At seven in the evening, inside the Theatrum Mundi.
"I'm sincerely grateful that I can sit here peacefully and watch a stage play."
Asou Akiya said this with heartfelt emotion.
What had happened in Yokohama during the day was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat—truly a nerve-shattering ordeal. Fortunately, the well-behaved Chuuya had called him; otherwise, he would never have known that leaving Ranpo unattended for just a short while had sent the boy hurtling down the path of freeloading meals and scamming a rich woman. Where on earth did he even learn this kind of thing?! He never picked up the good habits—only the behaviors Akiya used as negative examples!
He himself was nothing more than a working corporate drone struggling to put food on the table!
There was no way this was his fault!
Randou and Akiya were seated in the VIP section of the Theatrum Mundi—essentially a private box positioned high behind the main audience seating, offering a clear view of both the spectators below and the stage ahead. Randou had just finished mocking how undeserving the theater was of its grandiose name when he heard Akiya's sigh of relief and teased him lightly. "Weren't you very confident about arranging things for Ranpo? So you can mess up too?"
Asou Akiya rubbed his face and replied, "How could I ever be a match for Ranpo? It's just that he flatters me, puts a filter on me by default. I only managed to keep him in check by relying on some informational advantages."
Randou laughed nonstop at that explanation. "As a guardian, you're really admitting that you're inferior to a child?"
Akiya answered seriously, "Ranpo's mind is truly extraordinary."
Randou intertwined their fingers, lavishly praising his lover within the private box. The Frenchman had a clear grasp of the hierarchy at home. "In my eyes, Akiya is the most amazing of all—the kind of 'adult' Ranpo has always wanted to grow into."
Asou Akiya felt his heart float at those words, only to be yanked back into icy reality a moment later.
This time, he was definitely going to be scolded harshly by Mr. Natsume.
A blunder in the script.
The road for this fake "diamond" to become a real one was far from easy.
"Randou, let's watch the play," Asou Akiya said. The moment he thought of Ranpo's talent for causing trouble, exhaustion welled up in him. At the same time, he remembered his original reason for bringing Randou to the theater—to use the play itself as a way to explain the fundamentals of ability users.
"Has the play already started?" Randou toyed with the thin calluses on Akiya's fingers.
"It has," Asou Akiya's eyes suddenly lit up, and he began to explain the story in a gentle voice. "The first act: the audience gradually arrives. Two partners receive news and come to investigate the truth behind a murder warning letter."
Before the eight o'clock performance officially began, Fukuzawa Yukichi arrived just in time, carrying his accompanying cat.
"I heard you received a murder warning letter here?"
The police were unable to determine the cause and had no leads whatsoever, so in their urgency they sought outside assistance. Fukuzawa Yukichi, who had close ties with the police department, took on the responsibility of safeguarding the theater and met with the theater's female manager, Ms. Egawa.
The manager was immediately offended by Edogawa Ranpo and was furious beyond measure.
However, with human lives at stake and the safety of the theater on the line, she swallowed her anger and led them backstage to question the actors.
"The second act: backstage, each actor performs their own little drama."
Asou Akiya spoke as if delivering a prophecy. One by one, the actors responded to the murder warning letter with words that seemed careless and unconcerned.
Each of them hid the truth beneath a veneer of falsehood.
"How interesting."
Randou was drawn into the mood of the play by Akiya's narration. He listened intently, resting his cheek in his hand, as though countless actors had already taken the stage in full costume on an invisible platform—yet to the audience below, the time for the play had not yet arrived.
"The third act…" Asou Akiya continued.
"Eh? Akiya, I see someone I know," Randou said before Akiya could go on with the story. His sharp eyes caught sight of a French woman entering the audience. "This person—was she within your expectations?"
"I don't know her," Asou Akiya replied instinctively, then immediately grew alert. "Randou, do you know her?"
Randou said, "Why are you so tense? Afraid I might be having an affair?"
Asou Akiya choked on his words.
Randou kindly explained, "I don't have any acquaintances in Yokohama. I just happened to come across a French compatriot being dragged into an alley, so I fulfilled my duty as a man and rescued her. That's how we became acquainted."
Asou Akiya asked, "What's her name?"
Randou answered with an air of indifference, "The young lady didn't mention her surname. Her name is 'Catherine.' Her family has some standing in France. After thanking me for saving her life, she helped me publish a few poems in mainstream newspapers."
Asou Akiya searched his mind for the names of notable female literary figures and found no match.
She was probably a nobody.
Truly world-famous female literary giants were, after all, quite rare.
"Akiya, go on with the story," Randou said brightly. "I want to see the story as it exists in Akiya's eyes." As someone who never considered himself especially gifted intellectually, Randou was eager to experience the world of the cerebral. The world Akiya had sketched with just a few words had already whetted his appetite—he wanted to sit in the VIP seats and listen to a VIP story.
Asou Akiya naturally agreed, adopting a god's-eye view as he narrated. "The third act: the detective discovers a crucial detail…"
Backstage, Edogawa Ranpo still wore an expression of deep displeasure.
Fukuzawa Yukichi said, "Your guardian has entrusted you to me. For the next few days, you'll stay nearby while I work. Once your guardian comes to take you back, my task will be finished."
"What task?" Edogawa Ranpo shot back. "Akiya didn't pay you, did he?"
Fukuzawa Yukichi drew a deep breath. He could not stuff the boy into a sewer; he had to patiently discipline this little menace.
If you were going to sell something, then instead of selling your body… you might as well sell your brains.
"It's free," he said curtly.
As for any other costs, he would collect them from Ranpo's guardian.
Edogawa Ranpo clicked his tongue under his breath and muttered, "Hurry up and wrap this up, silver-haired old man. It's already so late—there are only two hours left before bedtime."
Fukuzawa Yukichi glanced at him in surprise. "You usually turn in that early?"
Ranpo replied matter-of-factly, "When I'm at Akiya's place, I always get into bed at nine-thirty and fall asleep at ten."
Thinking of a child's growth and health, Fukuzawa Yukichi said with understanding, "The play ends at ten. I'll do my best to take you to rest as soon as it's over."
The moment Ranpo heard that he would have to stay up late, he started making a fuss again—only to be firmly suppressed by Fukuzawa Yukichi.
"If you want to go to bed earlier," Fukuzawa said coldly, "then analyze the murder notice for me."
"What's there to analyze?" Ranpo said lazily. "Someone's going to kill someone."
"You're saying… there will be a murder?"
"Of course. If no one was going to be killed, why would they bother sending a notice?" Edogawa Ranpo said. "It's written perfectly clearly: 'In the truest sense of the word, the angel will kill the actor.' If Akiya were here, he could probably point out the culprit directly."
As he said this, Ranpo visibly deflated, his shoulders drooping. "The gap between Akiya and me is really that huge…"
Fukuzawa Yukichi: "..."
This was bad. Someone this impressive—how on earth was he supposed to work up the nerve to go and beat up Ranpo's guardian?
The actors backstage overheard their conversation and were immediately intrigued. Even Murakami Tokio, the male lead who had been repeatedly rehearsing his lines, couldn't help but cut in. "Are you kidding? How could there possibly be someone that smart?"
Edogawa Ranpo argued back, "From the moment you step into the theater, so much chaotic information floods in. If it were adults, they'd definitely be able to pick out the correct information from all of that, analyze it, and lock onto the culprit. I'm not capable enough, so I can't do it—but my dad, my mom, and Akiya all can! They have reasoning abilities far stronger than mine!"
Fukuzawa Yukichi felt a tangle of emotions rise in his chest and thought, Is this the world as seen through the eyes of a genius?
Better not think about it anymore—the more he thought, the more unsettled he felt.
When it came to dealing with people, reason came first!
After questioning every actor who was about to go on stage and finding no useful information, Fukuzawa Yukichi grabbed Ranpo and dragged him outside.
"Ranpo," he said, "you claim your abilities aren't sufficient and that you can't see through the real culprit in a short amount of time. But if I give you enough time… do you have a way to solve this?"
"Is there anything in it for me?" Ranpo asked.
"The benefit is I'll find you a place to stay, and on the way back… I'll carry you on my back."
Remembering how much Ranpo had dawdled on the way there, Fukuzawa Yukichi practically ground his teeth as he spoke—he had carried this lazy, food-loving little brat on his back four times already!
Edogawa Ranpo was no longer the country bumpkin he used to be; his horizons had widened, and his standards had risen accordingly.
"No! I want the silver-haired uncle to apologize to me!"
"Apologize?!"
"You turned me down, so you have to apologize. You're the temporary meal ticket Akiya picked out for me—you have to take responsibility for being a meal ticket!"
"…Hah… fine…"
At that moment, Fukuzawa Yukichi once again steeled his resolve to meet Ranpo's guardian in person.
A certain someone had just been firmly locked onto his hatred meter.
Asou Akiya, utterly unaware of all this, continued doting happily on his beloved. "The fourth act— the play is about to begin. The script is titled 'Paintings and Dreams, Night Made Manifest…'" His gaze swept over the audience seats; they were nearly full. Most of the attendees were young women, drawn here by the widely known male lead, Murakami Tokio, who was the star of the moment.
At eight o'clock sharp, the bell rang, and the broadcast began announcing for all audience members to take their seats.
Fukuzawa Yukichi led Edogawa Ranpo into the auditorium. Ranpo's eyes drifted, quite unintentionally, toward a particular private box.
"Is that the privilege of the rich…?"
—No, that is the privilege of your guardian.
Before long, Ranpo's attention was drawn once more to the figure of Miss Catherine, and a flicker of unease surfaced in his eyes. Everything that had happened today felt strangely guided, as though an adult were helping a child learn to walk—yet the moment the child stepped in the wrong direction, a small orange cat would bare its teeth in warning from behind.
No matter how he resisted, would he still end up here in the end?
Just what kind of play are you trying to show me?
Adults are terrifying.
After running through a perfectly self-consistent chain of logic in his head, Edogawa Ranpo spoke with exaggerated sorrow, "Silver-haired uncle, I'm interested now! I want to watch it all the way through, from beginning to end! No leaving early!"
Going home, he would almost certainly be made to write a full reading-comprehension report on the play—far too difficult. Akiya was always piling on assignments like a madman.
"…Oh."
Having suffered enough at Ranpo's hands, Fukuzawa Yukichi answered flatly. In his mind, he practiced fifty different imaginary ways of throwing a cat—give him just one chance, and he could hurl the brat straight into Yokohama Bay.
No. That wouldn't do. His actual mission was to keep watch over the surroundings and prevent a murder from taking place.
Fukuzawa Yukichi forced himself to focus on every detail.
Geniuses rely on talent; ordinary people rely on effort. Where there is human will, there is a way—he could not afford the slightest carelessness.
From the aisle behind them, a middle-aged gentleman in a suit walked in and took a seat in the corner at the back. He carried a cane, his figure lean, a hat perched on his head, looking utterly out of place among the younger crowd. Those eyes—eyes that seemed capable of seeing straight through a person's heart—were likewise fixed on the VIP box.
He gave a soft snort, murmuring his displeasure to himself in a voice no one else could hear.
"When did you discover the connection between the V Organization and the theater?"
"Your analysis is sharp, but your overall layout is laughable—you still need me to guide things back onto the right track."
"All you ever know how to do is flirt and fall in love!"
…
"The fifth act: a tedious play unfolds. The actors represent angels fallen into the mortal world—that is, humans—and they seek a way to redeem themselves: to find angels who have likewise passed through the dust of the world yet succeeded in washing away their sins, to reclaim their power at last, and return once more to Heaven…"
"Within this story, the so-called true angels are, in fact, ability users."
"Randou, this play is telling a story in which ability users sit in judgment over humanity, declaring that humans themselves are guilty."
"Doesn't it sound like an amusing, even absurd tale?"
Inside the VIP box, Asou Akiya paused his narration and, with evident interest, turned his attention to the play as it formally began onstage.
The surrounding lights dimmed, and the stage became the sole source of brilliance, dazzling and absolute.
In the darkness, Randou spoke softly.
"Akiya—do you like ability users, or do you hate them?"
"Of course I like them—!"
Asou Akiya looked back at him. Though the darkness made it impossible for his eyes to clearly discern his lover's expression, he relied on their deep mutual understanding, gazing as if straight into the soul of the long-haired French youth.
"This world is so much better for having people like them in it. And having you—having you here—is the best thing of all!"
A life as dull and stagnant as dead water—
That is what true despair looks like.
Randou, can you see it? The madness and anticipation written across my face. I want you to revel for me, to lose yourself in celebration for my sake, while I cry out in sheer, ecstatic fortune.
To have come, in this lifetime, into a world where literary giants wield extraordinary powers—
And to fall in love with you, who should have belonged to the nineteenth century!