“Sigh… Nothing matters anymore. Looks like I lost my chance at getting a job here. Plus, it’s not like I could work somewhere you have to be punctual, too. That’s boring.” Ranpo idly kicked at the lobby’s floor, but a long-haired mahogany rug covered the area close to the entrance where they were, so it didn’t make much of a sound. “Besides, someone’s about to die, so this theater’s gonna go out of business.”
A few passersby looked back, startled, and a chill ran down Fukuzawa’s spine. It was far too dark for a child’s joke. An adult should have reprimanded him, but Fukuzawa didn’t even move a muscle. It wasn’t Ranpo’s bad manners that unnerved Fukuzawa.
“After all, you’re the one who killed her, Mr. Secretary.”
Ranpo’s tone was exactly the same as it was then. Fukuzawa looked at Ranpo. He behaved as if nothing were out of the ordinary as he curiously looked back at Fukuzawa.
“Am I wrong?”
“…Nobody is going to die,” Fukuzawa finally replied. “That’s why I’m here. Neither the police nor the performers believe this threat is real. The reason why someone threatened the troupe wasn’t important.”
“It isn’t a threat.” Ranpo wore a displeased expression. “It was an announcement. A threat is when you say, ‘Stop doing this, or I’ll do that,’ right? You get two choices with threats. But this just said they were going to kill the performers. This was an announcement—a declaration, even. That’s why the criminal is going to be here and kill someone. They aren’t seeking anything from the troupe because all they want is for their target to die.”
Fukuzawa groaned.
Ranpo was completely right. The criminal’s objective was extremely ambiguous. Any ordinary threat would have clarified the criminal’s principles. Stop the play. Apologize. There would have been some sort of demand. But the threat this time, what Ranpo referred to as a declaration, didn’t have that.
“An angel shall bring death, in the truest sense of the word, to the performer. —V.”
“Why didn’t you say anything before?” asked Fukuzawa.
“What good would that have done?” Ranpo replied as if he was offended. “You’re all adults. Do something about it yourself. What good is asking a kid what he thinks is going to happen? Besides, everyone gets mad when I state the truth.”
Was he talking about everything that had happened to him since he came to Yokohama? There was darkness in his eyes.
“Seriously, adults don’t make any sense to me.” Pouting, Ranpo started kicking the rug he was standing on with the ball of his foot. “If a kid like me was able to figure it out, then surely you and the police already noticed a long time ago, right? My mother never got tired of telling me, ‘You’re still just a kid.’ And I agree with her. I really don’t understand what adults are thinking. Sometimes I even doubt they know anything, but that’s not even possible.”
“You’re still just a kid.” Of course you don’t understand adults. Because adults are smarter than you.
Is that what she meant? It’s not hard to understand why Ranpo’s parents drilled that into his head, at least to a certain degree, and yet…
“So you think adults also pick up on things you notice?”
“Yeah. Is that a problem?”
Fukuzawa’s head was spinning.
It was then he realized he was facing something bigger than ever before. He was overwhelmed by the sheer size.
This kid didn’t know anything. He had no idea that most people have no idea what’s going on.
He was like this ever since they first met. He accused the secretary of murder and saw right through Ms. Egawa. Even now, his eyes saw far more than any adult, Fukuzawa included. However, Ranpo still hadn’t realized that what he saw was only visible to him and him alone. He was still immature in that sense.
Only after growing do people learn that others are different—that people may be looking at the same things but perceive them differently. In fact, even some people well into their adulthood often forget that. They assume everyone thinks the same as they do, which often leads to conflict. That was what it meant to be human. Ranpo, still naive, may have fallen into that trap, but he did not deserve to be blamed. Nevertheless, Ranpo was an extreme case. Although he possessed such extraordinary powers of observation, he didn’t think he was special.
Why? Was it his parents’ fault? Was it because he lived a sheltered life with parents who had minds that rivaled his?
Fukuzawa could no longer ignore that itchy feeling. It was curiosity. He wanted to know just how talented this kid was.
“Hey, kid. What do you know about me?”
“Huh?” Ranpo made a strange face. “What do you mean? We just met, old guy. I don’t know a thing about you.”
“Anything’s fine,” assured Fukuzawa. “Just tell me what you know or what you noticed. If you exceed my expectations, I’ll help you find your next job after this. How’s that sound?”
“Uh…? Adults really like making deals, don’t they?” Ranpo reluctantly nodded. “Fine. But seriously, we just met, so I’m gonna know way less about you than most people, okay?”
Ranpo was probably the only one who thought that.