˚✮ Ghost in the Abyss ✮˚

Chapter 3: When The Genius Falters

Ranpo POV!!!

Trigger warning: Mention of suicide with drugs

                                                      °˖✧✮♡✮✧°˖

The Agency had fallen into an uneasy quiet for two days now. Everyone was on edge, movements stiff, voices hushed. It had been like this ever since Dazai's... death. But death wasn't the right word. Not for Dazai. Not for someone who had always danced so closely with the idea, taunting it, flirting with it, like he couldn't decide whether to embrace it or let it go.

Ranpo hadn't said much since the news broke.

He had his own way of processing things. Unlike the others, who wore their grief plainly, he stayed composed. Or at least, that's what everyone assumed.

But Ranpo was never one to be satisfied with just knowing what had happened. He needed to understand how. That was how his mind worked—it unraveled puzzles, dissected events, pulled apart truths that others couldn't see. But for the first time in a long while, Ranpo wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer.

And yet, he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't let it go.

So he sat at his desk, eyes fixed on the files spread before him. Every detail of Dazai's final day was laid out, neat and orderly, but the chaos inside Ranpo's mind only grew with each piece of evidence he collected.

How had he done it? What method had he chosen?

There were no obvious signs. No farewell note, no significant change in behavior. Dazai had been his usual self—bored, lazy, constantly teasing. Even the people closest to him hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. Atsushi had spoken to him that morning. Kunikida had handed him paperwork that he hadn't bothered to fill out. Everything had been... normal.

Too normal, now that Ranpo thought about it.

He was frowning, his gaze narrowing at the folder in front of him. His "super deduction" could crack this in seconds, but... something held him back. His hand hovered over his glasses, but he hesitated. His mind had already gathered most of the details—there wasn't much left to piece together.

And that was the problem.

Ranpo's throat tightened as he leaned back in his chair. A heavy, uncomfortable weight pressed against his chest. The pieces were all there; he just didn't want to see the picture they formed.

With a slow breath, Ranpo reached for his glasses and adjusted them on his nose. His eyes closed for a moment, his brow furrowing in deep concentration.

The answer came to him instantly.

He saw it so clearly, like a puzzle finally clicking into place. His mind raced through the details, assembling the final, awful truth. Dazai had taken the simplest, quietest route. No dramatics, no spectacle. 

Just a subtle slip away from the world, unnoticed by everyone until it was too late. Ranpo could almost picture it now—Dazai in a darkened room, syringe in hand, a cocktail of drugs that would shut down his body with a terrifying precision.

No mess. No noise. Just a peaceful, methodical death. A perfect exit for someone who had always kept the world at arm's length.

Ranpo's heart sank.

He clenched his fists, fingers digging into the papers on his desk. His mind replayed the scene over and over, breaking it down further, analyzing every step. But no matter how much he dissected it, the result didn't change.

Dazai had known exactly what he was doing. There was no hesitation, no second thoughts. This was a decision made long ago.

But... why? Why hadn't Ranpo seen it? Why hadn't any of them seen it?