054

You glanced down at the crumpled wrapper of your now finished ice cream. Then up again, meeting his gaze squarely.

"You like sweets."

Ranpo blinked. "What?"

"You looked at my ice cream earlier," you said, voice light, but pointed. "And you're eating a lollipop. That suggests a sweet tooth."

Ranpo shrugged. "So?"

"So," you said, brushing your coat sleeve as though removing invisible dust, "how about I treat you? Dessert. Anything you want."

That got his attention.

His eyes sharpened, flicking over you with a speed that felt practiced.

Down from your coat tailored, expensive, though worn with careless disregard - to your shoes, then back up to your sunglasses perched like an afterthought atop your head.

"You're rich."

"Fortunately."

"And weird."

"Most definitely."

He considered you for a moment longer, then said, "Okay. But we're going somewhere good."

"Lead the way."

You turned to Fukuzawa.

"You too, Samurai-san. You seem like a tea person. I know a place." You smiled, half sincere. "My treat."

Fukuzawa opened his mouth, expression already on the verge of polite refusal - when his phone buzzed.

He frowned. Checked the screen.

Then turned slightly away as he answered. You and Ranpo both watched.

The conversation on the other side wasn't loud, but it was tense. His spine straightened. His brow creased.

When he finally hung up, his face was carved from stone.

"I have to go," he said shortly, sliding the phone back into his pocket.

Then his eyes met yours. Wary. Not hostile. But certainly not trusting.

"Ranpo-"

"I'll be fine," Ranpo interrupted, already stepping closer to your side with a smug grin. "He won't do anything. I know he won't."

You flashed him a smile. "Correct."

Fukuzawa didn't look convinced, but he nodded and turned, walking briskly away, his coat fluttering behind him.

You turned your full attention to Ranpo now. "So. Dessert?"

Ranpo tilted his head.

"There's a place I like," he said. "Super expensive. Hidden. Probably out of your budget."

You laughed.

"Try me."

Ten minutes later, you stood outside an immaculate patisserie tucked into a quiet alley off Motomachi.

Glass walls, white marble counters, gold leaf accents. Staff in pressed uniforms. A menu that didn't list prices.

You fit in like a knife between velvet clean coat, dark slacks, crisp collar.

Ranpo, on the other hand, looked like a child lost in a dream.

"You really can afford this?" he asked, pushing open the glass door with reverent fingers.

"I've dropped more on a single bottle of wine," you said casually.

Ranpo practically skipped inside.

You let him order whatever he wanted. He started cautious: strawberry mille feuille and a hot cocoa.

Then added matcha cheesecake.

Then rare Hokkaido cream puffs.

Then a glass dome of seasonal parfait so decadent it looked illegal.

The staff didn't blink.

You added a plate of elegant tea cakes to the bill. Then asked for the house's most exclusive tea blend.

"I could get used to this," Ranpo said, mouth full of pastry.

"I bet."

"You some kind of trust fund brat?"

You tilted your head, watching him lick whipped cream off his thumb. "Something like that."

He stared at you a little longer.

"You're dressed too clean. Your eyes are wrong. You move like a trained dog, and your vibe is all... dark. Formal. That coat's not off the rack. You're not a civilian."

You took a slow sip of your tea.

"So?"

"You work for the Port Mafia."

You gave him an unbothered smile.

He didn't seem upset. Just pleased with himself.

"Doesn't matter," Ranpo said, taking another bite of cake. "You're paying."

You laughed aloud. "You're easy to please."

"I like sweets," he said unapologetically. "And luxury. And people who know their place."

"And me?" you asked, genuinely amused.

"Right now? Walking money bank."

You grinned. "Brutally honest. I like that."

Ranpo smirked. "You're younger than me, right?"

"Hm?" You tilted your head. "You look like you're 17."

He looked mildly offended. "I'm 22."

You blinked. "...No you're not."

"Yes I am. What about you?"

"20."

He gave you a long look. Then nodded, satisfied.

"Thought so. You've got this whole baby thing going on. Dangerous little rich kid vibes."

You gave him a foxlike smile. "And you've got this whole sugar obsessed gremlin thing going on. It's charming."

Ranpo beamed, as if you'd just awarded him a medal.

You leaned back in your seat, watching him eat with the enthusiasm of a starved cat.

He didn't care about posture or dignity - crumbs on his sleeves, whipped cream on the tip of his nose.

You reached out, slow and deliberate, and wiped it off with your thumb.

He blinked.

"You missed a spot," you said.

"You're weird," he muttered.

"So I've been told."

But he didn't pull away.

You leaned your chin into your palm, watching him devour the rare parfait as if it were a war trophy.

"This is the best day I've had in months," Ranpo declared around a mouthful of cream. "You're officially on my favorite people list."

"How exclusive is that list?"

"Right now? Two."

You laughed again. "An honor."

He popped the last bite into his mouth, sighed like a king post feast, and slumped back.

"We're doing this again," he declared.

"Anytime," you said smoothly.

And you meant it.

Because for the first time in a while, you were thoroughly entertained.

In an abandoned warehouse, where the late afternoon light spilled in through cracked windows and broken rafters.

A sharp clang echoed through the emptiness as a small rock skidded and bounced off a rusted metal beam, cracked in two from the sheer force of the kick.

The clang echoed through the emptiness like a gunshot.

"Another shitty day," Chuuya growled under his breath, fists buried in his coat pockets. His voice reverberated faintly in the cavernous space.

"Of course I'd get paired with that damn bastard again."

He tilted his head toward the figure crouched about 15 meters away, unmoving.

"Hey, Dazai! You got anything yet, or are you just sniffing dust for fun again?" Chuuya barked.

No response. Not even a twitch.

Chuuya scowled and marched a few steps closer, boots clicking on the concrete floor. "Oi! I'm not here to babysit your sulking ass!"

Dazai, still crouched low, stared at the floor with a grim look that didn't suit his usually insufferable smirk.

Chuuya paused. That expression wasn't theatrical.

"...Well, this is worrisome," Dazai muttered, almost to himself.

His fingers hovered above a strange residue smudged on the floor - dark, oily, nearly invisible to the untrained eye.

"What is he planning to do again?"

The question hung in the stale air, unanswered.

Elsewhere, the world felt warmer.

A few blocks from the quiet chaos of Yokohama's darker dealings, the patisserie door chimed politely as it closed behind you and Ranpo.

"That was divine," Ranpo said, licking chocolate from his thumb as he adjusted his hat.

You smiled, slipping your sunglasses back on as the golden light hit your face. "So I passed the test?"

"Barely," he teased, slipping a box of macarons into his coat. "You've got taste, I'll give you that. And money. You're halfway to perfection."

"And the other half?"

"Me, obviously," Ranpo said with a cheeky grin.

You chuckled, handing him your phone. "Your number. For future dessert emergencies."

Ranpo raised a brow but typed it in without hesitation. "You planning to bribe your way into my good graces, mafia boy?"

"I like to think of it as... investing in entertainment."

"You are entertaining," he admitted, then added, "in a weird, suspicious, probably evil way."

You laughed.

Then, as you turned the corner and stepped under the awning of a closed storefront, something felt... wrong.

A subtle shift in the air.

Ranpo's foot slowed. His eyes narrowed.

You stopped too, following his gaze.

Above.

There was a sound - a metallic creak. Then a SNAP.

"Move!" Ranpo shouted.

But you already had.

In a flash of black mist and cold air, you teleported, dragging Ranpo with you as the heavy store sign came crashing down like a guillotine.

It shattered on the pavement where you had stood seconds ago, spraying fragments of wood and metal into the street.

Gasps and murmurs filled the area as bystanders ran to see what had happened.

"You okay?" you asked, your voice calm, but eyes scanning.

Ranpo nodded, brushing dust off his shoulder. "Yeah. That... wasn't an accident."

"I know," you muttered.

The timing was too perfect.

Too practiced.

Too much like something you would do.

You felt it then - a stare.

Your body turned before your mind caught up. Your eyes darted over the crowd, the street, the shadows.

Then up.

Rooftop.

You vanished, reappearing on the roof in a curl of black mist. The air was colder up here, the wind sharper.

But it was empty.

You teleported again - to the alley exit. The fire escape. The narrow side street. The subway entrance.

Each place calculated. Each an ideal escape route.

Each empty.

You paused, heart pounding, but not from fear.

Excitement.

One more place, your instincts screamed. One last place.

You teleported.

The second you rematerialized-

BANG.

A white hot flash of pain tore through your side. You gasped, stumbled-

Then the knife came.

A clumsy, panicked jab.

It drove into your shoulder, crooked and poorly aimed.

You stared down at the trembling man holding the blade.

Eyes wide. Pale face. Barely holding it together.

He let go of the knife and bolted without a word.

You didn't follow. You didn't even try.

Instead, you leaned back against the wall, sliding down until you were seated on the dirty rooftop tiles.

Blood pooled beneath you, soaking through your coat.

Slowly, you felt your body being paralyzed.

You stared at it - at the wound.

Then laughed.

"Oh... how exhilarating."

Rat poison, perhaps. It was a familiar feeling.

The bullet hadn't hit anything vital. The knife wound bled more, but it wasn't deep. Not fatal.

But the sequence. The planning. The knowledge that you would teleport exactly there.

You closed your eyes and grinned.

Someone had studied you.

Anticipated you.

And caught you.

"Ah..." you whispered, breathless. "Whoever you are... I think I love you."

The pain was sharp, but it only fed your curiosity. Your excitement.

Who had watched you closely enough to predict your patterns? Who had known you well enough to calculate that specific location, that timing?

You didn't know.

And that, more than anything, thrilled you.

Fast footsteps echoed in the distance.

Then - Ranpo.

His eyes widened as he spotted you slumped against the wall, blood painting the floor like spilled ink.

"L/N-kun!"

Soft candlelight flickered across paper.

Fingers moved with precision inking symbols, looping calculations, stringing together deductions with the grace of a master conductor.

A chessboard sat off to the side, a black bishop moved deliberately into play.

A screen flickered. Surveillance footage of your teleportation. Of Ranpo. Of the moment you got shot.

A pale hand reached out, adjusted the footage.

Paused on your face smiling even as blood stained your teeth.

The corner of the person's lips quirked.

"Curious, indeed."

They tapped the screen lightly, and whispered.

"I look forward to our next meeting."

The candle flickered. The screen went dark.

And the game moved forward.