“You’re free to flaunt your gift, and you can challenge your opponents with it! But you have to stop gambling with your life! You’re still—”
Fukuzawa didn’t know why.
Why was he yelling this much?
Why was he this upset?
Why—?
“You’re still just a kid!”
Fukuzawa’s heart ached. He grimaced at the pain that was almost physical.
Why did he let this child go off on his own?
Why didn’t he go with him?
Ranpo was still so young…and so weak…
“Mm… Guhhh…”
Ranpo’s lips tightened as he held his swollen red cheek. His wide-open eyes wavered as they welled with tears. Fukuzawa was immediately overcome with regret.
He had gone too far. Ranpo probably wasn’t used to be scolded like this. Surely being yelled at and even slapped would—
“But… But…”
He trembled with his head hung low.
Large tears dripped to the floor. Fukuzawa exhaled as an indescribable feeling ebbed and flowed in his heart.
Ranpo, boy genius, orphan—nobody understood him, and he was all alone in this dark, cold universe. He was thrown out into the vast world with nobody to protect him.
Even Fukuzawa himself was hesitant. He didn’t know how he should be there for Ranpo or how he should even treat him. And because he didn’t know what to do, Fukuzawa simply gently patted Ranpo on the head twice.
Ranpo latched on to Fukuzawa. The tears streamed down his cheeks without end, sinking into Fukuzawa’s clothing.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so…sorry!”
Not knowing what to do with his arms, Fukuzawa’s hands hovered in the air. With a troubled expression, he gazed out the window into the boundless silence of the night. His eyes caught a glimpse of the round moon, white as a polished mirror. He gently stared into the moon, and it smiled back.
And then…
The case came to a close mainly thanks to Ranpo’s efforts. The newspapers the following day were only talking about Murakami’s sham, and the playwright along with the elderly man who died at the hospital after being stabbed were processed as personal crimes committed by Officer Jun Mitamura. Regardless, Officer Mitamura was found dead in police custody after being detained. It was as if he had been stabbed by some invisible force—eerily similar to how the playwright was killed. Most likely, a skill user from the enemy organization had been dispatched to make sure no information got leaked.
Their path to the real culprit was ostensibly severed, and the case remained more or less unsolved. However, only a small number of people involved, such as Fukuzawa and Ranpo, knew the truth: Behind it all was a domestic underground syndicate known as “V,” whose goal was to rid the country of skill users.
And the battle against them was only beginning.
As for Ranpo, who’d been yelled at and mercilessly slapped…
“Hey, Fukuzawa, when’s the next case? C’mon, let’s go solve some mysteries! I’ll use my skill and solve it in a snap.”
…he had become extremely attached to Fukuzawa.
Not that Fukuzawa understood why, though.
“Fine. Just stop tugging on my sleeve. You’re going to stretch it.”