Chapter Text
“But you promised.”
Atsushi didn’t realize at first that they were actually fighting. The exchange had started the way their small disagreements always did: with her tone flat, his evasions gentle, until he noticed the way Kyouka had shifted her weight against the dormitory doorframe. She leaned there as though bracing herself, shoulders drawn tight beneath the loose fall of her nightgown. Her mouth was pressed into that thin, unimpressed line he’d seen so many times, the one that meant she’d given up on convincing him with logic and was now simply enduring his stubbornness.
It was the kind of look that should have pulled an apology from him right away.
A couple of days ago after the two had gone to get some ice cream after a tedious day of moving more boxes around, he’d recklessly promised her that he wanted to share a ‘cool new trick’, he had said, with the grin on his face making it sound more playful than dangerous. The trick had been his newly discovered ability to cross into that other realm— something he didn’t understand but had been excited to test, because back then, the plan seemed harmless.
Problem was after Ranpo shut him down, his enthusiasm had curdled into wariness. He’s now become much more cautious of trusting or even analyzing his visions, and subsequently the other realm as a whole.
“I know, I know,” Atsushi stuttered vaguely, waving his hands in surrender as though he could swat the tension away. “But some things have… changed?” The word came out as a question, even to his own ears, and his gaze darted briefly toward the hall as if the right phrasing might be hiding there. “I don’t know if it’s safe, so I want to keep this to myself for now. I can show you when it’s better?”
The excuse felt half-hearted as soon as it left his mouth. He leaned back against the cold wall instead, folding one arm across his chest trying to contain the restless shivers that kept running up his spine. The hall light overhead was dim as they’d already switched off most of the dorm’s lamps for the night, and the shadows pooled like soft ink in the corners, letting the thin circle of the ceiling fixture barely catch the edge of her pensive face.
Truthfully, he had forgotten about the promise until she brought it up earlier that day. And then again that afternoon. And again now, when his thoughts were already too crowded.
“You’re not listening,” Kyouka said finally. Her tone was too even to be labeled as scolding, but the words had stung more than if she’d just shouted instead. “You said you would let me help.”
Ohh.
He blinked, the sound in his chest catching like a small hitch in a record. “I… I’m sorry.” The words came out soft and stripped of the fumbling deflections he usually reached for. And for once, he meant them exactly as they sounded.
He didn't know how he missed the concern from Kyouka, the constant backup she had given him while he struggled with his ability. This was one of the most frayed she’s ever seen him, and he’s done nothing but scare her with vague responses and constantly shutting her down.
He really was starting to turn into Dazai without noticing.
“How about…” He pressed his fingers to his chin genuinely, carefully weighing the options. “I’ll show you, but you can’t go in with me. And you can’t say much about it in general, or tell the others.”
It was a compromise. One that let him keep a measure of caution without making her feel shut out. He hated the thought that he’d made her feel she wasn’t worth his trust.
Kyouka just stared at him for a long moment, her expression still guarded yet frazzled. She eventually gave a single nod.
“Okay,” She agreed, though not without evident confusion.
“Okay,” Atsushi echoed, relief loosening something in his shoulders. He straightened, reaching for the wall switch to flick the hallway light back to full brightness, and padded toward the bathroom, the soft sound of his socks pittering on the floorboards barely stirring the stillness.
—
The mirror above the sink reflected his own face back at him, pale under the yellow wash of the single bulb overhead.
“See?” Atsushi said as he waved his hand across the glass. His tone carried the same faintly theatrical air as if he were a street magician.
Inside the mirror, a lean, white shadow of a tiger flickered into view. Byakko’s spectral form gave him a look so dry that Atsushi could almost hear the disdain in it. Really? This is what you’re using me for?
Kyouka, however, seemed unimpressed for an entirely different reason. Her gaze stayed fixed not on the tiger, but on her own reflection. She tilted her head slightly, then frowned.
“See what?” she asked.
Atsushi’s hand stilled mid-motion. “Huh?”
“I don’t see anything,” she shrugged, straightening to point toward the glass. “It’s just you.”
He glanced from her to the tiger and back again. “…Huh.” He frowned. That couldn’t be good.
“Well, what about when I do this?” He turned back toward Byakko, a silent question flickering in his mind as he reached his hand toward the mirror.
Byakko obliged, but the tiger’s movement still carried a faint edge of petty irritation, as though this little demonstration were beneath his dignity.
The moment Atsushi’s fingers brushed the glass, they sank in as though into cool water. Byakko’s paw shot out, clamping around his wrist with a grip that was both startling and unyielding. Atsushi let out a sharp breath as the tiger began to pull, the force enough to make his knees shift toward the sink.
“No, no no…” He groaned, more annoyed than actually bothered as he braced his free hand against the mirror frame to keep from being dragged all the way through.
He barely noticed Kyouka’s reaction until the sound of metal scraping against fabric reached him. In a flash, she’d drawn the small pocketknife from inside her nightgown and driven the blunt end against the glass.
The mirror shattered with a sound like brittle ice cracking. Byakko’s grip vanished instantly, and the tiger’s form dissipated like smoke, leaving only the sharp smell of dust and cold in its absence.
Atsushi blinked at the fragments on the counter, his pulse still quick. When he looked back at her, she had turned toward him slowly, her expression demanding an explanation without softening for even a second.
“You saw that, at least.” Atsushi finally breathed out.
“I saw your hand go in there.” She gave a short nod as her brows drew together . “Go where?”
Atsushi opened his mouth, ready to explain— or at least to say something that might pass for an explanation— but hesitated. The pause was long enough for the air between them to grow heavier, like a noose tightening in slow increments.
The truth was messy, and half of it didn’t make sense even to him. The other half… he just didn’t know if he should. Ranpo’s verbal indifference to the situation while his body and energy told a different story still kept him on guard. He wanted to keep the words quiet still-– only existing in his head.
“Oh boy,” he muttered under his breath, dragging one hand down his face. His palm came away gritty with tiny flecks of glass.
Kyouka was still watching him, her stance steady, her expression giving away nothing except the faintest narrowing of her eyes. It was the sort of look that made people fold.
He let his head fall back against the wall with a muted thump and closed his eyes for a beat, trying to find the least-damning way to phrase what had just happened.
“I don’t know, really,” he mustered at last, opening his eyes to meet hers again. “I was just… kind of dragged in there.”
The words sounded insufficient even as they left his lips, but he pressed on before she could cut in. “On the other side is my ability. And I think he’s in trouble. He’s the one that’s been giving me all these weird hallucinations and stuff.”
Her brow lifted slightly. “He?”
“Yeah,” he quickly waved one hand to push past the detail. “Just go with it.”
He leaned back against the sink, the porcelain cool against the backs of his legs. “I’ve been there before, and it’s not necessarily dangerous for me… but I don’t know about anyone else.”
That seemed to ease her shoulders a little. Her gaze slid past him to the counter, where jagged shards of the mirror lay glittering under the weak light. Without hesitation, she began brushing them into her palm with the side of her hand, the soft scrape of glass on tile loud in the quiet room.
Atsushi winced at the sight. “Careful—”
She ignored him, tipping the shards into the small trash can under the sink. “Have you thought about whether this could be a trap? Or if it’s an ability user?” She spoke quietly on the last part, as if she didn’t want to invoke a curse. “Like Q.”
The name sent a small, involuntary chill crawling up Atsushi’s neck. He shook his head. “I did, but it’s not. This is something… else, I think.”
Something bigger, he wanted to add. Something that might have teeth sunk into the very fabric of reality itself.
But saying it aloud felt dangerous, like it might make the idea too solid. Kyouka seemed to catch the unspoken thought anyway. Her eyes dimmed, just a fraction, the way they did when she was turning over something she didn’t like the shape of.
Her fingers went to the hem of her nightgown, twisting it so tightly that Atsushi could hear the faint strain of the seams. He opened his mouth to tell her to stop before she ruined the fabric, but she released it first, curling her hands into small fists before relaxing them again.
“When you go in, tell me?” The words were almost tentative, an unusual softness threading through them. Normally, she would have phrased it as a command. Now, she seemed to be weighing his answer like it mattered. “I can be on standby, just in case.”
Atsushi tilted his head, considering her. “Good idea, thank you.” he finally agreed.
Kyouka just let out a monotone hum in response and turned her attention back to the fractured remnants of the mirror. Her palm pressed flat against the glassless frame.
“…Are you sure it’s not an ability?” she asked again, her voice steady but clearly unconvinced. “Why don’t you ask Dazai?”
Atsushi averted his gaze instantly, his mouth tightening around a wordless sound. His eyes found the faucet, the floor, the far corner of the room to anywhere but her.
“He can’t help,” he said bluntly. “But it’s not an ability. I know that.”
“I understand,” she murmured, so softly he almost missed it.
It took him a moment too long to realize she’d drawn her own conclusion from that, one she didn’t intend to share. His pulse ticked up.
“It’s not his fault,” he added quickly.
“I believe you,” she blinked. “That wasn’t my concern.”
The dismissal was so complete it startled him — and it left something unexpectedly light in its wake, like a knot loosening in his chest.
“It’s just… if it’s not an ability,” she said slowly, speaking in short, fragmented pieces, trying to discern the words as she spoke them into existence. “then what’s bigger than that?”
The Book . They both wanted to yell at each other.
“I don’t know.” Atsushi shrugged, forcing a small smile instead. “But I’m working on it.”
Kyoka didn’t reply, only pushed herself off the counter and extended a hand toward him. It wasn’t just an offer to help him down— it was a deal, a promise, and a wordless expression of concern all in one. He knew her well enough now to read it that way.
He accepted, hopping down with far less flourish than usual but feeling a fraction lighter for it. Maybe he’d have sweeter dreams tonight.
“I want to stop by the plant nursery tomorrow,” Kyouka suddenly piped up as they turned off the lights once more. “To get Kenji something.”
“That’s a good idea.” Atsushi agreed with a hum, lowering himself onto his bedding. “He’s been a bit down lately.”
Kyouka nodded, but Atsushi didn’t see despite his night-time vision with his back turned away in his own futon.
“I know,” She whispered, barely audible to even herself.
He heard that too, of course.
—
Kunikida’s wrist hesitated to knock on the door. His other hand tapped the letter against his side as he paused to collect himself, plan out what to say. He finally gave in and gave a firm rap of knuckles.
“Come in.” Her voice called, muted by the door but unmistakably dry.
Any small speech he might have prepared evaporated the moment he stepped inside. Yosano was behind her desk, her gaze lifting to meet his with that deadpan look she seemed to reserve exclusively for him. He suspected he was wearing the same expression right back.
She sat behind her desk, one leg crossed loosely over the other, her white coat half-unbuttoned as if she’d decided halfway through shrugging it off that it wasn’t worth the trouble.
She had only just returned from a two-day medical conference— ostensibly to renew her license, though the process had been mired in the same bureaucratic tangles as everything else lately. The desk in front of her was littered with abandoned forms, EMRs half-filled and then clearly given up on.
“Kunikida, do you need something?” She hummed, mindlessly flipping that clearly was going to be benched later.
“Yes.” He nodded as he closed the door behind him. “If you’re not busy, we should talk. I have a case.
That earned him a single arched brow. Yosano set the scalpel down and leaned back in her chair.
“A case?” The syllables were dipped dry in mild disbelief. “And you didn’t go to Dazai, Atsushi, Ranpo, or any actual detective? You came to your overworked doctor?”
“You’re still a part of the team,” Kunikida replied simply. “And if I recall correctly, you were a detective before-–”
“Ugh, enough. That was long ago,” Yosano groaned, waving her hand dismissively like she was brushing cobwebs from the air.
Technically, he was right. When she was much younger and just joined the Agency, she was not registered as a doctor but as a detective. It was only a few years later as the Agency had expanded to actually needing to make a distinction between roles. Even Haruno had been registered as ‘Informant’’before finally settling on ‘Secretary’. With Kunikida joining, the roster hardened into more familiar roles, and she eventually felt comfortable rehashing her former occupation.
She still remembers the tears welling up when she had first seen her name by the description of ‘Doctor’. A warm feeling sunk over her, boiling over her current grudge with Kunikida.
But, nostalgia wasn’t going to win this argument for him.
“Alright,” She snapped them from the thought. “Plead your case. What’s the job?”
Kunikida felt a twinge of relief at her words. He slid the letter in front of her, the light blue almost glowing against the dark wood.
“As you know, the President has been receiving many new inquiries on our company since the battle,” Kunikida started, his voice falling into the typical cadence of a briefing. “ Most of them are local groups trying to steal our notoriety. With all the pressure put on us, there’s a power vacuum forming, and they’re trying to push us out or use us.”
She picked it up between two fingers, turning it over and gave a small smile of recognition from the light blue envelope.
“So this is what you were stressing about.” She flipped it over curiously. “You still haven’t opened it?”
“No, I was going to do it with a partner.”
“Mhm.” Her lips twitched, pausing to tap the paper on her fingertips contemplatively, though her eyes stayed sharp. “Now tell me the real reason you’re bringing me along for this?”
For a heartbeat, he considered lying at the very least by omission, but he had already decided to involve her. There was no point in pretending this choice had been neutral.
“Dazai’s injured,” he said finally, and when that disbelieving look didn’t evaporate, he kept going. “...And Ranpo advised me to bring you in.”
“Did he now?” Her smile widened just enough to be dangerous “How thoughtful of him.”
Her tone was light, but there was a rough dryness under it that caught his ear. If she was amused, it was the brittle kind of laughter sharpened to cut rather than soothe.
“Is something—” he started, but she cut him off with a shake of her head.
“No, no. Nothing,” Yosano shook her head briskly. “Except I think it’s a terrible idea.”
“Well, in the end, I have the final say as acting President.” He hadn’t meant for the words to sound as stiff as they did, but they came out carrying the weight of his frayed patience nonetheless. “We need to get this done.”
Yosano’s eyes flickered down and her teasing smile dissipated almost immediately. Whatever flicker of amusement had been there was gone now.
“...So I’m ordered,” she said at last, the words wrapped in mock boredom not quite masking the thread of disdain beneath. “Whatever you say, Kunikida. I would have gone if you’d just asked, no need for the power trip.”
“I wasn’t–” He started, but without waiting for him to respond, she slid a scalpel from somewhere in her pocket and cut the top cleanly. Paper rustled softly as she unfolded the letter.
They both peered at the letter curiously.
The Renowned Armed Detective Agency,
There are things that cannot be spoken outwardly, though do heed that my patience is wearing thin. I gave your dear detective shoes to which he’s run everywhere but where he has shook hands with me.
Therefore, I have sent a diplomat who will arrive on the fourteenth to discuss in my stead. I will repeat our end to make it clear to all involved:
- We want full collaboration with the Armed Detective Agency
- Our end of the deal to be upheld
For your benefit, do follow through.
The Order of the Clock Tower,
-A.C
“Huh,” Yosano said, tilting her head slightly.
“Hmm,” Kunikida murmured, adjusting his glasses in a small, unconscious tell or a nervous tick.
“Well, I definitely didn’t make that deal,” he said after a moment. “If ‘A.C.’ has specified a detective, then I assume it’s Dazai.” His mouth thinned. “He must’ve made a detour in his timeline… Why on earth would he leave that out?”
“Likely,” Yosano said, the sardony returning to her voice. “This is interesting, though. I’ve never heard of an A.C. before. Is this their first time name-dropping anyone?”
Kunikida nodded, his thoughts turning rapidly. Not much was known of The Order beyond what they said publicly, and what was said publicly was always relayed through proxy— whether from a wealthy politician or hushed murmurs of criminal groups. They were never known to sign their name on virtually anything.
“Hmm…” He pulled his phone from his pocket, frowning at the screen. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“How so?” She blinked.
“Today’s the tenth, but they said they’re sending a Proxy on the fourteenth. They planned the timing so perfectly when we haven’t opened this letter for a week… how could they have taken that into consideration?”
Yosano frowned in turn. “Maybe it truly was purely out of consideration— they’re aware of the legal battles we’re facing, so they wanted to give us time to prepare, to entice us more into an alliance. We just ended up running out of it.”
“No,” he said slowly, “not quite. If they wanted to give us time, they’d have specified the month— next month, for example— to allow for planning. Instead, they implied it’s this month. And it would benefit them more if we didn’t have time to investigate— forcing us to grant them our audience if we’ve made a deal.”
Yosano rubbed her chin. “Well, we could just go and see if they show up. That would confirm it.”
“Yes, but it’s risky,” Kunikida drawled, clearly still on the fence.
“Ugh.” Yosano heaved a heavy sigh as she leaned back in his chair. “I wish Junichiro were still here. It would’ve made things a lot easier with Light Snow.”
Kunikida nodded tiredly— the first thing they managed to agree upon. “We may have a lead, though.”
He typed something quickly on his phone, then checked his watch instead of the screen, as though grounding himself in the tactile ritual.
"We have less than 84 hours to investigate.” He murmured. “No time to waste.”
When he looked up again, Yosano was already shrugging into her outdoor coat, her lab coat left neatly on the rack.
“Well?” she said, hands on her hips. “You’re going to catch a cold without one. Unless that’s your plan… in which case, I’d be happy to dissect you back to health.” Her eyes glinted. “How flattering would that be—”
“No.” he cut in quickly, grabbing his own coat with a bit more urgency than necessary.
—
For the first time since the conflict, Kunikida and Yosano bypassed the Agency’s downstairs cafe, the place where most of their unofficial briefings had taken place, in favor of something tucked away on a side street several blocks from the main drag.
The choice wasn’t random. It was littered with people inside and out, sitting at a dozen of mismatched tables and listening to a man playing his guitar outside. Conversations overlapped in both Japanese and a scattered mix of other languages..
Kunikida surveyed the interior once before choosing a table toward the back, the kind that gave him a good view of the door and most of the room.
The chatter was nice— the coffee, not so much to Yosano’s despair.
“Bleh–” she scrunched her nose, pushing the remaining espresso to Kunikida. “Tourist trash. All yours.”
He frowned, peering into the dark liquid. “...How many shots did you ask for?”
Before she could respond, the small ‘ding’ of the doorbell chimed again.
Kunikida’s gaze darted up instantly, tracking the newcomer. His foot had been tapping under the table for the past three minutes, and now it stilled, his shoulders straightening. “He was supposed to be here four minutes ago,” he muttered.
Yosano rested her chin in her hand, glancing toward the door without much urgency. “Hm. I thought being a government agent came with knowing how to be on time…”
“For you lot, you’re lucky I’m still entertaining my time.”
Both of them turned at the sound of the voice.
And then just stared.
Ango Sakaguchi stood in front of their table wearing one of the worst disguises Kunikida had ever seen outside of a middle-school play: low baseball hat and a fake mustache that was already peeling up at one corner.
“Is this a joke?” Yosano deadpanned.
Kunikida closed his eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of his nose before Ango even sat down. “How were you a spy?”
“It’s worked so far,” Ango muttered dryly, adjusting the mustache with the kind of grim dignity only someone long past the point of embarrassment could muster. “No one’s recognized me yet.”
“That’s because they’re too polite to stare,” Yosano snapped. “Or they think you’re doing performance art. And beyond that, why were you late? Were you tailed?”
“I had to use the bathroom.” His face had sobered up into something a little more serious despite the comical set up. “Something seems to have gotten you all paranoid. Don’t tell me there’s more of a mess for me to clean up now?”
Kunikida shook his head. “We just need information, it truly is for a case… we just expected a more dignified entrance.”
Ango exhaled through his nose. “You wanted to meet, well I’m here. Make it quick.”
Kunikida removed a neat folder from his coat pocket. “We received a letter, signed ‘A.C.’ from the Order of the Clock Tower. They claim a prior arrangement was made and have scheduled a meeting for the fourteenth.”
“Hm.” Ango frowned, adjusting his glasses. He didn’t even open the folder “Why has the Agency gotten involved with them?”
“We don’t know exactly,” Yosano admitted glumly. “But, we want to approach them with caution— avoid another Guild situation.”
“Yes, you’d best not get involved. ” Ango hummed. “The best way to describe them is… parasites wearing top hats and monocles.”
Kunikida’s voice didn’t waver. “We need everything you can give us on them.”
Ango’s brow furrowed beneath the brim of the cap. “The Order doesn’t leave much to dig up. Whatever you think you’ll get—”
“We’ll take what you have,” Kunikida interrupted.
“That’s assuming I give you anything at all,” Ango said, voice edged now. “You do remember that my professional association with the Agency is already… strained. If I’m seen with your group now, my loyalty is called into question. The only reason the government hasn’t frozen you out entirely is because I burned every ounce of political capital I had left getting you lawyers and stalling the prosecution.”
Kunikida didn’t look away. “We’re aware. And we’re grateful.”
“Grateful enough,” Yosano broke in smoothly, “to remind you that this is the last favor you technically owe us. We did, after all, save the world. Seems like that should buy us something.”
“You’re calling that in now?” Ango’s tone was flat.
“Yes,” She continued without hesitation. “Because if the Order wants to sink their teeth into us, you’re not going to enjoy the fallout either. They don’t stop at one alliance, they want to expand. And the only thing we all know is they have more than enough resources to do so..”
“You’d lose your job long before we did,” Kunikida added bluntly. “If their influence spreads here, the government will either capitulate or start a purge. Neither of those outcomes ends well for you.”
For a moment, Ango leaned back in silence, arms folded. His expression was unreadable beneath the shadow of the hat as he slowly placed it on the table. The mustache followed, landing next to them with a faint curl at one edge.
“This,” he said slowly, “could get all of us in deeper than you realize.”
“Then it’s good we’re talking about it now,” Kunikida replied.
Ango rubbed at his temple, then let out a resigned breath. “Very well. There’s one lead I can give you. Unfortunately, they’ve been under our radar as well.“
He grabbed a napkin from the table and pen from his blazer, popping it open with a click as he scribbled something down. He got up, not without putting back on his mustache and folding it to Kunikida.
“It’s not much, but there’s a retired member of the Order. He’s in Japan under witness protection. He refuses to offer the public sector any more details, but if you go in as privates he might budge. If anyone can tell you what you’re walking into, it’s him.”
“Thank you, Sakaguchi-san.” Kunikida gave a firm nod as he fiddled the paper in his hands.
“Don’t mention it.” He meant it.
They watched as he strolled out, ignoring the funny looks spectators gave at his mustache that was most definitely crooked now.
“I heard he was a triple agent spy.” Yosano hummed.
“How?” Kunikida muttered. “And he’s our only lead. Great.”
He sighed as glanced down at the scribbled writing. “Well, was. At least we have an address, all the way in Okinawa.”
Yosano sighed. “Then at least we have some time to do some digging on the train.”