Inside a Hakone — a small, private hot-spring inn.
Beside the open-air bath, two people sat on thick cushions atop wicker chairs, eating hot pot as they glanced toward a phone.
The phone on the table vibrated incessantly.
"That still didn't scare him off?" Asou Akiya said, his expression tinged with helpless amusement.
"Hah—" Randou exhaled sharply, his voice giving away the reason. "My mouth's gone numb. It's hot and spicy—way too spicy."
If he hadn't been gulping down iced milk to suppress the burning on his tongue, he wouldn't even have been able to pick up a second call. In a sense, the fact that the two of them answered the phone like that proved they shared the same mischievous streak.
"Randou, when you're panting like that, it really makes one's heart flutter," Akiya said, resting his chin on his hand. Dressed in a black yukata, he admired the French beauty before him, who seemed impossibly charming today. "It almost sounds like we're doing something else."
Randou, ever devoted to fashion and aesthetics, had chosen a yukata slit all the way up to his calves, exposing his bare legs. His upper body, meanwhile, was wrapped in a single, complete fur stole—snow-white pelts streaked through with wild gray and black. To sustain such a singular hot-spring ensemble, his body trembled from the cold even as sweat poured from the heat, an exquisite torment of ice and fire, like a shivering French cat caught between seasons.
"I—I did it so we could eat hot pot," Randou said, tears welling in his eyes.
"For elegance over warmth, then chili to fight the cold," Akiya teased mercilessly, "and just to eat that chili… you even touched iced milk, which you never drink. If you keep this up, your stomach's going to revolt."
They were eating a Chinese-style yuanyang hot pot.
Akiya's diet was currently under strict control, so he couldn't touch anything spicy. The red broth, naturally, belonged entirely to Randou.
"Aren't you going to answer the phone?" Randou asked.
"No," Akiya replied. "If I do, the act will fall apart—and I really don't want anyone else hearing you pant like that."
Akiya's chopsticks reached toward the food simmering in the red broth.
Randou slapped his hand away.
"You're not allowed to eat that!"
"…Just smelling it is making me crave it."
"You can crave me instead."
"…Randou… even if you tempt me like that, I can still sit unmoved in another's embrace."
Faced with the full-force impact of Randou's sweat-sheened beauty, Asou Akiya put on a solemn expression and covered his side with one hand.
Randou rolled his eyes. "You're covering your kidney."
Akiya smoothly went along with it and pressed his hand over his injury instead. "This area needs rest and recuperation."
Under the table, Randou slipped off the wooden clogs he still wasn't used to wearing. His toes were pale—lacking the soft, rounded delicacy of a young girl's, but instead revealing a sturdy, sinewy elegance, unmistakably the feet of a grown man. Bare and without socks, the tops of his feet were chilled. They brushed against the hollow of Akiya's foot, clearly seeking warmth from his lover's body.
Tickled, Akiya gave in willingly and let Randou tuck his feet beneath the hem of his yukata.
"Don't tease me," Akiya said. "I'm still trying to eat."
"The phone is too noisy."
"It's fine. He won't hold out for long. One Ranpo is more than enough to deal with him. Worst case, I'll just pay him to protect Ranpo—though I'm not sure he'll be willing to accept."
"You know that man?"
"'The Silver Wolf' from the government sector," Akiya replied calmly. "A former assassin who once eliminated corrupt officials. He resigned after growing tired of killing hawks for the state and became a bodyguard instead. A man with a conscience—a rare breed in this world."
"That's quite a glowing evaluation," Randou said.
"Some people are worth that kind of praise. The more good people there are, the fewer bad ones this world will have."
Hearing the phone finally fall silent, Asou Akiya lifted his chopsticks—still stained with the red broth—and lightly tapped them against his lips, tasting the faint, lingering heat.
His expression remained calm and unpretentious, free of any affected airs. If he could not learn Randou's elegance, then he simply would not try; instead, he spoke with effortless ease about matters of government secrets, lending an indescribable nuance to that stolen taste of spice.
A mischievous sage.
One who sampled the flavor of life by reading the lives of others.
Randou watched Akiya with smiling eyes, yet a trace of doubt quietly surfaced in his heart. Someone as skilled at leading others by the nose as Akiya—had he ever done the same to him? From now on, he would need to be more careful; he could not simply listen and believe so unquestioningly, the way Ranpo-kun did.
"Akiya," Randou asked, "after I join the Port Mafia, will I be in the same division as you?"
"I don't know," Akiya replied. "That depends on the higher-ups' arrangements."
"So there are things you don't know?"
"Plenty of them."
In front of Randou, Asou Akiya was always his true self.
The advantage of a transmigrator was having read the script—but as time passed, the script's period of validity steadily diminished.
After that, it would take genuine ability to hold the character together.
"..." Fukuzawa Yukichi deflated; no matter how fierce one's anger was, it would inevitably fade once no one answered the phone. Edogawa Ranpo, completely unsurprised, grinned and said cheerfully, "They're having too much fun. They won't pick up."
Fukuzawa Yukichi pried Ranpo's hands apart and said with cold resolve, "I'll take you home."
Ranpo's eyes flew wide open. "Silver-haired uncle, I already told you—I'm homeless!"
"I don't believe you," Fukuzawa replied flatly.
Ranpo panicked for a second, darted his eyes around, and hurriedly produced a new excuse. "I don't have a job anymore… If silver-haired uncle can help me find a job that suits me, I can accept that—reluctantly."
Hearing such 'ambitious' words, Fukuzawa Yukichi sat back down. "What kind of job do you want?"
Ranpo beamed with delight and launched enthusiastically into a glowing account of his past achievements.
Being kicked out of the police academy. Exposing his superiors while in the military camp, only to be thrown into solitary confinement and expelled because he never learned the unspoken rules of how adults play the game of reporting others. Then there was the time he went to a construction site to haul bricks, or worked as a postal clerk—only to throw other people's letters into the trash, proudly calling it 'helping you eliminate garbage.'
Fukuzawa Yukichi drew a deep breath, forcing his trembling hand to still.
Most terrifying of all was that after all this—after cycling through three jobs—Edogawa Ranpo still had no idea what he'd done wrong. With innocent sincerity, he asked, "These jobs are so troublesome. Isn't there one that isn't such a hassle?"
Inside, Fukuzawa Yukichi screamed: [What kind of family raises a child like this?!]
"So let me get this straight," he said slowly, every word measured. "You… think everyone else… is as smart as your parents and your guardian?"
"I'm the idiot!" Ranpo protested. "I'm not as smart as adults! Akiya and my parents all said I'm just a kid!"
"And what if they were lying to you?"
"Impossible!"
Edogawa Ranpo snapped back with ferocious intensity, like a black cat baring its fangs.
For some reason, the image of a cat flashed through Fukuzawa Yukichi's mind as he looked at the dark-haired boy before him, and his heart eased slightly. If it was a cat, then even the most willful behavior could be forgiven. Having soothed himself with that thought, he softened his tone. "I'm not saying they're trying to harm you. What I'm saying is—since you're this intelligent, haven't you noticed already that the adults in this world aren't as clever as you believe them to be?"
Ranpo's anger faltered, and a flicker of barely perceptible panic crossed his face. "What are you even talking about?"
"You've realized it already, haven't you?" Fukuzawa said quietly. "The truth that you are a genius."
Ranpo's green eyes widened, shimmering with light. But if one looked closely, that brilliance was tinged with unease and fear. It was like a cocoon nurturing a once-in-a-generation prodigy, trembling as it swayed—inside it, the larva pressed against the thin shell, sensing vibrations and touches from the outside world, shivering in terror, afraid to reach beyond the cocoon into the unfamiliar world beyond.
Fukuzawa Yukichi suddenly found himself unable to continue.
Words like these had already crossed the boundary an outsider should never pass; they were things that ought to be spoken plainly by the boy's guardian instead.
If the guardian had chosen silence, it must have been to protect this child.
—You are an "anomaly" in this world.
"It's not that you're incapable of working," Fukuzawa said at last. "It's that you cannot tolerate ordinary work. Just as you said yourself, you were able to stay at the post office for two months—not because it was beyond your ability, but because you were willing to endure it."
He made a cruel decision then, one he forced himself to carry out: to return this genius to his rightful guardian.
By his own assessment, he was a man of average intellect. How could someone like him possibly guide a once-in-a-lifetime prodigy who could see straight through the truth at a glance?
When Fukuzawa Yukichi saw the collapse written across Edogawa Ranpo's face, he hesitated for a second. Then, solemnly, he set his business card down on the table.
"I've said all that needs to be said."
"If you want to look for work, call me again. I'll recommend you to the police."
With that, the silver-haired man stood, went to the counter to settle the bill, and walked away from the teahouse alone, his retreating figure solitary and quiet.
He left behind another lonely boy, and the reason was so proper, so irreproachable: the other party was no longer alone. Sheltered beneath his guardian's wings, he had someone to cry to, someone to lean on; there was no longer any need for him to worry about that child's future.
"What the hell, what the hell is that supposed to mean?!" Edogawa Ranpo exploded in rage, shrieking after him. "If you don't want to keep me, just say you don't want to keep me! Why spout nonsense about me being a genius! Do you think that kind of talk can fool me?! You—thirty-something years old, still single, practicing swordsmanship every day, a man who's never even held a girl's hand!"
At the doorway, the silver-haired man stumbled mid-step.
He fled in panic.
He had been wrong. This was not merely a wandering genius—this was a textbook brat!
After venting his anger, Edogawa Ranpo caught the strange looks the other patrons were casting his way. His pride could not endure it. Forcing back tears that had reddened his eyes, he bolted outside. He was no pitiful waif cast onto the streets.
His father had said that he needed to endure, that one day he would grow into a respected adult.
His mother had said that he was still a child allowed to play and fool around.
Akiya had said that he possessed a spiritual will richer than anyone else's, something that could not be measured or weighed by money.
"Akiya, you bastard!"
In the howling wind, Edogawa Ranpo's damp eyes were dried clean.
He wanted to find someone—anyone—and bury himself in their embrace.
But the adults had gone traveling!
After finishing hotpot and watching his lover soak in the hot springs, Asou Akiya sat by the edge and suddenly sneezed.
Asou Akiya rubbed the tip of his nose. "Is Ranpo cursing me right now?"
There was nothing to be done.
The growing pains of maturation always arrived with such violence; someone, sooner or later, had to shatter the "cocoon" that bound a genius.
And the role of the black-faced villain—had been borne perfectly by Fukuzawa Yukichi.
…
Inside the prison, Oda Sakunosuke sat with a wooden, expressionless face, unable for the longest time to lift his dinner tray. Compared to the other inmates, he was considered "fortunate": he occupied a single cell, with air conditioning and proper bedding, and even in winter he would not feel the cold. It was only because he had entered the prison relatively late that he had missed lunch, leaving him to wait until now with an empty stomach.
Even so, he stared at his prison meal with the gaze of a man contemplating death.
Brown sugar tofu.
Rice mixed with white sugar.
Sweet water soup.
What kind of bizarre, abyssal cuisine was this?
Was this truly what Japanese prisons were like—such a terrifying place? None of the seniors who had been "fortunate" enough to experience it had ever told him.
Under the assault of this meal, the thought of breaking out of prison began to surface in his mind, little by little.
[Take a short rest, or go out to work?]
Tonight was silent.
But there was one person who was overwhelmed with delight, so much so that she nearly cried out.
Catherine burst out of her residence, tearing off the facial mask still clinging to her face as she ran, almost tripping over the hem of her skirt in her haste. Her heart pounded wildly as she reached the entrance of the villa, where she picked up a solitary black kitten that had been left all alone.
"Sister, can you take me in?"
Seen up close, the boy standing at the door had strikingly beautiful eyes. When he looked at her, it was as though the vast moonlit sky was reflected within them, brimming with unspoken grievance and that unmistakable air of someone yearning to be soothed by a devoted cat owner.
According to the terms of the wager,
Edogawa Ranpo was not allowed to seek help from anyone he knew. With nowhere else to turn, he could only go pitifully in search of a sugar daddy.
Fortunately—
he had found himself another backup option.