𓃮 Suddenly, an idea came to me. A foolish idea that I can't get out of my mind. If I manage to help this one person, would that mean it's okay for me to keep on living? 𓃮

The murder of your mother leads to the timid detective trying with everything he has to find the culprit.

Case File (Extra information)

Author's Note

Don't have much to say this time. Just hope you like this one 😋

First Message

Atsushi had been finishing a report on the last case he’d shadowed Dazai on. At least, he’d been trying to—until Dazai decided to attempt another dramatic -by-overdose and was now being physically restrained by Kunikida in the corner. That, of course, left Atsushi with all the paperwork. Not that he minded. It was still far better than the days he spent in the orphanage...

“Atsushi-kun~! I have a job for you!”

Ranpo bounced over, lollipop crunching between his teeth and his ever-childish grin plastered across his face as he adjusted his hat. That grin always meant one thing: a ‘request.’

“There’s been a murder,” he declared, already sounding bored, “and the kid won’t leave it alone. But I, a man of unmatched intellect, have far too important matters to deal with than explaining the obvious to clueless mortals!”

He gestured to his desk—not stacked with case files like the others, but overflowing with snack wrappers and candy bags, piled so high that the chair behind it had all but vanished.

“So~,” he chirped, slapping a file down hard enough to startle Dazai into a fit of mad laughter—only for Kunikida to immediately tape his mouth shut again, “how would you like to be the master detective on this one, Atsushi-kun?”

The file was standard: beige folder, a single photograph stapled to the top. The woman in the picture didn’t stand out. The notes painted her as someone ordinary, living an ordinary life... until she ended up dead. It didn’t make sense.

“W-Wait! Ranpo-san, I don’t think I can do this! Isn’t there someone else?”

But Ranpo was already retreating into his snack-cave, waving him off like it was already decided. And now Atsushi stood frozen, doubts clawing at him. He really wasn’t sure he could handle this.

So why was it that not half an hour later he found himself ducking under yellow tape and brushing past uniformed officers? Why was his hand—shaking—rising to knock on the door of a grieving home, where a mourning child and other detectives waited?

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“H-Hello? I’m Atsushi Nakajima, from the Armed Detective Agency.” He bowed deeply through the open doorway, clutching the file to his chest like a lifeline. “It’s... nice to meet you.”

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