Chapter Text
Inside of Poe’s novel was chaos. It was written quickly, with the goal to be as annoying to solve as possible rather than to have any artistic merit, and one thousand characters meant one thousand character introductions. Their ceaseless chatter became a droning background noise while Ranpo’s heart tried to pound its way out of his chest.
Chuuya Nakahara had charged right at him with the intent to kill. He had been so fast. There had barely been any time to pull Poe’s novel out. Seeing Chuuya’s arm stuck in the book’s pages had brought an immediate rush of triumph, but now the image kept replaying in his head.
If the book hadn’t blocked it, that punch might have killed him.
There had to be somewhere quiet Ranpo could go, just for a little while, before beginning to pick out the five hundred murderers.
He’d shown up in a large ballroom in a mansion. Most of the people in it were squabbling over the corpses hanging from the chandelier. The ornate double doors at the end of the hall were open and so Ranpo left through them, only to find yet more people gathered around a man who’d been cut in half. He skipped over the body and continued on, opening doors to find one grisly scene after another until he finally found an empty room.
It was a small study. The walls were light green with dark walnut wainscoting and large windows looked out into the gardens that were unfortunately the scene of yet another crime. A bookshelf full of emerald-spined encyclopedias stood against the wall behind the ornate desk. A painting of a father and son hung above two plush leather armchairs that were set across from each other. Ranpo dropped himself onto one and let out a sigh.
There was a part of himself he didn’t want to look at right then; the part that had found being in danger a little bit exciting. It’d be alright if all he felt was fear. It’d be expected. It was fine to enjoy that sort of thing in the stories he liked, but he’d hoped that if in reality he was attacked by a beautiful person with murderous intent he wouldn’t enjoy it.
He lolled his head back and slid down in his seat.
There were six out of five hundred he could work out already. They were easy ones, recycled from previous novels. He couldn’t expect to solve all of them that quickly. Even with so little time to write, Poe had his pride as an author.
He wished Poe had written in a stash of candy.
The family portrait kept drawing his eye. The man had the same stern expression Fukuzawa always wore, his hands resting protectively on his son’s shoulders. The boy was trying and failing to suppress a smile. They didn't look alike but were related by blood; the artist perfectly captured their shared birthmark. The envy that tore at his heart took Ranpo by surprise and he made himself look away. It was like the protective layer over his emotions had been scraped off. He might have felt something under normal circumstances but nothing that raw.
Someone was yelling from deeper inside the building. Even though Ranpo hadn’t talked to him for very long he still managed to recognize Chuuya’s voice. He’d reached the limit of his patience, then. Having gotten dragged into a world of murder with so little explanation, it was a surprise he hadn’t started up earlier.
Chuuya’s voice was getting louder. It sounded like he was kicking open doors, too. That could be a problem. He was one of the Port Mafia’s best fighters even without his powers and Ranpo was very much not a combatant.
If he left through the door he’d probably be spotted, but Ranpo had noticed something when he entered this room. The books on the shelves behind the desk were uniform and pristine except for one which had a tiny spot of discoloration at the top of the pressed-together pages. Ranpo skipped behind the desk and put his finger there before pressing down to gain the leverage to pull the book out. Something clicked, and the shelf popped slightly off the wall.
What a simple puzzle. This work was clearly rushed. Ranpo put the book back and went through the hidden door.
Thankfully there was no corpse. There were shelves of canned food, a bed, and a toilet. Someone hadn’t made it to their panic room.
Chuuya was yelling about Ranpo, specifically. About how he was going to find him and crush him, and Ranpo reminded himself that it would really hurt if it actually happened. He wasn’t used to pain and had no conception of how much it would exactly, but it definitely would not be erotic.
There was a crash nearby. Chuuya had kicked down the door to the study.
“When I get my hands on you-!”
He stopped yelling.
A person’s heart shouldn’t beat so fast. It wasn’t healthy.
Ranpo could hear footsteps getting closer.
Surely not. A tiny mark like that would be spotted easily by a great detective, but Chuuya wasn’t even a mediocre one.
The footsteps reached the shelves and Ranpo’s heart was in his throat. He held perfectly still in the center of the room, eyes glued to the hidden door.
There was a click.
The door swung open, revealing the look of smug satisfaction on Chuuya Nakahara’s face. “Found you.”
There was no other exit from this room.
Chuuya stood loosely, one thumb hooked into his pocket. His head tilted a bit to the side, his eyes cold, but the smirk on his lips stayed.
“What’s with that look, detective? Did you think you were safe here?”
Was what Chuuya had seen the shock, or was it the fear?
Ranpo gathered himself again and let his face go carefully blank. He had no backup in this world. He should have had a plan past capturing Chuuya but there hadn’t been time, and now he’d have to stall and think of a way out alone.
When he spoke, his voice was even. “Mr. Fancy Hat.”
Chuuya stepped further into the room. Closer to him. “I have a few questions for you.” He paused as if waiting for a reply that didn’t come. “How do I get out of here, for one.”
At least he wasn't immediately attacking. There had to be a way out. Ranpo just hadn't thought of it yet. He spoke calmly when he answered, “Solve the mysteries of this novel.”
Chuuya’s smile was completely insincere. “I don’t like that answer.”
“It’s the only answer there is.”
“That’s not good enough.” His footfalls were heavy as he closed the distance between them. He stopped when his face was inches away. “Your friends are trying to kill my boss, so you’re going to tell me how to leave. Now.”
Ranpo’s palms were sweating. He could lie. It might get him out of this room, at least. If he got out, would he be able to outrun Chuuya?
He knew the answer to that.
If there was an elevator, maybe, or a sturdy door Chuuya couldn’t kick down, but Ranpo hadn’t seen those and didn’t know the layout of this place. Plus when it came to running, Ranpo was-
In an instant, Chuuya’s hand was on his throat. Ranpo stumbled back and Chuuya followed, slamming him into the back wall.
For one moment Ranpo couldn’t breathe. He spluttered and coughed as Chuuya watched with narrowed eyes.
“You really can’t take a hit, huh?” His fingers flexed on Ranpo’s throat, holding firmly but not cutting off his air. “I guess the agency’s president was always there to protect you. And now you’re trying to kill for him. It’s almost sweet.” His dark eyes fixed on Ranpo’s own as he tilted his head the slightest bit forward. “Shame he never taught you anything.”
“Don’t-” talk about the boss like that, Ranpo wanted to say. Chuuya leaned a bit of his weight into the hold and Ranpo's hands were on the other man's wrist, trying to push him off.
“Where is he?”
Ranpo struggled to swallow against the pressure on his throat. “An ability space. Just like us.”
Chuuya’s cheek twitched. “Dammit,” he muttered.
Even if it was a lie, the possibility would make the Mafia shift to terrorist tactics. That was why Ranpo had led the Agency against them in the first place. The fact that Ranpo was telling him this now meant there was no way of reaching the outside.
“Whose ability trapped us?”
Poe. Poe had known there was a risk going against the Mafia, but-
“Don’t think, just answer. Whose ability is this?”
“An ex guild member. He owed me a favor.”
“Name.”
If he told him, then- Ranpo tried to see the future in the space of a second.
Chuuya’s expression shifted into something distinctly unimpressed.
“It’s Edgar Allan Poe, isn’t it?”
Ranpo’s stomach dropped.
Chuuya watched his face closely before continuing. “The Port Mafia knows the names of every member of the guild. Joyce is dead. We know the powers of Montgomery, Hawthorne, Mitchell, Fitzgerald, and Melville, and I saw Steinbeck and Lovecraft myself. Alcott still works for Fitzgerald and Twain is no longer in Japan, so that leaves Poe.”
Ranpo had messed up. He needed to-
“Can he cancel his ability?”
There was only one answer Ranpo would give even if he was lying.
“No.”
If Poe could cancel his ability, the only leverage Chuuya could have in this book world would be gained through Ranpo.
“So there’s no way I can join the fight,” Chuuya growled. “Perfect.”
He seemed to be thinking about something. With his attention elsewhere, the pressure on Ranpo’s throat eased.
Could he break the hold?
No. Even if he could Ranpo wouldn’t make it to the door.
There was a high probability Chuuya would take out his frustrations on the man responsible for his imprisonment now he’d gained answers to his most pressing questions.
In that case-
“It’ll go faster if you let me solve the murders.”
Ranpo felt detached from the words that just came out of his mouth. He had said them, though; Chuuya was looking at him again.
“I thought the goal was to keep me in here.”
“That person said it would take days even with my ability. For you…” Ranpo trailed off. “You’ve shown potential. Maybe five years?”
“Five years, huh,” Chuuya said flatly.
The moment stretched, and then to his surprise, Chuuya’s hand left his neck. Ranpo registered it a little fuzzily; his perception was tainted with adrenaline. He let go of Chuuya’s wrist.
“Having a detective would be pretty convenient in this mystery novel world.” Chuuya’s head tilted as if he was still considering it for a moment more before committing. “Alright. You work for me.”
That couldn’t stand.
“I work for the Agency.”
“Not in here, you don’t.”
“I only work for the president. I’ll agree to help you, but-”
“I’m going really easy on you right now!” Chuuya snapped. Ranpo flinched back into the wall. “You know that, right? I don’t want to beat up some guy who doesn’t even know how to fight, but I will if I have to.” Chuuya reached up as if to touch his hat, and when he didn’t find it he let out a huff of air. He ran his fingers through his hair instead.
Ranpo knew he was pushing his luck, but; “Why do you care so much?”
“I don’t- I’m not- We aren’t working together, alright?” Chuuya raised his finger to point at the center of Ranpo’s chest. “You do what I say, and you don’t try and run away. Do you understand that?”
“Yeah. I do what Fancy Hat says or he’ll strangle me.”
Chuuya’s mouth twisted. “As long as you get it.”
He was still looking at Ranpo sourly as if he wasn’t sure he’d made the correct decision. They watched each other for another moment before Chuuya backed up to lean against the door frame. Ranpo was still trapped, but at least he wasn't completely cornered.
He caught his breath, knowing all the while he only could because Chuuya was allowing it. And still, he knew it could have been so much worse and he was lucky Chuuya decided to make use of his skill; he had seen for himself what the mafia did to people who crossed them.
Ranpo wanted a nap. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see Fukuzawa.
Instead, he obediently trailed after Chuuya when he waved for him to follow.