Agency’s tall glass windows.
Everyone stared at the glittering shards scattered across the floor.
“... I’ll fix it,” Kyouka muttered, lowering her sword.
But before she could say another word, Atsushi, panicked at the thought of her getting scolded, blurted out, “R-Ranpo-san did it!”
Ranpo, who was eating donuts nearby, froze mid-bite. “What did I do now?”
Atsushi’s face burned red. “Y-you… um… threw a book! Yeah! You threw a book and it broke the window!”
“Why would I throw a book?” Ranpo asked flatly.
“Because you were… angry that someone hid your candy stash,” Atsushi stammered.
Ranpo narrowed his eyes. “I see. A transparent lie. You’ll bring me a strawberry parfait tomorrow.”
Atsushi nodded so fast his hair nearly hit his face.
When Fukuzawa entered moments later, he found Ranpo standing near the shattered window with an entirely unconvincing expression of guilt.
Fukuzawa sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ranpo, please don’t throw things indoors.”
“Yes, sir,” Ranpo said solemnly, biting back a grin as Atsushi slipped him a small folded note later that read ‘I owe you one parfait.’
3. The Stolen Bento Scandal
It was Yosano’s bento. Which made it, by definition, a serious crime.
She had spent the morning carefully arranging her lunch — grilled mackerel, pickled radish, rice shaped into little flowers — and when lunchtime arrived, it was gone.
The entire Agency froze in collective horror.
Yosano’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Which one of you rats,” she said sweetly, “touched my food?”
No one breathed.
Even Dazai looked appropriately afraid.
Kenji, bless his naïve soul, spoke up. “I saw Ranpo-san eating something earlier! Maybe it was—”
Ranpo turned to him, betrayal written across his face. “Kenji. I was eating chips. You know I hate fish.”
But it was too late. Yosano’s eyes had already landed on him.
“Ranpo,” she said, voice dripping with deadly politeness, “would you like to explain?”
Dazai, sensing the opportunity to make things interesting, leaned in with a whisper. “Take the fall, Ranpo-kun. I’ll buy you a limited-edition chocolate bar.”
Ranpo’s eyes narrowed. “Make it two.”
Yosano folded her arms. “Well?”
Ranpo sighed dramatically. “Fine. I did it.”
There was a pause. Yosano’s expression softened slightly.
“Ranpo,” she said, “if you were hungry, you could have asked. Just don’t touch my things again.”
And just like that, she walked away.
The room collectively exhaled in relief.
Dazai handed Ranpo his promised chocolate, whispering, “A noble sacrifice, my friend.”
Ranpo smirked. “I’m keeping track, you know. You all owe me so much dessert it’s practically blackmail.”
4. The Time Fukuzawa Found Out
It was bound to happen eventually.
This time, it wasn’t something small. The Agency’s computer system had crashed completely. Important case files were inaccessible, the network was down, and Kunikida was furious.
“This is sabotage!” he thundered, waving a stack of papers. “Someone installed a game on the server and corrupted the data!”
No one dared look at Dazai, though everyone silently suspected him.
Fukuzawa entered, his calm presence enough to make even the lights flicker quieter. “Who,” he asked slowly, “caused this mess?”
Dazai opened his mouth—
“It was me,” Ranpo said quickly from his seat, head bowed, voice small.
Atsushi and Kenji exchanged guilty looks. Yosano looked away.
Fukuzawa’s expression didn’t soften this time. “Ranpo.” His tone was measured. “You don’t even use the computers.”
Ranpo froze. “… Ah.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Fukuzawa’s gaze swept over the rest of the team. Dazai tried to whistle. Atsushi pretended to be invisible.
Finally, the President sighed. “I see what’s been happening.”
No one moved.
“From now on,” Fukuzawa said, setting down his papers with quiet finality, “if anyone tries to pass the blame onto Ranpo again, they will be cleaning the office for a week.”
Dazai groaned audibly. Kunikida almost looked pleased.
Ranpo slumped in his chair, pouting. “Aww… does that mean no more snacks-for-blame deals?”
Fukuzawa’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “You’ll still get snacks, Ranpo. But you’ll have to earn them honestly.”
Ranpo thought about it for a moment, then grinned. “Then I guess I’ll just solve three cases by lunch.”
He hopped off the desk and stretched, the rest of the team watching as Fukuzawa’s gaze softened once again.
Some things, it seemed, would never change.
Epilogue:
Later that evening, Dazai found a note on his desk.
“You owe me four lunches, three chocolates, one parfait, and an apology.
– Ranpo 🍓”
Dazai chuckled, pocketing the note.
Maybe Ranpo wasn’t just the Agency’s favorite.
Maybe he was their quiet, snack-loving genius shield.
And honestly?
No one minded at all.