Bungou Stray Dogs the Untold Origin of the Detective Agency

Section 2: The Untold Origins of the Detective Agency (10-11)

That was when Fukuzawa finally realized his thoughts were heading in a bizarre direction:

—Ranpo solving more difficult mysteries.

—Fukuzawa, right there with him.

"So we're going to the station, right?"

Ranpo's voice dragged Fukuzawa back into reality.

"I really wanna ride in the police car, but just thinking about doing paperwork and being interviewed is boring me to tears. I'm just gonna get in there and out in two seconds and go home. It'll probably take forever to get it over with if you're there, old guy, so I'll go on ahead, okay?"

Fukuzawa didn't reply.

"Hey, you listening? I'm leaving...?"

"...Hmm? Oh, okay."

Ranpo looked up at Fukuzawa for a few moments.

"Oh? I see... Anyway, about ready to go, Officer?" Ranpo asked before patting the officer on the back.

Absurd. Working together with Ranpo from now on? Solving cases together? Absolute nonsense.

However, Ranpo was truly extraordinary. Somebody had to protect that talent and utilize it to its fullest potential. On the other hand, Fukuzawa had always been alone ever since that one incident. He didn't need anyone's help, and he didn't feel the need to work together with others. To Fukuzawa, depending on others meant there was something he lacked. Deliberately ignoring his own shortcomings and relying on others would only warp who he was.

He could also become a demon that killed others if his allies so requested. He could hardly even imagine teaming up with someone, let alone creating an agency and becoming its leader.

Many people had witnessed Ranpo's talents bloom today. Nobody was going to put him on phone duty or make him run errands at a construction site ever again. Whether it be for good or evil, somebody was going to use Ranpo's talents and do something big. Perhaps the day would come when he would rise to the top of some group of thieves or an illegal organization. But that day wasn't today; therefore, it had nothing to do with Fukuzawa himself.

"I'm going to discuss the aftermath with Ms. Egawa," Fukuzawa said to Ranpo. "You go ahead to the station. Officer, take good care of him for me."

"You got it," the officer replied with a smile.

"Come on! Let's go!"

Ranpo hopped over to the exit with mirth in his step, and Fukuzawa's eyes were naturally drawn to him. All of a sudden, Ranpo stopped at the exit and turned around.

"Mr. Fukuzawa," he said with a smile. "Thank you."

And just like that, he got into the police car and left.

Fukuzawa went to see Murakami after that. The dressing room was being used as a temporary interrogation room. Inside were three guards and Murakami sitting in the center. When the actor saw Fukuzawa, he feebly smiled before lowering his head.

"I've done a lot of things in my life, but this is the first time I've ever been handcuffed." He showed the handcuffs around his wrists and smiled. "Everything's an experience. This'll only enrich my acting."

Fukuzawa was both exasperated and impressed at the same time. It appeared that performers faced a fate incomprehensible to most.

"I have two or three things I want to ask you."

"Be my guest."

"I want to see the device that made the blade come out of your stomach."

"Oh, that? It's over there."

Murakami pointed at the device with his chin. Leaning against the wall was a thin, cylindrical instrument that looked as if a sheet of metal had been bent into a circle. It was as thick as a human's torso, with piano string–like wire with a loop on the end sticking out.

Murakami explained how he wrapped it around his waist and hid it under his clothes. Then he ran the piano wire through his costume and pulled it to tug the metal plate over his stomach open. The metal plate was thin, and its surface was finely polished, which was probably what made it look like a blade under the powerful lights. It was a rather simple device to understand after hearing how it worked. It was a device only a theatrical performer would have thought of due to his familiarity with how props appeared to the audience.

"The biggest hurdle was seeing whether it would fool the first person who came running over," Murakami boasted with a smirk. "I knew you were used to seeing dead bodies, being a bodyguard and all. That's why I was cheering on the inside when my acting fooled you. It's an accomplishment I'll be proud of for the rest of my life."

And as a result, everyone in the crowd was deceived, and the police were utterly confused. Fukuzawa couldn't blame him, especially since he wasn't the type to lecture others. He simply said, "You're hopeless."

"You could say that again." Murakami smiled.

"There is one more thing I want to ask you," continued Fukuzawa. "It's about the man in the suit who was tied up and unconscious. Who is he? Why did you do that to him?"

"Oh, that guy? I heard he's...another one of the plan's objectives," said Murakami with a shrug.

"You 'heard'?"

"Yes. Originally, I came up with this plan with the playwright, Kurahashi, but he apparently had his own goals in mind. I don't know all the details...but apparently that man in the suit rarely ever shows himself, so meeting him was one of Kurahashi's goals or something. I wasn't expecting him to catch the guy and tie him up, though."

"What?" Fukuzawa knitted his brows, at which moment—

"The suspect! Bring me the suspect!"

—what sounded like pounding footsteps was immediately followed by the door to the dressing room being thrown open. A slightly older detective stood at the doorway, trying to catch his breath.

"What happened?" asked Fukuzawa.

"W-Watchdog! We've got big trouble! Has the suspect been here this entire time?!"

"He's been under surveillance the whole time, as you can see."

Fukuzawa glanced at the nervous-looking actor, whose eyes were darting back and forth between Fukuzawa and the detective. It seemed he had no idea what was going on.

"The playwright—he was found dead in his home! Somebody killed him!"

"What?!"

The detective spoke while trying to catch his breath, his eyes shaking with fear.

"The door to his room was locked, and something impaled him from behind—but there was no weapon or any signs of a struggle at the scene! It's like an invisible person just came in and stabbed him!"

Ranpo Edogawa sat in the back of the police car alone, idly gazing at the nightscape as it went by. The sun had disappeared before anyone even noticed. As darkness with hints of blue hung over the city of Yokohama, only white and yellow lights drew his eye as they drifted across the car window's glass like rain. Ranpo stared at the city while resting his elbow on the door. The city's night was bright. The countryside he grew up in didn't have artificial light, and everyone would be getting ready for bed at this hour.

The city is so much better.

Ranpo was absorbed in thought. Boisterous and puzzling still beat out quiet and dismal in his book. He hated the countryside. He hated the people, the school, and essentially everything else there. The only thing he liked was his parents.

"Hey, Officer." Ranpo suddenly struck up conversation with the young cop driving. "How much longer until we get there?"

"We're almost there," the officer answered with a bright, amiable tone.

"Oh," Ranpo vaguely replied before returning his gaze to the city.

After glancing at Ranpo through the rearview mirror, the officer cheerfully said:

"You really impressed me today! Seriously, that deduction made me emotional! You're a real mini detective! You and Fukuzawa make a great team together. I can already see your name in tomorrow's morning paper!"

"Eh, what can I say? But I don't think that old guy's gonna team up with me."

"Huh? Really? I totally thought yo