Chapter Text
~ five years ago ~
He hadn’t made it, and the feelings of shame and failure in his body consumed him, churning his insides and tearing him apart. It hurt. He was bleeding. Not physically, but internally. The shame melted his soul and made it bleed. He had no idea what was happening to him or what was wrong with him, but at the same time, he knew: he had failed.
Around him, people were calling his name. „Edogawa! You’re the greatest detective in the world! Why don’t you say anything?“
Why?
Ranpo had suspected the wrong man: he hadn’t managed to unmask the real murderer. The perpetrator had planned the whole thing so well that all the evidence pointed to his innocent brother. Why hadn’t Ranpo noticed this before? Why was he so blind? It was all so obvious! So ... clearly a good deception. He was deceived, they were all deceived.
The police and the journalists stared at the teenager, who was still standing there rooted to the spot, his eyes wide open. His body felt so cold that he couldn’t move, even though he wanted to run away so badly. He didn’t understand anything. He didn’t understand that the evidence pointed to the wrong person. Ranpo doesn’t understand the world in general, and this has now reached its peak.
„Ranpo.“ Fukuzawa’s calm voice broke through the chaos with a strangely gentle force. Normally, Ranpo calmed down, but this time the voice hit him colder than the rain falling on them all, soaking his clothes. Ranpo backed away, almost stumbling, and stared at the ground. He didn’t dare look at Fukuzawa, too afraid of what he would find in those familiar eyes.
And then he could move. Finally. „I’m sorry ... “ Ranpo whispered, fighting back tears. „Why are you apologizing?“ Fukuzawa sounded confused, but Ranpo still wasn’t looking at him. He backed away very slowly, his lips trembling, his eyes wide open, and his heart racing. His heart and soul bled even more. „I’m so sorry ... father.“
„Edogawa–san, what are you talking about?“
„Mr. Detective?“
Mr. Detective? He wasn’t a detective. Not anymore. He had failed: He didn’t deserve the title of detective!
And Ranpo turned around and started running. He heard Fukuzawa calling his name and knew Fukuzawa was chasing him, trying to stop him, but that made Ranpo speed up. He ran as fast as he could, which required haste: he’d never been particularly athletic, but now his body seemed to ignore every limitation.
Ranpo only slowed down when he knew Fukuzawa was no longer behind him. But he didn’t stop until he felt safe enough. He’d been running for so long, so focused on his escape, that he hadn’t noticed where he was running. And as he looked around, he realized he didn’t know his surroundings: he’d never been here before. Yet as strange and threatening as the atmosphere here was, it was also strangely comforting.
The teenager leaned against a wall, then sank to the ground and rested his head against the cold stone. Rain–soaked dirt clung to his skin seconds later, but he didn’t raise his hand to wipe it away. He simply sat there, his fingers absentmindedly stroking the spot where Fukuzawa had once applied a bandage to a deep scratch on his cheek. He remembered the moment Fukuzawa had dressed the wound, and he couldn’t help it.
Ranpo wept silently as the raindrops mingled with the tears on his face. In his memories, everything replayed itself all over again. The man who turned out to be the wrong killer at the last moment, while the real culprit had already left Japan this morning and fled to Portugal on a ship.
Ranpo had been fooled.
He had failed.
He had disappointed the police, the people, his parents and Fukuzawa.
He was no master detective. Not anymore.
Ranpo didn’t hear the footsteps approaching him, already too deeply sunk in shame, self–hate and self–pity. Only a voice, rough, yet strangely soft and warm at the same time, brought him back to reality. „What’s a little boy like you doing out here in the rain? Shouldn’t you be at home where it’s warm and safe?“
Home. Warm. Safe.
Ranpo had no home. Not anymore.
Fukuzawa had been the only home he had left after his parents died, but he couldn’t return. He looked up and into the face of a man. Long black hair and strange eyes that Ranpo couldn’t tell if they were dark pink, red, or brown. The rain and his tears blurred his vision slightly. The man wore quite elegant clothes, but a long white raincoat hung over his shoulders.
„I’m fifteen, old man.“ Ranpo said instead after a while of silence, also to make it clear that he wasn’t a little boy. The man sighed. „Excuse me.“ Then he continued to look at Ranpo. „I know you. You are Edogawa Ranpo, the master detective who can solve any case.“
„I’m not that person anymore. I failed to solve a case. So leave me alone. You probably have a wife and children whose time is more worth it.“ Ranpo said as politely as he could. But his voice was strangely toneless, as if he no longer had the strength or the ability to muster any emotion.
„I don’t think I’ll leave without you.“ the man said. He leaned slightly closer. „Who are you, anyway?“ Ranpo wanted to know, and couldn’t help himself. This strange man intrigued him.
„Mori Ougai. I’m part of the Port Mafia, you’ve probably heard of them.“
The Mafia!? Ranpo swallowed slightly and suddenly realized he was in Mafia territory. The Mafia, the shadows in Yokohama known for murdering, threatening, planning robberies, and causing chaos whenever they pleased. He wanted to get up and walk (he didn’t know where he would go) but his legs just wouldn’t move.
„Is the Mafia here to kill me?“
Perhaps they’ve known for a long time that the world’s greatest detective had failed and now wanted to eliminate him. However, this thought was so ridiculous and unbelievable that the possibility behind it was frighteningly real.
Mori shook his head. „Someone must have done something very stupid to become the Mafia’s target.“ he explained calmly as he took off his white raincoat.
„I did something stupid.“ Ranpo said, but Mori didn’t respond. Not before pulling the boy to his feet, something that surprised Ranpo. Then he felt Mori drape the raincoat over his shoulders. The former detective looked at the leader of the Port Mafia, now even more surprised.
Mori smiled gently. „Come with me, detective. I think the Mafia will benefit from your sharp mind. And you, in turn, will benefit from their skills.“
The offer was crazy. Insane. But if Ranpo had betrayed and tainted justice by failing at his detective work, that didn’t mean he should give up. Mori was, in a sense, offering him a second chance to start over. As a member of the Mafia, the most feared and criminal organization in this part of the country.
Ranpo swallowed, blinked back the remaining tears, and held the white raincoat with one hand to prevent it from slipping off his shoulders. With the other hand, he carefully took the hand Mori held out to him. His mouth opened to say something. „I ... am in.“ His voice trembled, but he had made up his mind. His decision was serious and firm.
Mori nodded. „Very good, my boy. I think you’ll get along well with Chuuya and Dazai. They’re your age and, like you, are very special. Just don’t be surprised if they argue a lot ... because they argue practically all day, but as a team, they’re fantastic.“
And Ranpo had to smile. Chuuya and Dazai, that is. But he would see how it all played out. As he followed Mori through the rain, his hand in that of a criminal, his goal: the mafia’s headquarters.
He must be crazy. But his decision had been made. He was now Edogawa Ranpo, a member of the Port Mafia.
~ five years later / present ~
An alarm clock rang.