Chapter Text
6 Years previously
Edgar A. Poe, aspiring genius extraordinaire, poet, writer, solver of puzzles etc etc., smiles as he approaches the crime scene. He snaps back the police tape while stepping under it, as if to flaunt his privileged access despite no uniform. At least, that’s how he sees it in his head. The smallest of details already begin to prick his senses, though he continues his stride forward without the barest twitch of an eye. He announces himself upon reaching an officer, Edgar Poe, detective—
“Huh? Oh, that’s right. Well, don’t worry about it.”
He feels a laugh echo in his brain, already prepares a modest, genial response, I came to help, after all —
“We’ve got another guy here already.”
Now, he did not prepare for that, for someone else to already take his spot. “What? Well, where is he? I must speak to him.” Poe’s already made up his mind with clenched fists.
“Just over there, but really—” Poe has no time to waste, hurrying over to a kneeling figure near a spatter of blood.
“Who are you?”
The person remains still for an infuriating minute, and only then deigns to lift his head slowly up at being addressed. It’s a young man, perhaps no more older than Poe, with raven-dark hair falling into his blazing emerald eyes. “I could ask you the same thing. You’re definitely not an officer,”
Poe opens his mouth to retort.
“Or a detective.”
And slams it back shut in shock. His eyes widen, revealing violet storms. Recovering, he’s already slammed his books on the ground and fishes around in his bag for the paper.
“I most certainly am a detective—”
“Not yet you aren’t, you’re a student. Now, don’t bother me. Can’t you see I’m a little busy?” And the mystery man turns back to looking at the blood. Poe is left standing, dumbstruck by such abrupt treatment…it’s been an awfully long time since…he shakes his head out of the thought. Mildly grinding his teeth, he tightens his ponytail before grabbing the man by the shoulder.
“And what exactly are you, then? You’re not any older than I.” He stares grimly, becoming further frustrated when the young man stares back at him for a moment, only for a small, imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Why, I’m the greatest detective in the world, of course.” The young man grins with glee, and Poe grips the fabric of the other’s cloak harder while he grits his teeth.
“You think you’re so confident?”
“No. I just know that I’m right.” The man shrugs.
“Tch-!” Poe sputters, utterly infuriated as he looks down at this intruder, his blood pounding in his ears, his heart hammering. No one has ever made him so mad , he can feel his blood boil-
Oh. Poe finally recognizes his fury for what it also contains: a frenzy of excitement. For no one has dared to challenge him in years . His superior intellect has been on display to his peers since he was 12 years old. He hasn’t had any real fun in a long time. Poe immediately releases his grip on the shorter man, clearing his throat as he re-arranges his twisted fury into an easy smile. “Forgive me, but you make quite an interesting claim. I would like to see you prove it.”
“Oh?” The young man only raises a brow, still nonplussed at Poe’s sudden change in mood. He must already see through him. Good, perfect even. Poe looks to the side and glances at the crime scene.
“Ah, just as I thought. This is a menial case. Open and shut within five minutes. You must get bored, just like I do. This would be too easy a way to prove what you say. Here, take this.” Poe swipes out an elegant metal case from his bag. “My card. Contact me when you’ve wrapped this work up.” He lifts his head high, violet eyes gazing down at his young rival as he speaks aloud, “Show me you are what you claim, great detective! Prove your claim-”
“Uh-” Poe can already see it, the disinterest clouding the brilliant young man’s eyes. Oh he really is as bored as I am. Poe leans in, grinning.
“-against me.”
That does it. The boredom is gone, and the young man’s eyes glimmer with curiosity, interest, hunger as if for game sport. Got you. Poe turns on his heel, overcoat swirling as he picks up his books. “I look forward to our next meeting, great detective. Do not keep me waiting too long.”
…When the clock strikes midnight at the end of that day, it will find Edgar A. Poe, genius poet extraordinaire etc., etc., staring blankly at the floor because, for the first time since he can remember, he has lost . The cheerful laughter of the young detective Ranpo Edogawa will resonate in his head for years to come.
Present Day
Louisa Alcott does not work for Edgar Poe, she thinks to herself in the locked room. Using her ability to devise their strategy, she does it all for their real leader, Lord Fitzgerald—their leader who resigned months ago due to the sudden and severe illness of his daughter. But one does not truly resign from the Guild. So, Poe takes up the mission while Fitzgerald remains tethered to his daughter’s hospital bed. Even Poe, she must acknowledge, has Lord Francis’ goal ultimately in mind. But she also must acknowledge that Poe is a bit of a loose cannon, and he certainly won’t hesitate to kill two birds with one stone.
Louisa only knows as much as she can divine. Poe was part of the Guild quite some time before her as he was long established as Architect by the time she arrived. She has divined that past much more from simple observation of the present. The way he follows after Francis, sometimes in body, but mostly with his eyes. And Francis has always met his gaze. Though he typically shunned company, there was no mistaking the startling light that would illuminate Poe's whole being when Francis deigned him words of praise for some mission plan.
With several strategies devised, Louisa stands from the desk. She ought to check on Poe, who’s been left alone in his (Francis’) office with the Do Not Disturb sign on a little too long. She can already hear the conversation through the door.
“Francis, Francis, don’t you see I’ve—”
“Just a second, Edgar, would you please hold on a moment.” Their leader’s voice is scratched by the phone speaker.
“But wait—”
“The doctors, Ed. I’ll call you back.”
“ When-! ” Louisa winces at the sharp plea of Poe’s tone, but the line is already dead. Louisa pushes on the door slightly.
“Dammit!” Poe cries, slamming down the receiver as Louisa enters. He shoots her a startled look before the storm in his eyes dissipates.
She remains nonplussed.
“The strategies, sir. There are several depending on the results, and what you would like to do.”
“There’s much I’d like to do.” Poe sighs. “I’d burn the entire city for him if needed.” He mutters quieter to himself, leaning over to look at the plans. He stares for sometime in deep thought, finally points a slender finger at a certain paper. “This one will do for now, the other one here can be for emergency purposes.”
“Of course, sir.”
Poe stands up, and the raccoon sleeping on a lush, nearby cushion leaps to his master’s shoulders. The cloudiness in Poe’s eyes finally disappears, and he fondly scratches his critter’s chin. “There’s a good boy, hm, Karl. I’ll need to find our Reverend and Miss Mitchell, they have a busy day at the port tomorrow.” Poe turns back to Louisa, already familiar with the paralyzing pang of social interaction. “You may go.”
Louisa breathes a silent sigh of relief, heading out after the interim leader into the halls of their flying ship.
ii
Chuuya sips her wine as Ranpo finishes his story. “Hm, sounds like quite the interesting devil. I can only imagine what he’s been doing in the last six years. Amassing the Guild for revenge?” Chuuya puts the glass down and ponders for a moment. “That’s too much work for just petty revenge, especially for a man you describe as so intelligent.”
Ranpo smiles. “I knew you’d catch on quick.”
Chuuya only shrugs. “I am the leader of an organization. So is he. It’s not hard to surmise that. No matter how much vengeance I could want, I’m not stupid enough to risk everything else just for petty personal revenge.” He doesn’t see the way Ranpo slightly tilts his head, gazing at her with a discerning look, because she’s looking at the window instead. “Sure, based on the letter you got, this Poe fella does have revenge in mind, but to bring the whole Guild into it, including elite members…there’s something else going on. Another motive drives him, perhaps all of them. Hell, I know I wouldn’t be able to just drag Kouyou and Ace around to exact my petty demands. They’ve got reasons for being here, too.” Finally, she’s looking at Ranpo again, and he smiles.
“You sure you don’t wanna be part of the Agency? You’d make a great detective.”
Chuuya snorts. “I’ll decide whether to take that as a compliment, though I know you’re far too smart to be serious.”
Ranpo sighs. “You’ve got me there. Don’t worry, I know how committed you are to the Port Mafia. It’s necessary.”
The air in the room suddenly grows warm for Chuuya, and his skin pricks at the… compassion ? Understanding? In Ranpo’s tone. She doesn’t like it, and she’s too late to say anything before he continues. “Y’know,” Ranpo’s quieter now, “the Port Mafia, even the Agency, is lucky to have you as the Boss.”
“Don’t say that!” Chuuya shouts, the ugly feeling under her skin bursting forth and consuming himself. Her hand had been on the wine glass, and it cracks under a sudden flash of her ability. “I-I wasn’t meant to be the Boss…not for a while. A series of…bizarre incidents. It wasn’t luck, and it certainly wasn’t fortune.”
Ranpo blinks, taken aback for a moment. He doesn’t mind the outburst, in fact the loss of decorum itself doesn’t concern him in the least. Ever since he was a kid he always found the masks and facades adults wore to be utterly beyond him. It was only after Fukuzawa explained all those social norms to him that he realized people held up such masks for a reason they believed in their minds. He is concerned on two other points, though. First, the outburst is too emotional based on what he (and the rest of the Agency) know about the Port Mafia. Which means there’s a lot they clearly don’t know because, secondly, he finds himself concerned for Chuuya herself.
“Are you…alright?”
Chuuya is startled out of his daze. “What,” she laughs incredulously, “what kind of question is that?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t-”
Chuuya shakes her head, already gingerly taking the fragile glass to the sink. “No, don’t worry about it. I just…nevermind.” She laughs to himself again, leaving Ranpo a little bewildered but not uneased. She returns and plops down into the cushioned seat, running a hand through his ginger locks as the clock strikes midnight. “Alright, it’s getting late. We’ll have to discuss a plan moving forward another time, but I think we’ve reached an understanding.”
Ranpo perks up at this.
Chuuya sighs. “If you’ve come to me saying there’s some enemy out there trying to attack both our organizations, then we’ll need to figure out something. An attack on both the Port Mafia and the Agency is an attack on this city, which includes not only my people but others who don’t need to become collateral damage.”
At the door, with Ranpo turning it halfway open, Chuuya speaks again. “This isn’t a truce or a ceasefire, mind you. Your Agency keeps to its turf just as I have mine. But…as Boss of the Port Mafia I speak for myself here, and that I believe we can negotiate a deal. Does that work for you, Ranpo-san?”
Ranpo nods, with the slightest smile on his face. “Yes, Boss Nakahara.”