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Edogawa Ranpo has always had a strange fascination with murder mysteries. In addition to writing and publishing books, he makes videos describing his process for his sizable social media following, which he mainly grew during his true crime era in college. Back then, he posted shorts breaking down gaps in cases other content creators talked about. More than once, he turned out to be right. He made a name for himself, at least in the sphere of social media, when he deduced the ending to the infamous Twitter Killer case. Henceforth, his fans know him by his screen name, UltraDeduction. Although he was offered opportunities for other lines of work, nothing suits him more than working at his own pace on his next short story or deciding which case to cover next.
Although… a creative block prevents him from doing much more than staring vacantly at his ceiling.
His phone chimes. “Thursday. Seven o’four.” He sits up and smiles. “Time for Mr. Fancy Hat’s new video.”
Before perching at his computer, Ranpo grabs a bag of cookies and some milk tea. He drapes himself over a chair, hanging off of it in a way many would believe is uncomfortable, and opens the video platform he’s been posting on for a few years. Sure enough, there’s a notification for the newest video in his inbox.
Ranpo makes it a habit to watch his competitors. He doesn’t want content to overlap with them, so he shies away from cases they’re talking a lot about, circling back to them when the buzz has died off to talk about any details he finds worth mentioning. But Arahabaki isn’t a competitor. Far from it. Even if their subject matter is similar, his angle is totally different. Ranpo covers crime scenes and cold cases from the same perspective a detective might. Arahabaki, though, speaks like a scientist. He explains the physics and chemistry of crimes, calculates the velocity of stab wounds, balances the equations noting what substances were used to kill… Ranpo considers himself more a detective than anything. If Arahabaki is anything, he’s equal parts scientist and artist. The way he records, the way he speaks, the frequent appearance of a whiteboard in his videos which, by the end, is covered in figures and diagrams and formulas…
In opposition to his math classes in high school, this is actually interesting.
Today’s upload is no exception. He covers the recent murder of a man who, after being assaulted, was thrown off the bridge. The collision with the water below was what killed him, not the initial assault. Drunk as he was, he likely lost consciousness upon impact, but as Arahabaki’s figures show, the fall, if at the right angle, could have actually concussed him and sped up the process.
Ranpo follows every moment until the very end, at which point, he has to fight back the urge to leave a comment that’s more gushing than anything. He does the courtesy of upvoting the video and winds up going to bed soon after that.
A few days later, when Ranpo’s creativity has returned, he checks his own account, shuffling through the usual likes. There’s an unusual number of comments. Most of them are the sort of spam he normally throws away—ads for different things—but a series of them from one particular user make him feel like he’s about to become the victim of a crime. Ranpo reports most of them, then sees he also has a message. Hmm… is it more of the same? If so, I’m not really in the mood to read it.
But something—that sixth sense that has always allowed him to see the solutions others miss as if they’re placed directly in front of him—tells him it would be worth checking.
He’s surprised, first and foremost, to see the username attached to the message is none other than Arahabaki. More surprising still is the length of the message. He expected a sentence or two, but he sees a full-fledged paragraph or two.
Hey, just so you know, I’ve been getting targeted by some crazy bastard through the platform. I apologize for any issues this causes. It seems they’re harassing people who have liked and commented on my past videos, and that unfortunately includes you.
By the way, your videos are pretty great. I liked the one you did on the Twitter Killer. I know it’s old, but it’s honestly the thing that inspired me to start making videos myself. Watching that alongside your most recent works, I can really see how much cleaner your editing has gotten.
But you’re still cocky as hell, just like you were back then. That’s the part of your content I admire the most. It probably ain’t proper etiquette or whatever, but I gotta ask: does that persona extend to your everyday life, or is it just something you do for your videos?
Ranpo folds his hands and rereads the message. “Ending with a question…” With a grin, he continues, “Are you inviting me to a conversation, Mr. Fancy Hat?” It’s a name he has given Arahabaki because of his wardrobe habits and the way he tips his hat near the end of every video. “Or is it something else you’re after?”
He waits the rest of the day to answer, mostly because much like the parfait he eats after a meal, it’s what he wants to indulge in most. When he finally sits down to write the answer, he lets the words flow the way they do while he’s writing a story. He reads it over once before hitting send.
He gets a response quicker than he gave one, and from there, they fall into a deeper conversation than he deduced they would almost effortlessly. Talking to Arahabaki becomes part of his routine. He’s a little more forthright with his comments moving forward, as is the other user. They don’t know each other’s names. They don’t have to. Ranpo already knows this is morphing into something a little more meaningful than a conversation with an internet stranger.
Sure enough, the day comes. I was thinking we could collaborate. Maybe an unscripted livestream? We could both advertise it.
Ranpo agrees. He has to. Even if Arahabaki sees him as some kind of inspiration, he also finds an honor of sorts in the invitation. It helps that the redhead is interesting. Sure, Arahabaki can’t out-deduce him, but he has a whole wealth of knowledge about science that didn’t interest him until it was in videos where a certain red-headed content creator stood in front of a whiteboard and tipped his hat when he was done. Come to think of it, maybe I should ask him his real name. But maybe it’s too soon for that. Well, in time… for now, Mr. Fancy Hat will do.
Unsurprisingly, the promise of the upcoming collaboration between Arahabaki and UltraDeduction causes a stir among both of their fan bases, which don’t overlap as much as Ranpo expected them to. In the meantime, they continue exchanging messages. It’s always the collaboration that makes them reach out first, but from there, Arahabaki slips in this or that bit of personal information that Ranpo answers with his own.
One morning, Ranpo wakes up to half a dozen messages that aren’t recognizable in any language, but Ranpo quickly deduces the reason they’re there. Sure enough, Arahabaki eventually messages and confirm. Fuck, sorry. I fell into a bottle of wine last night and didn’t realize I was messaging you instead of my sister.
Don’t tell me, Ranpo writes back. You didn’t realize until this morning you were messaging me because you passed out drunk on your sofa.
It doesn’t take long for Arahabaki to answer. At least I didn’t start telling you all sorts of personal shit. I think I would’ve died of embarrassment.
Grinning, Ranpo answers, You can’t die before our big stream, Mr. Fancy Hat.
This time, he doesn’t get a response. He figures the other content maker is either annoyed or went off to do something more important than exchange messages with an internet stranger. Or both. Definitely both.
When the day arrives, Ranpo finds himself anxious, a rarity given how long he’s even producing videos. He thinks about texting Arahabaki, but he doesn’t want the younger man to underestimate him. It’s bad enough how many people call him childish for his dietary habits and his inability to navigate trains.
Arahabaki wouldn't do that. Unless this whole thing is a ploy, which I’ve already deduced it’s not, Ranpo tells himself, testing his microphone and plugging in his earbuds, then carefully replacing his cap. If it was, I’d have figured it out by now, even if Mr. Fancy Hat is nice to look at and really smart when it comes to science.
Ranpo hears his direct messages ping. Ready when you are.
He initiates the stream since his following is bigger. Before long, he’s not the only one there: viewers and fans, some of them from Arahabaki’s channel. When Arahabaki himself arrives, the chat goes wild.
“This thing on?”
Hearing Arahabaki in real time… not on a recording but on something they’re doing right now, is different. Being able to answer in real time is also different. He forgets for a moment that he can, then says, “Well, I can hear you okay.”
“Yeah?” Arahabaki tips his hat in his usual way, and Ranpo feels relieved that no one can see his toes curl. “Good. You want to give it a couple of minutes?”
“Are you asking me or the audience?”
“Of course you. Fucking hell, of course they’re ready. Ain’t that right?”
The chat fills with messages begging them to start.
Wearing a smile, the redhead says, “I just need to know if you are, Ultra Deduction. Or is there something else I should call you?”
What an obvious hint, Ranpo thinks, laughing and saying, “For now, that's a good enough name. We shouldn't keep them waiting, Arahabaki.”
For the next two hours, Ranpo and his collaborator talk about cases, answer questions, and joke around like they've done this before. The nervous laughs that mark the beginning of their stream slowly die off. They stop accidentally interrupting each other and settle into a rhythm, almost like gravity itself is working to balance their pace.
The night has its highlights, sure, but Ranpo’s favorite conversation of the night is more about them and less about cases, as one viewer asks why they started making videos in the first place. Ranpo desperately searches for a reason besides his boredom, but fortunately, Arahabaki asks him, “You want me to go?”
“Yeah, why not? I mean, I’ve already deduced it, but I’m the only one who has.”
Chuckling, the redhead states, “I studied science in university. Physics, mostly. In my spare time, I’d pick up a mystery novel here or there, but what really got me interested was that video Ultra Deduction did on the Twitter murderer.”
Ranpo already knows that, even before Chuuya told him in DMs, but to hear him say it out loud makes Ranpo’s stomach flutter.
“I guess… what I’m trying to say is that your content’s a real inspiration. Seeing that one video you made sort of made me want to fucking try myself, but in my own way. You know… I know the solution already because the case has been solved. I just show how it happened.”
“Don’t be so humble, Mr. Fancy Hat.”
“The fuck did you just call me?”
Ranpo can’t help but laugh. “I admit, reading it in DMs and hearing you say it out loud are two totally different experiences. It’s the same piece of information, yeah, but the delivery is on totally different levels. By the way, you’re a science nerd. Wouldn’t something like ‘catalyst’ be more appropriate?” He intends the whole statement as playful. He just hopes Arahabaki takes it that way.
Sure enough, the redhead lets out a loud laugh. Ranpo is so transfixed by the sound, he forgets to read chat. “I guess so,” he finally concedes. “But by that same token, shouldn't you be deducing me like you do everything else?”
Ranpo puffs up. “Who’s to say I haven’t already?”
“Have you really, though?”
Ranpo knows what’s going on here: his collaborator is issuing a challenge. Still, even knowing it’s a set-up, he answers, “After we’re done here, maybe I can show you how much I’ve deduced in a private call.”
A delightful and dizzying grin overcomes Arahabaki’s face. His blue eyes seem to reflect more of the ring light. “You’re on,” he finally says. “Detective.”
At the time, nothing about that conversation sticks out aside from having fun. Hell, he knows Arahabaki is, too. It’s only after the event concludes that he realizes. In the promised call on Discord after, Ranpo finds himself apologizing. “I mean, I know you’ve got that one troll who was giving you problems. I don’t want to add fuel to the fire.”
“How would it do that?”
Ranpo decides how much is too much. Finally, he says, “They might double down if they think someone else is taking up your attention.”
The usual chuckle hits his ear. “Well, I’m not too worried about reputation or anything. The only one I’m living for is me. Besides, I know you didn't mean it that way. We were just entertaining the crowd and having fun.”
Something about that answer doesn’t sit right with Ranpo, but for now, he accepts it.
“So, have you deduced my name yet?”
“No,” Ranpo retorts. “You haven’t deduced mine, either.”
“Deduction’s your whole schtick,” he answers with a chuckle. “Maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll tell you.”
He folds his arms. “I don’t need you to tell me.”
“You’re sulking.” The redhead’s voice fills his ear. “That’s no good. If that’s how our call ended, I’d feel bad.”
“Fine,” he murmurs.
“Nakahara Chuuya.”
What a name, Ranpo thinks, though if asked why he thought that, he wouldn't be able to say.
“But don’t poking around on the internet for that name.”
“Why not, Mr. Fancy Hat?”
“Quit fucking calling me that.”
The same feeling that made Ranpo feel positive about their earlier banter takes over again. “You some kind of criminal yourself? Or maybe a male model? You’ve got the looks for it.”
“Very funny,” Chuuya retorts. “A regular comedian.”
Ranpo stares at his ceiling. “It really bothers you when people point out your good looks.”
Chuuya doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to. His actions say enough on their own.
“Alright,” he announces. “Noted! I’ll make sure I don’t mention them again. And in exchange for your forgiveness, I’ll tell you my name, too.”
“You don’t have to fucking do that.”
“Then at least let me pay you back for telling me your name.”
A moment of silence drifts by. Eventually, he says, “Let’s hear it.”
“Edogawa Ranpo,” he says. “But I write under the name Hirai Taro. That’s not something I tell a lot of people, by the way. Lucky you!”
Another long pause. “I didn’t know you wrote,” Chuuya murmurs.
“Yeah. It’s something I mostly do because I like it. Then again, I’m not super popular or anything.”
“I’m sure your stuff’s fine.”
With a smile, Ranpo says, “Someday, I’ll hopefully at least get nominated for an award. But until then, I’ll just keep making videos and enjoying my life. By the way, you said you read mystery stuff. What’re you reading now?”
“You asking me, or do you want to deduce it like everything else?”
“I’ll let you tell me,” Ranpo answers.
As Chuuya launches into a conversation about the novel he’s reading, he realizes he wants to know a lot. The questions crowd his mind. Deductions follow. Red wine. Cigarettes. Rock and jazz… He wants Chuuya to tell him all of those things even if he knows them already, just so he can hear Chuuya talk for longer.
They talk for two hours about every little thing. When they hang up, Ranpo spends a few minutes letting every word sink into his flesh before beginning to edit their footage into a highlights video. He should feel tired after talking that much. Strangely, he just wants to talk more.
The livestream video ends up doing well, as does the highlights video Ranpo posts a couple of days later. But it comes with its own problems: a slew of messages from the famed troller, who now seems to be obsessed with making his life hell since he collaborated with Chuuya. He reports them all, but the messages and comments continue piling up. The platform refuses to do anything about them since they’re all anonymous. With a heavy sigh, he tries to message Chuuya, then thinks better of it. It’s like Chuuya is going through something similar.
Maybe it’s better if I just cut contact, Ranpo thinks, setting his phone aside for some writing time. The minute it vibrates, he picks it up, hoping it’s a message from Chuuya.
It’s not. What he has instead is an insult clearly intended for Chuuya directed at him instead. The contents of the message—wishes that he would just die already—infuriate Ranpo to a point that he has no choice.
He doesn’t expect Chuuya to answer his call, but the redhead does. “Hey, I’m recording. Mind if I call you back when I’m done?”
“It’s urgent.”
After a pause, he hears Chuuya sigh. “It’s that fucking internet stalker, isn’t it?”
“They really have it out for you.” Ranpo pauses. “I’m worried.”
“Fuck, I don’t even care,” Chuuya growls. “I’m used to the rotten shit whoever the fuck it says. I am pissed off a friend of mine—”
Friend. Chuuya uses that word so easily. Even if they only collaborated once and talked once, Ranpo finds himself believing that word, whatever it happens to mean between them.
“—is getting pulled into this and panicking because this fucker told me off myself or whatever. Which ain’t gonna happen.”
Something occurs to Ranpo. “You’ve been getting them, too.”
“For a long fucking time,” Chuuya states. “I chalk it up to some sick fucking obsession with making my life hell, but my happiness ain’t connected in any meaningful way to what people online think of me. It’d be one thing if anything from them was constructive, but it’s just this one asshole’s opinion of me. But anyway…” He sighs. “I’m sorry you’re caught in the middle of it for one collaboration.”
Ranpo puffs up. “I don’t want to cut ties.”
“I wasn’t going to ask you to.”
“You can’t fool me, Mr. Fancy Hat. You totally were.”
“Quit fucking calling me that!”
Ranpo lets his laugh into the phone. “I’d tell you to quit wearing that hat, but it looks good on you. Don’t take that the wrong way, though. I didn’t collaborate with you for the hat.”
“Then how come?”
“Something about the angle of your content…” Ranpo scratches his chin. “Anyway, it’s not worth explaining now! You’re supposed to be recording. Go shoot your next masterpiece, Mr. Fancy Hat.”
“I swear to fuck, if you ever call me that on a public forum again…”
“Never!” Ranpo smiles. “I’ll only call you that when it’s just the two of us. That’s the best I can compromise because the name just stuck so much.”
To his surprise, Chuuya lets a chuckle out into the receiver. “Alright. If that’s as good an offer as you can give me, I guess I’ll take it, detective. But…”
“But?”
“You sound down and out. I gotta ask, you good?”
Ranpo finds he can’t answer that question right away.
“Seriously,” Chuuya insists. “This shit’s fucked up, especially if you haven’t experienced anything like this before. If it gets to be too much, you can talk to me.”
Thinking about it, Ranpo knows Chuuya probably has enough burdens as it is, so he simply answers, “Yeah.”
“I’m not convinced.”
Ranpo scoffs. “You’re thinking too much of me, Mr. Fancy Hat. Think of yourself.”
“I thought of myself plenty before you called,” Chuuya grumbles. “Besides, this whole situation’s shitty, and now that we’re in it together, we can at least commiserate.”
Ranpo smiles. “Mr. Fancy Hat, you’re a good guy.”
“Not always,” Chuuya admits. “But I’m always fucking trying.”
Ranpo hangs up from that call feeling better about the situation. He’s a detective of sorts, plus he writes, so he knows how to document and research. Doxxing the son of a bitch is illegal, but he does arm himself with enough knowledge to see this pattern has extended back at least two years, back to when Chuuya first started becoming popular. For the most part, it’s angry rants about how awful of a person Chuuya is.
Which he may have been at one point to this particular person, but Ranpo is still deducing that.
Then, there’s the matter that most of them that are aimed at his content simply call it “bullshit” and him a “hack.” As far as he can tell, Chuuya never engages with them, and when others do, it’s less a conversation and more bullshit.
In fact, at its core, it seems to be bullshit. There’s this long tangent about how Chuuya, in making this comment, is a pedophile because of how he talked about child abuse in one video. Ranpo can’t see it. In fact, no one else in the comments can, either.
There are comments that he’s wrong about things. Ranpo knows he’s not without checking. In fact, the times Chuuya has been off, he has always caught it before posting and added a note at the end of the video, but the errors are small ones in calculations, not in the details surrounding the cases themselves.
From what Ranpo can see, publicly, this person has called him every name in the book: a criminal, a pedophile… he’s been accused of ruining this person’s life, and language like that makes Ranpo think that maybe the commenter is connected to one of the cases.
But they’re not. They’re just… obsessed. In the worst of ways. They’re the type that craves attention they’ll never get.
Ranpo mulls over every detail and realizes something: Chuuya has incredible self-control. He can imagines situations where Chuuya doesn’t, specifically related to a friend of his who exists just to annoy him some days, but where this spammer is concerned, he has made it clear through his actions he won’t engage.
So clearly, Ranpo is the next best target. Because maybe he will.
Determined not to let it slow him down, Ranpo follows Chuuya’s recommendations. They continue to correspond through DMs, and Ranpo maintains his usual level of engagement with Chuuya’s content publicly. Every new comment is another screenshot in his folder. No matter how dark they are, he saves them. He doesn’t mention them to Chuuya. Chuuya probably knows already without him saying anything.
“We should do another collab,” Chuuya says one day.
Ranpo perks up. “Another one?”
“I mean, yeah… the first one went over well.” He pauses. “Or, if you’d prefer, we don’t have to film. Or we can film and decide later whether we want to post it.”
“What’re you thinking?”
Chuuya hums. “We could swap hats and roast each other.”
“We could swap hats and read hate comments.”
Chuuya chuckles. “How’s that going to work?”
Ranpo hums. “I can try to take a train.”
“No way. You said yourself you’re fucking shit at navigating. That means I’m coming to you. With a gift.”
“Mr. Fancy Hat, you really don’t have to get me anything. Besides, your set-up’s better.”
“We can squeeze in.”
Ranpo half thinks Chuuya suggests that because it’s a tighter fit.
“Besides, I’m not that tall.”
He’s almost convinced.
“I’ll bring you snacks.”
“Done.”
After an unrestrained laugh, Chuuya says, “You really are easy to read sometimes.”
“How do you figure that?”
“I’ve seen your face in real time once, even if it was just on a stream. I know your biggest motivator is food. Plus, I can tell you’re still worried about me. Has the hater let up a little at least since I haven’t been posting as often?”
“Yeah, but you didn’t have to post less on my account.”
“I didn’t,” Chuuya counters. “Life’s been busy.”
Those words make him panic because they all but confirm Chuuya has a girlfriend. Or something like it. As they disconnect the call after a good-bye that almost goes on too long, Ranpo flops down on his floor and wonders if maybe he was mistaken. Mr. Fancy Hat has the looks to date anyone he wants. He’s funny, witty… so how come I’m disappointed to hear that someone’s in the picture?
The answer is obvious. Ranpo just doesn’t want to admit it.
Even then, he moves forward with his plans to actually meet up. Chuuya does, too. The messages continue, coupled with equally troubling comments that he takes the same approach with: he documents, deletes, and moves on. There’s no point in letting them slow him down.
Chuuya comes one evening when most people are still working. The blessing and bane of their work is that they make their own hours, which means holidays are relative.
Ranpo peers down at Chuuya and instantly says, “You look shorter than I imagined.”
“Yeah, well…” Chuuya steps inside. “I can’t have it all.”
He deduces people have told Chuuya that before. Ranpo isn’t tall by any means, but people don’t feel the need to point out his height. He watches Chuuya remove his shoes—notably an expensive pair of high-fashion ankle boots—before offering Ranpo the bag. “Here. Sorry for the intrusion.”
Ranpo takes the bag and forgets to ask if he can open it.
“I wasn’t sure of your favorite, so I bought a bunch of shit. I can go get alcohol, too, if you want.”
“Probably better I don’t drink.” Ranpo wants to keep a level head, after all, especially since Chuuya being there confirms his suspicions.
Chuuya is hot. Chuuya is also interesting in ways that transcend his content. Realizing it’s a crush makes him wish there wasn’t someone else, but he’s still determined to make the best of the situation.
In the middle of thinking—or rather overthinking—about the situation, Ranpo feels something jammed down on his head and realizes it’s the fedora Chuuya wears in all his videos. The redhead steps back, but Ranpo remembers they’re supposed to be trading hats and darts off to get his. Giddy, he sets it down on Chuuya’s head, maybe with a little too much vigor as Chuuya scoffs and swats Ranpo’s hands away to straighten it.
“So,” Chuuya says, striking a pose. “How do I look?”
Ranpo smirks. “You hate it when people talk about your looks.”
“I’m making an exception, detective.” He reaches up and tips the hat on Ranpo’s head back just a little.
“I guess it’s not bad.” Ranpo nearly punches himself. Idiot. He’s fucking adorable. I want to hug him. Damn it…
“Then I guess we should start recording.”
As the two of them squeeze into Ranpo’s workspace, Chuuya arranges the snacks on Ranpo’s desk. There’s no risk to his keyboard, fortunately, as there are no drinks, but Ranpo still takes a mental note to be careful.
“If we decide to post this, maybe you can shoot a blank image from here, then just…” Chuuya snaps. “Teleport us in.”
“That’ll work,” Ranpo says, turning on his microphone, testing his audio, and finally angling the ring light. “You’re probably not used to this, so if it’s too bright, I can go get you sunglasses.”
“Very funny.”
Ranpo turns on his camera and opens a bag of chips. He doesn’t really say anything. Neither does Chuuya. He’s not sure if it’s the awkwardness or something else. Eventually he states, “You know, if we’re recording, we should actually say something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Do an impression of me or something. You know, like a warm up. We’ll cut it out later.”
Ranpo hums, swallows his chip, and tips his hat back. “Hello, everyone! I’m Arahabaki, and I’m here to talk about fucking science!” Ranpo turns to him. “How was that?”
“Fucking terrible,” Chuuya answers, but he’s laughing behind his hand. “Never pictured you swearing, Edogawa. Or should I call you UltraDeduction right now?”
“Call me what you want, Mr. Fancy Hat,” Ranpo fires back. “We’re just warming up.”
“If you put that in the outtakes, I’ll kill you.”
“Then it’ll be premeditated and your sentence will be way more serious.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes.
“I’m serious. The footage won’t delete itself.”
In a clear effort to mimic Ranpo’s usual greeting, Chuuya points at him and declares, “I’ve already deduced it! I deduce everything!”
Ranpo snickers, and before long, they’re both in stitches.
“Since this is off the record,” Chuuya continues, “you ever stop getting harassed by my ‘biggest fan’?”
“Mmm…” Ranpo eats another chip and offers Chuuya the bag while he chews. “I got one a few days ago once again expressing hope that your motorcycle explodes. And one the day before telling me to jump in front of a train…”
“Creepy.”
Ranpo pauses. “Hmm?”
“I don’t even have a fucking picture of my bike online.”
He can see the fear in Chuuya’s face clear as day. He watches as Chuuya tries to laugh it off, then drops his head to an empty space on the desk.
“Fuck…”
“You don’t think it’s someone you know, do you?”
“Nah,” Chuuya sighs, lifting his head. “My friends know what I do, even the one who annoys me, but he wouldn't scare me like that.”
“Maybe an ex?”
Chuuya shakes his head. “There’s a small fucking chance… wait, are we really fucking solving the case of my internet stalker right now?”
Ranpo shrugs. “If you want. We’re still warming up.”
Chuuya rubs his arm. “I… kind of don’t want to know. I mean, if this person knows something that personal about me… man, now I”m going to be fucking paranoid, checking my bike constantly just in case someone fucked with it…”
“I don’t think they can do that,” Ranpo reassures him, patting his shoulder. Maybe that last part is too much, especially given the startled look Chuuya throws him. Knowing full well Chuuya has the skill to obtain at least one blackbelt, he lifts both of his hands to show he won’t do it again. “That would require them to be on the same continent.”
“You got so far into your search that you figured out where that fucker lives?”
“I have a pretty good idea,” Ranpo admits. “Why? You curious?”
“Fuck, no. I don’t want to know shit about them.”
“Not even why?”
Chuuya sighs at him. “Maybe that.”
“Obsession.”
“Obsession.”
Ranpo nibbles on a cookie. “Whoever it is doesn’t know you and has such a small chance of ever meeting you, I wouldn’t worry about personal threats or anything like that. But the reason is plain and simple: it’s that warped kind of obsession that drive people to lash out the way this person does.” Ranpo draws a breath. “They have a lonely life, and you have something they want.”
“Internet fame?”
“Friends,” Ranpo states. “Family. Something more satisfying than just existing.”
Chuuya sighs. “I do what I do because I like it. I won’t lie, though: some part of continuing brings me satisfaction. Knowing my mere existence pisses someone off and making sure it persists… it’s gratifying. But… they’ve never mentioned the motorcycle to me. That makes me think they banked on us having this conversation.”
Ranpo nods and opens a pack of cookies. “You’re scared.”
“Fuck, wouldn’t you be?”
“You know I know lawyers and detectives. My parents are fucking rich. I could pay to have this stalker identified. In other words…” Ranpo offers Chuuya the bag of cookies. “If I wasn’t ready to be a target, I wouldn’t have reached out to you in the first place. If I experienced anything other than mild annoyance that someone can’t see your charm, I wouldn’t have agreed to meet in person.” He pauses. “If I thought they were a threat, I already would have taken care of it.”
“What the actual fuck—”
“You’re a friend,” Ranpo explains, waving a cookie around.
“Friends don’t threaten to commit fucking crimes for friends.”
“Really?” Ranpo bites down on the cookie, then folds his hands and continues nibbling it.
In the middle of pondering, Chuuya announces, “You look cute in the hat.”
With those words, Ranpo’s brain becomes an incomprehensible tangle. Unable to choose which of the things in his mind to say first, he turns to find Chuuya smiling.
“If it bothers you, say so.”
“You have a girlfriend!”
“Yeah?” Chuuya asks. “That’s fucking news to me, Edogawa. What the fuck made you think that, anyway? What I said about life when we voice chatted that one time?”
“What else could it—oh, your sister.” Ranpo pauses. “Well, now I feel stupid.”
“Please,” Chuuya retorts, drawing a cookie out of the bag. “You’re the smartest person I know. Figure it out.”
Ranpo’s mind continues to race. Occasionally, he sends glances at the cookie between Chuuya’s lips. In the end, he does the only thing he can think of: he sets a hand under Chuuya’s chin, turns the redhead’s face towards him, and bites off the other end. Their eyes are so close, Ranpo can see the flecks of gray in Chuuya’s. He feels his face light up as he whips away to chew his stolen bite and hides his face in Chuuya’s hat. Why did I do something that stupid? Am I out of my mind? He’s a crush. I’m treating it like something else entirely. Plus, this is the first time he’s been here. There’s no way he’ll speak to me again if—
“You’re right.”
Ranpo swallows and peers at Chuuya.
“This whole thing… all the threatening messages… it terrifies the fuck out of me. It scares me that other people are involved. It scares me that my family might be. Still…” Chuuya slowly removes Ranpo’s hat and holds it up. He has plenty of time to pull back while Chuuya leans forward. In the end, he just doesn’t. The faint brush of Chuuya’s lips flit across his, then the redhead sinks back. “This thing with you, whatever it is, doesn’t.”
Ranpo blinks and touches his mouth. Sweet…
“Honestly?” Chuuya shrugs. “I’ve watched your content. And I’ve read your stories.”
“You’ve ready my—what?”
“Hirai Taro,” Chuuya states, chuckling. “What a coincidence my favorite YouTuber is my favorite author.”
It actually takes a minute for Ranpo’s brain to catch up. Once it does, he says, “You… really liked my writing?”
“Yeah. But that ain’t why I wanted to collaborate with you. And my stupid feelings ain’t, either. Like I said during that livestream, you’re a creator I admire. It’d be great if we could both go a little farther because of each other.”
Ranpo draws his knees up and inhales.
“When we’re done recording, I want to ask you something.”
“Ask me now, or I won’t be able to concentrate!”
Chuuya smiles. “Find a way, Ranpo.”
Apparently, by that point, they’re plenty warmed up. The video winds up being something Ranpo didn’t plan, and it seems like Chuuya didn’t, either. He just speaks his mind. Ranpo speaks his, as well. That while their content is about murders, they always strive to treat the subject matter with the utmost respect. That the people on the other side of those cases lost things. That while Chuuya tends to prefer men, that doesn’t mean he won’t romantically pursue the right woman, and while Ranpo hasn’t been pursuing a certain, he just got a confession that he thinks will make them both happier in the long run.
“I also gotta add,” Chuuya continues, “that I’ve been the target of someone for some time. I don’t know who they are, but they’ve threatened my family and my life. This guy…” Chuuya points to Ranpo. “Has become the target because he engaged with my shit and collaborated with me one time. Kind of fucked up, isn’t it?”
Ranpo nods. “But you know, maybe something good can come out of it. If we actually post this, the harassment won’t end.”
“Then maybe other people can protect themselves. Don’t feed the trolls, viewers.”
“But do feed the detective.”
On cue, Chuuya offers him a cookie, and he eats it, glowing until he remembers they’re recording, then choking before he can fully swallow. Chuuya laughs and pats him on the back. “If you’re going to commit to the bit, then commit all the way, UltraDeduction.”
“It was way too sudden!”
Chuuya reaches up to adjust the hat on his head, and he remembers he’s not wearing his cap but Chuuya’s fedora. “There. Are you better?”
Ranpo pouts. “Getting there.”
“You’re kind of a brat.”
He flushes as Chuuya’s fingers slide between his.
“Anyway… we should probably talk about our next videos.”
Shortly after that, they quit recording. Ranpo removes Chuuya’s hat with a long sigh and tips back in his chair, covering his eyes. He’s totally been hitting on me this whole time. How come I didn’t notice? Or maybe I did. I was just afraid to think so since he seemed straight and untouchable. He peers at Chuuya, who removes Ranpo’s cap with a flourish. Never mind. Maybe just untouchable. He sits up and sets Chuuya’s hat back on his head.
Chuuya does the same to him, but he adds a question. “Can we go on a date?”
“Huh?”
Chuuya rubs his head. “I swear I won’t drill you about your writing or your content. I just want to know… you know… what it’s like to go out with you.”
Ranpo blinks.
“Do you need to think about it?”
“Nope.” He bounces out of his chair and offers Chuuya his hand. “Can we go somewhere with good parfaits?”
With a smile that says it all, Chuuya takes Ranpo’s hand and rises, too. “Only if I can steal a bite. I need a fucking glass of wine.”
That night, a tipsy Chuuya winds up on his sofa and nods off almost right away. Ranpo gets him a blanket and decides to do a little writing before going to bed himself. The conversation goes as expected in the morning: Chuuya doesn’t want to post anything they recorded. But he does want to go out again.
Ranpo, of course, agrees.
“Fuck… it’s a shame we wasted all evening recording something we aren’t even planning to post.”
“How come it’s a shame?” Ranpo asks, adjusting his posture on the sofa to something even wonkier than before. “Something good came out of it. We had our first date, and I even got to take you home.”
“Yeah, because I was fucking plastered.”
“Still…” Ranpo reaches up to tip Chuuya’s hat back a little so his eyes are visible. Chuuya looks up at him, breathtaking as always, and he finishes the point he started earlier. “I don’t think anything like that should ever be a shame.”
“Yeah.” Chuuya smiles up at him. “I guess you’re right.”
“I’m always right!” Ranpo declares. “Now, let’s talk about our next collab, shall we? Or are you too hungover, you lightweight?”
Chuuya grins, and Ranpo finds himself in a hug. Ranpo can tell from the look in Chuuya’s eyes that the hangover is more an inspiration than anything else. Sure enough, once he deduces that, Chuuya says, “I’m never too hungover to talk about recording with you.”