Chapter Text
It's surprisingly cold today.
Well, not cold as in 'winter', but an empty cold. A cold that seeps through under you, no matter how thick your layers are.
It's an all consuming chill, and gnaws at you from the inside. It's a sort of cold you feel when you can't feel anything else but it. It sends shivers down spines, despite it being spring.
It's different from the cold breeze provided by the sheltered waters of Mie. The sea is comforting, as opposed to that anonymous frost.
Which is probably part of the reason why Ranpo spends his time near the calm waters of Nabari. If you focus enough on the tides colliding with rock, the conspicuous cold nearly dissipates—mixing with the slow, chilly, wind.
As he digs one knee in the sand, he looks across the horizon, nearing the end of a sunset. It's warm to the eyes, yet doesn't radiate off the inside.
It's been a day since the news of his parents' death had finally sunk in, and he's deducted that the officers assigned to his parents' case are going to come find him, after all, according to the law they're required to find him a "home" to live in, since the home is not his to inherit—yet. He's chosen to just let it happen, after all. The police are smart enough to find him, especially with his inability to take the train. (He's tried it before, wanting to get out of town before the authorities reach him. He failed.)
So he's accepted the fact that they'll find him. I mean, just look at his father, he would always tell the young boy stories about his day, how he'd always catch the suspect, and how he'd always fix anything whenever there's a problem at home. Ranpo remembers how he would always look at his father in awe, and he wishes he could have done it a million times more before his death. He misses his father. He misses his mother. He wishes they weren't gone. But there's nothing that will bring them back, Ranpo knows that for a fact.
So he continues to dig his feet into the coarse, vast, and moist sand. After a few moments, he hears footsteps, heavy ones. And then, the sand beside him crunches, stopping as he sees a sliver of black near him—shoes, shiny and new. Those must be expensive, being made out of high quality leather. He hears a muffled voice, as he looks up, seeing only a black figure, and as soon as he opens his eyes wide, the entity latches on to him, attempting to consume him. Ranpo yelps, yet can't seem to get the abyssal black figure off of him.
As he's almost completely covered by the goo-ish void that just looked humanoid earlier....
He wakes up.
Sweating, nervous, and heavily panting. As he sits up from reflex, he looks around. He's in his room, both messy enough for others to cringe away from, yet clean enough for him to know just where everything is. Of course, he'd know where anything is, just by deducting it. This is not the point though. The point is, he's been having these sort of dreams from his teenage years resurface, and he only has a vague idea why.
He can only proceed to get up for a glass of water, in hopes that if he ponders once more, that he finally gets his answer.
It's been a week since the situation—or what Ranpo would like to call it, the Dostoevsky crisis, has died down. If you count the days since it's been resolved, he could probably say about 3 weeks—you could say a month, since. Everyone's still tense from the incident, and no one can blame the other. The suspense in the air is heavy as a boulder, especially because of a certain different conflict coming up.
For context, the Armed Detective Agency had made a deal with the Port Mafia, stating that they would allow a temporary transfer of a member—except Akiko, to the abyssal organization. For now, Ranpo can't deduce who that man will pick tomorrow, but he's sure as hell that no matter who, nothing will come good of it. At this point, he's ready to just let himself go instead, but he doubts the port would need a detective's skills, let alone a person who mostly relies solely on those skills.
He clicks open a pitcher of water, untouched since the morning. Just what could Ougai be thinking? He thinks over the possibilities, as he grabs a nearby glass. Akiko is obviously out. I don't think he'd get anything from Kenji, except for weighing down the agency a ton, a relief, I would never let him go anyway.
I would never let anyone go if I could.
He tips the pitcher over, pouring water inside the cup. Dazai would be too rebellious and refusing, but he's definitely a strong contender. Kunikida would break easily, but that's what the port wants. Junichiro's too fit for the job, considering his ability. Kyouka would be devastated going back, but I don't think that executive would allow it. Atsushi's already worked with a port member harmoniously, so he's still in...
If the president were to—no. Nevermind.
He sighs, putting down the pitcher and closing the lid. Everyone seems to have a chance, and he's frustrated he can't seem to get more than a sliver of who it might be. A hand grabs the cup, and he gulps down the water. For fuck's sake Ranpo, twelve years solving cases, yet you can't crack this one? A voice he imagines, involuntarily. He takes a few steps to the sink and places his cup for washing tomorrow. He turns on his heel, heading to his futon. As he dozes off, he thinks to himself one last time. I wish it was me instead. Could you guide me through this, father?
Today's the day. Everyone is in the agency. The old man is inside the main office, next to Ranpo's desk. That cold from his dream seeps back into him. He can sense it seeps into everyone this time. He watches the others, deducing what they were thinking. Atsushi was probably thinking of volunteering, sacrificing himself like a lamb. Ranpo opposes the thought, but he can't stress the kid out more. Kunikida is overthinking right now, and Dazai...let's skip him for now. Kenji's mood is significantly worse, and that's saying something. Akiko's blaming herself, and he wishes he could just press a replay in her mind on what he told her before joining the agency. He continues looking at each member, until he hears cars rolling up outside the agency building.
"They're here." He blurts, and everyone turns to him, then the door. It's not long till his statement is proven correct, as a knock is heard from the other side of the door. Someone steps in, none other than Mori Ougai, followed suit by a few bodyguards. He walks to the middle of the room, basking in an invisible spotlight. All members of the agency even remotely near him backed up, going behind their desk spaces.
"Now, shall we finish our deal?" Mori asks, smile innocent, yet not fooling anyone.
"Let's get this over with." Fukuzawa replies, one hand in the other sleeve, eyes shut tight, like he's holding back on the urge of strangling the doctor.
Ranpo hears a few exchanging of words, but he doesn't think it's important. It's better to analyze the others, he thinks, as he looks around once more—
"I will be choosing..." Nevermind, he shouldn't look around. The room is tense, so tense. Everyone almost seems to lean in, ready to jump in front of the other if ever chosen. There's a slightly long pause that just hurts more every second, because each one makes them hope more that the Port Mafia won't take anyone at all, that it was all just for no consequence. Yet, everyone knows Mori will choose someone, and the agency can't avoid that.
"Edogawa Ranpo." A mischievous smile creeps up the frankly vexatious man in front, and the thought doesn't even sink in for a few seconds. Everyone is shocked. To think he'd take the agency's linchpin, that he probably doesn't even need? It's just pure malice. Ranpo looks up, and opens his eyes a sliver at Mori. He stands, locking his gaze at him, while the man mirrors his actions. From the corner of his eye, the boss is frozen in place, still shocked, yet fully conscious. He opens his mouth to speak,
"Are you sure with your choice?"
"Very much." Mori says, quite quickly.
Everyone's ready to stand against it, yet hesitating to go against the Port Mafia's boss. Ranpo understands. And he wouldn't want them to replace him anyway. He's just fine with the choice, though the reasoning is confusing. The only other time something he considers a case hasn't been cracked for a long time was with his parents' death, or anything surrounding it. Is this related to it?
"Alright then, I'll allow you all to say your goodbyes, then we'll be escorting Ranpo-kun to his dorm, then finally to the Port Mafia, to welcome our newest member." Ougai says in an awfully cheerful tone, and it makes Ranpo's face writhe in cringe. His voice, it's so fake, and he knows it.
As the "guests" leave the scene, everyone compiles up in a circle , surrounding Ranpo. He's bombarded with comforting words, gifts, and apologies, in which he doesn't need, but he's grateful everyone cares so much. Yet, everyone's still tense, and almost blaming theirselves for another's choice.
"You all shouldn't be so down, alright? Mori chose me for a reason, one with bad intent, and I wouldn't let anyone else here go through that."
Everyone goes silent, and the president stares at him, then the ground.
"Besides, I'm this agency's ace, and master detective! Don't you ever forget that! So, I won't fall to darkness, no matter what. As long as I'm alive, everything's well! And that goes for the agency, do you get it?" He takes a few steps to the window.
"I said, do you get it?" He asks, in a puckish, louder tone. Kenji replies first, saying, "Yes, Ranpo-san!", As the others follow suit, he smiles warmly, enough to reach his ears. He notices the president silently nods, his mood uplifted a little.
"Good. Now I must go forth, to gain more experience as a detective!" He walks to the middle of the room, munching on a snack.
"Goodbye, everyone." Ranpo waves, flashing a smile for them. The others' goodbyes fade out for him, as he opens the door, seeing Mori and the bodyguards behind it, once more. Before he leaves, he hears a whisper of the president's voice.
"Goodbye, Ranpo, and good luck." The detective smiles warmly at the president's care, as he walks down the steps, following the Port Mafia staff.