In the adjacent room, the detained professional assassin was staring off into space.
The fourteen-year-old boy's hands and feet were bound behind him to a chair, a sack pulled over his head, blocking his vision and conveniently concealing his striking red hair. As he sat quietly, he reflected on his own actions and reached a calm conclusion: I only came to take on an assassination job from a trading company. I never collected the payment, and I didn't kill the target. Yet the female president fell from the building and died anyway. I need to figure out who stole my mark.
And so, during the process of being tied up and treated as the murderer, he remained docile and harmless, displaying just the right amount of age-appropriate deception, intending to use himself as bait to lure out the other assassin. If he truly wanted to escape, he could do so at any moment—but he disliked being framed for a crime he had not committed.
Oda Sakunosuke waited in silence, disregarding the danger posed by Fukuzawa Yukichi, willing to place his life on the line for the sake of "the truth."
A top-tier assassin always possessed inexhaustible patience.
[...]
[...So boring. I want to eat curry rice.]
[...What's that noise outside? Did someone new show up?]
Oda Sakunosuke's eyes were hollow and unfocused until the hood over his head was suddenly yanked away. Light flooded in. In the briefest instant, his pupils contracted, his eyes half-lidding to reduce the sting of brightness as he took in the person before him.
It was a black-haired boy wearing a warm overcoat, a shirt neatly fastened with a tie.
The boy puffed out his cheeks in obvious indignation, as if he had suffered some grave injustice. His eyes were bright and alert. He looked thirteen or fourteen, roughly the same age as Oda, though a little shorter. Without a doubt, a skinny boy of this age was usually a student—or, at worst, a poor part-time worker.
Combined with the sounds he had heard earlier… a part-timer, then.
Oda Sakunosuke's gaze remained vacant as he reached this conclusion—only for the other boy to instantly explode in anger, hopping in place. "What are you thinking about?! We're basically the same age! I'll grow taller, you know—I won't stay shorter than you!"
Oda Sakunosuke: "?"
Edogawa Ranpo planted his hands on his hips and boldly leaned in to examine the assassin's eyes, a look of sudden realization flashing across his face.
"Wow, blue eyes—darker than the little orange cat's!"
This reckless move was immediately opposed by Fukuzawa Yukichi. He pulled the inexplicably involved boy—who had barged into a murder case and then into the next room to see an assassin—several steps back. "Don't get close to this assassin."
"It's fine," Edogawa Ranpo said at once. "He won't hurt me—and he isn't the murderer."
Fukuzawa Yukichi harbored the same doubts about the assassin, yet doubts were all they were. "Do you have any evidence?"
Oda Sakunosuke's eyes were numb and hollow, devoid of emotion. Ranpo didn't particularly like that look—yet he found himself sneaking glances at it all the same.
The little orange cat's blue eyes were far more lively.
This assassin was too stupid. Framed by others, and all he did was sit here obediently and wait.
If it were the little orange cat—
Well, the little orange cat would defeat everyone who dared slander him!
Edogawa Ranpo's mental storm never ceased, his thoughts rapidly dissecting every scheming move of his own guardian, along with the words spoken some time ago:
[The second bet—if you beat me again, you'll get a partner who will take good care of you, and a job you'll come to like in the future.]
Ranpo's eyes spun as he looked back and forth between Fukuzawa Yukichi and Oda Sakunosuke.
A thought arose—one that went beyond what Asou Akiya had anticipated.
[A partner… who does that mean?]
In the novel The School Belle's Retired Assassin Personal Bodyguard, the male protagonist bore traces of two people—Fukuzawa Yukichi and Oda Sakunosuke—as though the "bodyguard" was a stand-in for both of them. Having read the novel and now seeing the two men in front of him, Ranpo could tell at a glance that Akiya knew them.
The assassin protagonist's ending in that story was not a good one.
His family was destroyed.
He died by his own principle—once he returned to normal society, he would not kill again.
As for the two people before his eyes, Edogawa Ranpo could say with certainty that the younger one—the red-haired killer—would kill. His movements were clean, efficient, honed to lethal precision. The older one, the silver-haired uncle, had chosen—for now—to abandon killing, yet if forced by circumstance, he would not hesitate to solve a problem with blood. Seen this way, the two of them seemed not to fit the conventions of a mystery novel at all. No—there had to be details he had failed to notice. There had to be.
"I've decided," Ranpo declared to himself. "This will be my deduction puzzle."
Having reached this conclusion entirely on his own, Edogawa Ranpo turned and strode back into the outer office, launching a deduction that could only be described as deliberate mayhem.
Amid the secretary's mounting terror, countless contracts fluttered into the air like falling snow.
The truth was, in fact, very simple.
The secretary had hired a killer—but he could not afford the fee of a first-rate assassin. Instead, he attempted to gain everything for nothing, scheming against the killer who would obediently follow an employer's instructions, deliberately leaving the assassin's fingerprints behind. Then, taking advantage of the female president's trust in him, he deceived her into approaching the window—where a fierce wind had risen that very day—and shoved her brutally from the high floor. In this way, he shifted the truth of her death onto the killer who had arrived at the agreed time to carry out the murder.
As for how the secretary was able to forge the killer's fingerprints onto the president's clothing, the answer lay in his past profession. He had once been a prosecutor. Within the courts, he had long been exposed to techniques of murder, framing, and fabrication. The tools used to plant false fingerprints were hidden on his person; once discovered, the truth stood naked and undeniable.
This carefully staged drama—in which the employer murdered his own client—came to an end with the crack of a gunshot.
Oda Sakunosuke is angry.
A top-class assassin, betrayed by his employer, chose revenge against the traitor and raised his gun to kill—just as Akiya once took revenge upon Watanabe Yukisada. Reality, after all, endlessly reenacts what has already occurred in history.
Those who kill will themselves be killed.
Fortunately, the secretary died. The assassin lived, spared from being dragged into the same fatal ending.
When officers from the police station arrived and moved to escort the red-haired youth away, Edogawa Ranpo stepped forward and blocked their path. Oda Sakunosuke met the detective who had unraveled the truth with calm composure—neither grateful nor resentful—yet his attitude was still a shade gentler than what he would offer a complete stranger.
Ranpo suddenly asked, lively as ever, "Have you read that book? You know—the one with the ridiculously long, painfully clichéd title, where the male lead used to be a hitman, and some of the scenes are so awkward you can't even finish it in a single day? Mm-hmm, I know you've read it. So—what do you think about the school beauty in it?"
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Oda Sakunosuke's mouth.
"I've never seen a school beauty," he replied.
He was telling the truth.
A killer who had never gone to school, naturally, would not know what a real school beauty looked like, nor would he have any opinions about one.
"Then what do you think of me?" Ranpo asked.
The question was so abrupt, so wildly unconnected, that no one could possibly grasp what was going on in his mind.
Oda Sakunosuke looked at Edogawa Ranpo with indifference. The boy before him was radiant and exuberant, bathed in sunlight; within those emerald-green eyes lingered a childlike purity, untouched and sincere. When he smiled, he truly did resemble a flower in full bloom.
"..."
"Come on, say it, Mister Assassin!"
"…You can't afford to hire me," Oda said at last, "and I have no intention of changing professions to become a bodyguard."
"Silver-haired uncle!" Ranpo snapped, instantly turning ruthless. "This assassin here is useless—hurry up and take him away! Lock him up in the worst prison possible! Don't put any chili in his meals! Feed him sweets! Sprinkle sugar all over his rice!"
Edogawa Ranpo showed not the slightest hesitation in switching sides.
Nearby, Fukuzawa Yukichi, who had been quietly keeping watch to ensure everyone's safety, felt a sharp pang in his stomach. What should have been a matter requiring days and nights to resolve had been compressed into barely half an hour, leaving him with an immense psychological burden.
Hearing Ranpo's vicious words, a subtle ripple finally surfaced on Oda Sakunosuke's otherwise expressionless face.
Pupils shaking.jpg
Is this something a human would do?
Forcing someone who lived and breathed chili to eat nothing but sweets?
And the worst part was that Edogawa Ranpo, with powerful backing within the police world, really could make every one of those threats come true. In the end, the "assassin gentleman," who had no intention of protecting the "school beauty," lost his value—and was promptly sent to prison by the very "school beauty" herself.
Thus, a side-branch version of the novel's story was born.
Truly a cause for celebration.
...
Lunch was taken at a Japanese teahouse—Edogawa Ranpo had shamelessly tagged along behind Fukuzawa Yukichi to get inside.
Fukuzawa Yukichi was powerless to stop him.
Watching Ranpo down, one after another, the fillings of nine bowls of red-bean mochi—just the red-bean paste alone—Fukuzawa felt his temper steadily fraying. Relying on years of discipline to maintain his composure, he voiced his admonition at last.
"Boy, why did you say those things to that assassin?"
Ranpo was eating with unrestrained delight. "I was testing whether he's the kind of assassin you see in novels!"
Fukuzawa frowned. "A novel? Are you joking?"
How could anyone confuse fiction with reality? It was far too naïve.
"It's a novel written by my guardian," Ranpo said smugly. "I always felt he'd hidden clues inside it. After I finished reading, I realized he really was hinting something to me." He puffed up with pride. "Given my age and my situation, I'm obviously the 'school beauty' in the story—the one who needs protection!" Then he fell into thought. "If it's not that man, then could it be you? With me around, how could the ending possibly turn out that way?"
The former assassin in the novel was thick-headed, ignorant of how other professions worked.
But he understood!
Or perhaps Akiya was hinting something to him instead—that the adult world was unfathomably complex, and that one could never afford to lower one's guard?
Edogawa Ranpo poked at the skin of the mochi with his spoon. "Silver-haired uncle, wherever you're going next, remember to take me with you, okay? My meals for the entire coming week are going to depend on you."
Fukuzawa Yukichi finally reacted, his voice turning cold. "I am grateful for your help in solving the case and for ensuring that the murderer of my former employer did not escape justice. I will report to the municipal police that this was your achievement. That does not mean I am going to take you in."
Ranpo blinked, emerald-green eyes wide and feline.
It was as though something jabbed Fukuzawa Yukichi straight in the heart. Keeping his face stern, he asked, "Where are your guardians?"
Ranpo looked utterly dejected. "They went traveling…"
At noon—no, it should have still been morning—Ranpo figured that Akiya and Mr. Randou had probably already arrived at their destination.
"They ditched me and ran off to enjoy a hot-spring trip in Hakone, just the two of them," Ranpo complained miserably. "They said if my interview went well we'd have lunch together, but that was all a bunch of lies. They never planned to wait for me to come back at all."
A cat who had failed an interview was crying.
Fukuzawa Yukichi fell silent. Were there really guardians this irresponsible?
"Finish eating, then go home and wait for your parents. If that doesn't work, call the municipal police for help."
"No! I'm out of money!"
"You… didn't your parents give you any allowance?"
"Not parents—guardians! My parents are already dead. My father told me that if anything happened, I should seek help from acquaintances, so I came to Yokohama from the countryside all by myself."
"Do you have your guardian's phone number?" Fukuzawa Yukichi asked.
"I do."
Guessing exactly what the other man intended to do, Ranpo's interest was piqued. He cheerfully handed over his phone.
Determined to rid himself of this black-haired boy who seemed intent on sticking to him, Fukuzawa Yukichi dialed the number of the guardian.
"Hello—"
He did not finish the sentence.
The moment the call connected, the line filled with breathless, heart-fluttering sounds. The murmur of hot spring water intertwined with low, husky breathing—any adult would instantly understand what was going on. Then a man's voice came through the phone.
"Ah, that kid is your problem now. I'm a bit busy here and don't have time to look after him. Don't worry, he won't cause you trouble. You're the most suitable person to teach him anyway… If there's any problem, feel free to beat him. I support you with both hands."
"Hey! Akiya!"
The moment he heard that, Edogawa Ranpo panicked. How could he let someone else beat him?!
Asou Akiya cut off Ranpo's protest, his speech so fast it was almost frightening. "Don't shout so loud, Ranpo. You lost. According to our bet, you'll have to figure out how to survive on your own. Bye-bye."
"Beep—beep—"
The call ended.
This guardian was just as unreliable as the child himself.
Fukuzawa Yukichi was furious beyond restraint. He dialed again, this time calling the contact labeled 'Uncle Akiya.'
"Mr. Akiya," he said sharply, "please come and take your child home at once."
This time, a different voice answered from the other end of the line.
It was another man.
In a gentle yet husky tone, a foreign man spoke in Japanese. "We are not in Yokohama. We've already cut off his cat food for an entire week. This cat is now entrusted to you, sir. Please do not call again to harass us. Thank you."
The call was hung up once more.
Fukuzawa Yukichi froze in place, his faith in the state of his country's approach to education collapsing in an instant.
"Why… are there… two men?"
"Oh, they're a couple."
"..."
"Don't look like your world is ending. As long as there's love, gender doesn't matter, you know."
"…You seem to know a great deal."
"I don't want to know this much either, but they insist on flaunting their affection in front of me. Every few days they complain that I'm a third wheel. I ended up learning things my father and mother never wanted to tell me."
"Be quiet!"
Fukuzawa Yukichi pressed a hand to his aching forehead.
The muttering Edogawa Ranpo finally shut his mouth, pouting so hard one could have hung an oil bottle from his lips.
Fukuzawa Yukichi blurted out all the tangled questions weighing on him in one breath. "What exactly do you want? Why were you able to see through everything that happened today at a glance? And just who are you, really?"
Hearing the silver-haired uncle say this, Edogawa Ranpo put on an expression that clearly said, Are you testing me?
"Isn't it obvious at a glance?"
The boy bit down on the handle of his spoon as he spoke.
"I'm in the middle of a job interview. I failed it, got abandoned by my guardian, and now I don't even have money to eat."
"Silver-haired uncle, you're even duller than my guardian, Akiya."
"Akiya had already seen through the whole thing before I set out this morning. He predicted that I'd fail the interview, run into you, and then get taken by you to eat lunch… and yet you look like you don't know any of this at all."
Ranpo wore an expression of unabashed pride. As he spoke, he casually mentioned the names of his biological parents, causing Fukuzawa Yukichi's heart to skip in silent shock—so he was the only son of the legendary detective known as the 'Clairvoyant'! Having grown up in such an extraordinary family, Ranpo claiming that his mother was even more formidable than his father, and that his guardian was just as capable as his father, suddenly didn't seem strange at all. The elders who had raised this boy were all beings far beyond the bounds of common sense.
And then—
With a mischievous grin, he reached out and grabbed Fukuzawa Yukichi's sleeve.
"Akiya taught me that if you want to live without worrying about food or clothing, you have to learn how to choose the right person—and learn how to talk. I almost succeeded last time, if not for Akiya stopping me…"
A sense of foreboding welled up in Fukuzawa Yukichi.
It was the kind of feeling one got upon discovering, just before committing a murder, that the target list had been swapped—or realizing mid-act that one was suddenly struck by violent diarrhea.
In any case… it was absolutely not an outcome he wanted!
"Silver-haired uncle!"
"I don't want to work hard anymore—please take me in! I can do anything!"
The tone with which the boy spoke conveyed his plea to be kept so vividly, so unmistakably, that it struck straight to the bone. One by one, the patrons in the teahouse sucked in sharp breaths and turned to stare, their gazes full of silent condemnation—as though Fukuzawa Yukichi were some despicable man luring an underage youth astray.
Across the tea table—
Fukuzawa Yukichi's tightly drawn expression darkened to the point of dripping ink. Veins stood out sharply on the back of his hand as he reached out and dialed a third phone call.
"Get your guardian over here—now!!!"
How could anyone teach a child like this? How could they so casually ruin a child's future?!