Chapter Text
"I look forward to our next contest. Do your best for my sake!" — these confident words ring out as Edogawa Ranpo and his assistant leave Poe’s house.
Six years. Six years had led to this moment — hundreds of sleepless nights, rewriting his texts over and over, living for a single, solitary goal. And all of this just so Edgar Poe could lose again. Lose to that vile, detestable, yet brilliantly clever brat!
Poe’s legs are unsteady; he barely manages to reach the table and slump into the heavy, creaking chair. Six years. Lying on the table are the final notes for his grand plan of revenge, weighed down by a carelessly left-behind book — the very one that had served as the trap. Six years. He runs his hand over the pages, flipping through them absently while lost in thought, and closes the book. Six years.
Poe ponders what to do next. He will have to part ways with the Guild — a step that, much like his betrayal, had been planned even before he joined. He will also have to give up the apartment he rented in Yokohama solely to stage his resentment-fueled performance. At this thought, Poe rises and begins to gather his belongings in a daze, his mind still occupied with these thoughts. Shirts, papers, and various personal odds and ends are packed into the antique suitcases he had brought with him when he arrived in Japan — traveling light.
He is leaving the Guild, but what comes next? Poe had never looked beyond his plan for revenge; it had seemed as though his entire life existed for the sole purpose of taking Edogawa Ranpo down a peg. Now that the plan had lost its meaning, Edgar felt as if he had been set back six years, having squandered that time to no avail.
He packed his dress boots into the suitcase, absently stroked Karl, and tried to envision his future. A gnawing emptiness took hold of him, making it impossible to feel even the slightest concern about what lay ahead. The boots in the suitcase seemed to stare back at him in disappointment — he had intended to wear them with his formal attire to celebrate his victory.
Poe’s thoughts drifted back to the Guild, and he recalled the look of disappointment in Louisa’s eyes that morning. Louisa — quiet and timid, yet perceptive — already knew where things were heading. He had no doubts about her. Of all the Guild members, she was the one with whom Poe found the most common ground; he had long known he would miss their little tea times — moments far more peaceful and pleasant than the general meetings.
The Guild was a noisy, chaotic place that constantly heaped work upon him. In his meticulous plan, the organization had served only as a means to secure resources and the opportunity to travel to Japan. And yet, throughout his six years of isolation, the Guild had become the one place where people knew him and accepted him without question.
But God, how their missions and the constant, sudden crises distracted him from his plan for revenge! The thought crept into Edgar’s mind that perhaps — just perhaps — his revenge had failed precisely because of those endless distractions. Had he not been obliged to answer others' requests, attend meetings, and discuss strategies for endeavors his heart wasn't in, he might well have defeated Edogawa. Amidst these reflections, he decisively tossed his last shirt into the suitcase, already knowing what he would do next. The battle was lost, but not the war.
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All the data on the Guild, neatly sorted into categories on the desk, rustles under his hands. Rampo has already received his share of praise from his colleagues, discussed the plan of action with the others, and even polished off a pack of cookies stashed in his desk drawer. Although much work lay ahead, the information they had secured brought a sense of calm — fragile, perhaps, and ready to shatter at any moment, but a sense of calm nonetheless. It was a tranquility that seemed to hang in the air, making one want to sigh contentedly, have some fun, and do something pleasant before gearing up to face the enemy once more. At least, that was how Rampo felt. For the others, however, gaining the upper hand seemed to have given them a second wind; they were all eager to dive back into the work. The only one who shared the detective’s relaxed attitude was Dazai — though, for him, that was simply his default state.
As he rustled open a second package of sweets, Rampo’s thoughts drifted back to Edgar Allan Poe. How cleverly he fooled him by pretending not to not recognize the man! And Poe had actually fallen for it... Rampo had recognized him the moment he received the invitation; he had even chuckled to himself back then, anticipating their meeting. Now that Poe had reappeared, he felt a thrill of excitement — as if he were waking from a long, long slumber.
Six years ago, while playfully competing during a joint investigation, Rampo had inadvertently — but deeply — hurt his new acquaintance. That sort of thing was nothing new for him. What *was* unusual, however, was the guilt and embarrassment the detective felt as he looked at his rival — who, with a mix of frustration and desperation, vowed to beat him next time. His facial expression and the tremor in his voice suggested that Poe himself wasn't sure about it, and looking at him, Rampo felt butterflies swarming inside.
It had all happened ages ago; Edgar Poe had left and never reappeared, while Ranpo continued to wander aimlessly, solving cases — each one more tedious than the last. Yet, Ranpo hadn't forgotten him. Occasionally, his thoughts would drift back to that lost friendship, to the look of despair on the other man's face, and to how deeply he had hurt him.
"Motives, money, violence... it’s all so boring. There is only one thing in the world worthy of admiration, and that is my Super Deduction!" he had declared back then, in his usual brazen manner.
That phrase had made such a lasting impression on his acquaintance that, after all these years, the man repeated it — almost word for word — when they met again. That single detail was enough for Ranpo to be certain that his acquaintance wouldn't leave again. He would surely quit the Guild and likely move to a new place, but he certainly wouldn't go away for good. He couldn't leave now that they had found each other again.
Ranpo glances around the office, smiling at the sight of Atsushi and Kunikida bustling about in a comical flurry. As luck would have it, everyone around him is busy with something, yet he needs help.
"Hey! Who here is ready to help your favorite great detective get somewhere very important?" He checks his watch. "In about twenty minutes."
Everyone responds with puzzled, apologetic looks, completely absorbed in formulating the plan. Ranpo is just about to throw a childish tantrum when he notices Yosano rolling her eyes and picking up her handbag from the table. He flashes her a satisfied grin and runs toward the door. At least someone around here is always on his side!
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Fitzgerald’s office is spacious, spotless, and bathed in light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. To Edgar’s taste, the room was always far too bright — what with those massive windows and the gleaming ivory furniture that seemed to amplify the glare. The writer’s eyes weren't used to such brightness, and they would invariably strain against it. Now, having come to announce his resignation following an act of betrayal — secret though it was — he found the light-filled office even more unnerving. It felt as if every involuntary movement or flicker of emotion on his face were caught in a spotlight, impossible to hide from prying eyes — specifically, the eyes of Fitzgerald and his loyal assistant, Louisa.
Yet, things turned out to be far simpler than Poe had feared. He mechanically recited his rehearsed lines — something about lacking the time and tranquility needed for his manuscripts, and a desire to devote himself entirely to writing. Fitzgerald shook his head in frustration and asked if Poe could be persuaded to stay; upon receiving a negative answer, he expressed his regret.
"I am truly sorry to part with such a talented subordinate, but I cannot keep anyone against their will. Should you change your mind, the Guild would gladly welcome you back, Poe."
The Guild leader’s gaze — smug as ever — was fixed directly on Edgar, yet the writer himself did not look his way. Instead, he kept glancing — vainly trying to hide it — at Louisa, as if she were the one he was truly saying goodbye to. Disappointment still lingered in her eyes, but today he caught a glimpse of something else. Something akin to… understanding and sympathy? Louisa had always been unwaveringly loyal to Fitzgerald; after the betrayal, Edgar had expected her to lose faith in her friend, turn away, or perhaps even come to despise him. He certainly hadn't expected to see understanding in her expression. This realization put him at ease, and he left the office with a lighter heart, having shed the last lingering regret tied to the Guild.
Poe descended in an absurdly slow, absurdly glittering elevator, stepped out onto the street, and exhaled in relief.
"Oh, there you are! Just in time!" A familiar, cheerful voice made him jump in surprise.
Poe’s eyes widened as he stared at Edogawa Ranpo, who was standing right in front of him at the entrance to the Guild’s offices. Had his thoughts become so fixated on revenge that the poor writer was now seeing phantoms of his rival? No — it was him, the real deal, and he had somehow deduced exactly where Poe would be.
"No need to look so surprised, Poe-kun! Seriously, have you already forgotten that *you* were the one who gave me all your addresses?"
The sudden appearance of his rival — and that brazen, overly familiar manner — threw Poe completely off balance. "Poe-kun"? What on earth was that about? And why the hell was Edogawa waiting for him here? Uncertain how to react, he glanced around the street in confusion and only then noticed the young woman who had accompanied Edogawa on previous visit. She was clearly waiting for him, looking bored as she inspected her manicure. Edgar frowned, wondering what their relationship with Edogawa actually was.
"Anyway, I figure you’ll be moving soon, so give me your phone number!" that inappropriately cheerful voice interrupted his thoughts once again.
If the chance encounter had left Edgar flustered, this request — delivered with the casual ease of a magician — knocked the ground right out from under him; he nearly stumbled. His damn rival — the guy Edgar had held a grudge against for six years — was just showing up out of the blue and asking for his phone number? For what purpose? Was he up to something? Was he hatching some treacherous scheme to stab Edgar in the back when he least expected it? And did he really think Edgar would just hand over his number like that?
"Hey, can you even hear me? I said your phone number!"
Without waiting for an answer, Edogawa pats down Edgar’s pockets, making him flinch at the unexpected touch. With utter lack of tact, the other man fishes the phone out of Edgar’s trousers, unlocks the screen, and begins copying down the number. Watching this, Edgar curses himself for never setting a passcode on his phone; then, shaking off his stupor, he snatches the device back from his rival with a sweeping, theatrical gesture.
“God, Ed, stop twitching like that! It’s not like I’m looking for your nudes — or whatever it is you’ve got in there. Like I said, I just need the number. Alright, see ya!”
Shamelessly, Edogawa finishes saving the number to his phone and turns toward the young woman. She mutters “finally” with a mocking tone, and the two walk away, leaving Edgar completely bewildered. It seems he’s been outmaneuvered once again.