Chapter Text
FOUR YEARS BEFORE PRESENT DAY
The problem with being a genius was, you tended to remember everything.
And as Ranpo Edogawa sat at his desk in the office of the Armed Detective Agency headquarters, blankly looking at a headline on the page of a newspaper, he couldn't help the memories that flashed through his head like gunshots.
Ironic, wasn't it?
The headline read: TWO UNKNOWN BODIES FOUND IN ABANDONED WAREHOUSE.
Along with the article that described the conditions that bodies were in (each one had a bullet hole right above the heart), was a blurry picture of the two recently deceased people. One of them, Ranpo didn't recognize. He had long, gray hair and was wearing something that looked like a cloak.
The other one, he did know. Tall, red hair, tan coat. How could he forget? He had been replaying the encounter moment for moment ever since it had happened. And in true Ranpo fashion, he remembered every detail of the scene.
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It had been raining. Ranpo had been in a hurry. He was carrying his bag to his chest, running across a bridge, when suddenly...
Crash. He hit something dead-on and fell backwards, hitting the ground hard. As he looked up, he made a quick correction in his brain.
Someone.
Someone tall, with dark red hair, blue eyes, wearing a long tan-ish coat. He also looked to be in a hurry, and a frantic look was plastered to his face.
Ranpo couldn't help the wave of...something that washed over him at the sight of the other man. For a split second, Ranpo could've sworn he had met this person before. He looked familiar, too familiar. Suspicion rose in the young man's chest. Who was this?
Red hair...Ranpo could only think of one other person he had met with dark red hair like this. Ten years ago...when the president of a company had been assassinated, the accused assassin had been tied to a chair in a storage room.
Oda Sakunosuke. That was his name. He was just a child, despite being one of the most well-known assassins at the time.
Ranpo had been essential in proving the man innocent.
Now, as the detective sat in front of this man that seemed to look exactly like the child from his memories, a chill snaked down his spine. This couldn't be the same person, right?
But the more he thought about it, the surer he became that this was, in fact, the same Oda he had saved from imprisonment almost a decade ago.
As Ranpo glanced closer, he noticed a small bump on the side of his coat.
A gun. The detective's eyes narrowed instinctively. What was this man doing? Who was he? Why did he look so...sad?
Play it cool, Ranpo had told himself. Don't let him know you're suspicious of him in any way.
As he usually did when he met new people, Ranpo started to talk about his ability. He could play it off as an annoying habit, but it gave him a chance to investigate what Oda Sakunosuke was really doing with two guns attached to his hip and a fog of despair clouding his eyes.
"See?" The detective exclaimed excitedly, pulling his glasses out of his pocket to brandish in the other man's face. "I bet I can even try it on you right now!"
For the first time since they had crashed into each other, the taller man spoke.
"I'd love to, but I really don't have time right now-"
"Nonsense!" Ranpo cut in, ignoring the strain in the other man's voice, like he had been crying. "It'll take less than a minute!"
He pushed his glasses up his nose, letting his ability activate. In what felt like an instant, information started flooding his brain.
The two guns. Port Mafia. He was on a mission. The sadness in his voice. Something bad happened. The edges of his coat were singed. An explosion. Tear stains on his face. Someone died. A calm but tense look in his eyes. Revenge. This was personal. He was going after the murderer. His hands weren't shaking, nor did he look the least bit nervous. He wasn't afraid of dying. The lack of tension in his arms and legs contrasting the obvious tension on his face.
He knew he was going to die.
Ranpo whipped the glasses off his face, his heart stuttering frantically. He pushed composure into his voice and stood up slowly, clutching his bag to his chest.
"If you do what you're planning to do," he said slowly. "You're going to die."
The other man's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before returning to the blank stare they had been giving Ranpo earlier.
"I know."
He then brushed past the younger man without a second glance.
It was at this moment that Ranpo realized he had a choice. Either, try and stop this man from killing himself, risking his own life in the process, or go home and do nothing.
He knew that if he got in Oda's way, he'd probably be shot and killed. His own ability wasn't made for combat, anyway. And from the look in the mafioso's eyes, Ranpo could safely say that the other man didn't remember him at all.
However, he couldn't stop the nagging voice in his head that kept saying "You can't just let him die. You'll regret it forever if you don't do anything."
Ranpo turned on his heel and ran after the other man with newfound determination.
It was still raining, and he slipped on the wet ground multiple times, flailing his arms wildly to keep his balance. He craned his neck as he ran, trying to spot a glimpse of red hair, a brown coat, anything.
Nothing.
He skidded to a stop, panting heavily. Where could Oda have gone? Yokohama was huge, it would be impossible to find him before whatever was going to happen actually happened.
The detective continued muttering to himself all the way back to the Agency headquarters. He knew he was making excuses for himself, that much was obvious.
Now only if he could make himself believe them.
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TWO UNKNOWN BODIES FOUND IN ABANDONED WAREHOUSE.
"Fucking hell," Ranpo grumbled to himself. "He had a name, the least you bastards could do is include it in the article."
You're going to die.
I know.
The newspaper crumpled in the detective's grip.
Ranpo wasn't used to this feeling. He solved all his cases, there were never any loose ends or lost chances. He always figured everything out. He always did everything right.
But now, staring at the blurry picture of Oda Sakunosuke, lying dead on the floor of some abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere, he couldn't help the tightness in his chest. The guilt.
He knew it was going to happen. He knew, and what did he do? Nothing.
He may as well have shot Oda himself.
"I could've stopped him," he muttered. "I could've saved him."
"It's not your fault, Ranpo."
The detective looked behind him to see Fukuzawa, the President of the ADA, standing there, probably reading over his shoulder.
"How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough."
Ranpo sighed. "Great."
"What happened?"
The detective briefly explained what had happened on the bridge the previous day. He cringed internally as he saw the worried expression on the president's face take shape.
"He told me he was going to die. He told me he knew he was going to die, and I didn't do aything to stop it."
Fukuzawa shook his head. "Yes, you did."
"No, I-"
"You went after him, didn't you?"
Ranpo glanced away from the president, embarrassment flooding his chest. "Yes, but...I couldn't catch up to him in time. He was already gone by the time I started chasing him, I should've known there was no way I would be able to actually help."
"Ranpo," Fukuzawa sighed. "You did everything you could. Yes, he died, but it was not your fault. If anything, you should commend yourself for even trying to save someone you didn't even know."
Ranpo decided not to mention that Fukuzawa had also met Oda Sakunosuke once upon a time.
"Well, what am I supposed to do now? Just...let it go? I don't know how to just forget about something like this."
"Then don't forget about it," said Fukuzawa. "Don't forget about it, but you can't keep blaming yourself. If you spend the rest of your life beating yourself up over this, you'll never learn to forgive yourself. Just ask Yosano."
Ranpo's heart twinged at the thought of what his friend had gone through before she had met him and Fukuzawa. He groaned, burying his face in his hands.
"Be sad," the president said. "Be angry. But don't hate yourself. Visit his grave and pay respects. Apologize, if it makes you feel better. But please, Ranpo, don't hate yourself."
Ranpo nodded. "Yeah. I'll try."
He smiled at Fukuzawa as he left the room, then turned back to the ever-increasing pile of papers on his desk.
He sighed and picked one up.
He didn't mention the fact that since the article didn't even mention Oda's name, there probably wouldn't be a grave to visit.