Bungo Stray Dogs - Volume 3 Chapter 3 Part 6

Chapter 1 Part 6

Ranpo also mentioned his mother’s name, but Fukuzawa wasn’t familiar with it. Apparently, she wasn’t a police officer, detective, or even a criminal psychologist, but just an ordinary housewife. And yet, she was sharp enough to be able to run circles around the legendary Clairvoyant. She must have been one incredible woman.
“Anyway, so that’s why I’m here.” Ranpo pushed aside a bowl with leftover mochi in it, then said, “I have absolutely no idea what adults are thinking. Having said that, I have no home to return to, and my interview disappeared. I’ve got nowhere to go.”
There it was again. Fukuzawa felt as if something was off. “I have absolutely no idea what adults are thinking,” the kid said—and something about how that came across seemed vaguely wrong.
A naive only child raised by genius parents… This kid was different from the others. There was something about how his brain worked that was…extraordinarily different. Fukuzawa didn’t know how else to clearly express it, but it processed information more quickly than others. Most people would probably chalk it up to powers of deduction, but…even if the average person couldn’t understand him, surely the reverse wouldn’t be possible, that he couldn’t understand them? There was a decisive discrepancy.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Do I get points for every obvious detail I list in the end?”
Did this kid not realize he was special? That would somewhat explain his odd behavior. Ranpo knew the secretary was the criminal the moment he walked into the office, but the reason he didn’t speak up was because in his head, he thought the adults in the room all knew that as well. That must be why he kept rambling on about himself rather than the murder. Or perhaps it was because he had simply lived a sheltered life in a bubble with his parents and no one else. But even if this hypothesis were true, how would one explain that to this kid? “You’re special. You have something that others don’t.” But why? And how different exactly was he? How could it be proved?
“What’s wrong?” Ranpo carefully stared at Fukuzawa, but Fukuzawa just quietly shook his head.
What would even be the point of explaining things anyway? He was a stranger, after all. Fukuzawa and Ranpo’s relationship was to end here at this café. They just happened to run into each other at the scene of the crime, but their lives would soon take different paths once again.
Fukuzawa felt as if he had no right to give his opinion, let alone lecture the kid. There was an invisible boulder deep within him. It was hard, cold, and only grew heavier, squeezing his heart into a vise grip every time he got close to connecting with another human being.
The boulder was his past.
Wasn’t that the cause of such tragedy and bloodshed in the first place— getting involved in others’ lives while believing everyone shared the same ideals?
Fukuzawa had had enough of getting tangled up with others.
“Good work today.” Fukuzawa got out of his seat. “I’ll inform the police that you were the one who solved the case. I’ll also recommend you get compensation. If all goes well, you might even be able to slip your way into the police force… I know losing your parents is hard, but I’m sure you’ll manage to find somewhere you can succeed. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Ranpo suddenly grabbed Fukuzawa’s wrist as he went for the check. “…What?” Fukuzawa looked at Ranpo, who motionlessly looked right
back at him.
“…That’s it?” Ranpo asked. “What?”
“That’s it?” he repeated. “Isn’t there, like…you know? Something a little more tangible? Don’t you get, like…a lump in your throat when you see a wayward fourteen-year-old boy who lost his parents, is jobless, and has nowhere to go?”
Fukuzawa looked at Ranpo. Then he stared at the café table. From there, his eyes wandered to the nine bowls lined up on top.
“I sure do,” admitted Fukuzawa. “I still can’t believe you ate nine bowls of nothing but soupy red beans.”
“Oh, this was nothing,” Ranpo said boastfully, then almost immediately shook his head. “Wait! That’s not what I’m talking about! I’m talking about mutual aid—the spirit of helping one another! You can’t take connections like this for granted… Wait. Taken for ‘granite’? ‘Granted’? Uh…”
“‘Granted,’” Fukuzawa replied. “You’re right. Nine bowls of red bean porridge isn’t enough to help a boy in trouble. Here. Take this.”

Fukuzawa pulled a white business card out from his coat.
“What’s this?” Ranpo looked back and forth between the business card on the table and Fukuzawa.
“It’s my contact information. I somehow ended up becoming something like a bodyguard after helping out a few people whose lives were in danger. Get in touch with me if you’re ever in serious trouble. First job’s on me,” Fukuzawa said while inwardly sighing at himself.
I’m too soft. Even though I try so hard to avoid getting involved with others, I can’t stop myself from doing things like this. I want to be alone, but I can’t even kick a troubled boy to the curb. It’s true that I do owe him, but…
Ranpo quietly accepted the business card. Then, after bringing it close to his face and giving it a hard stare, he muttered “Hmm” to himself before heading toward the back of the café. He put some change into the pay phone, then began to dial the rotary. Fukuzawa heard something ring in his pocket—his work phone. He always carried it with him in case there was an emergency job offer. Fukuzawa had a bad feeling about this, but he placed the phone to his ear anyway.
“Please help me, Mr. Bodyguard, sir. I don’t have a job, and I’ve got no place to stay tonight. I’m going to die.”
Fukuzawa listened to Ranpo’s monotone through the receiver. He could also hear him from the other side of the café.
“……”
“I’ll die?” Ranpo repeated.
Why did he make that sound like a question?
“…Very well. I know a hotel that—”
“I don’t have a job, and I’m going to die.”
Ranpo cut Fukuzawa off midsentence. He held the pay phone with his back turned to Fukuzawa, making sure to avoid any eye contact.
Saying Fukuzawa was reluctant would have been an understatement. He imagined himself being swallowed by inescapable quicksand.
There was no work for a boy in the bodyguard profession. No need for clerical work or assistants, either. More importantly, what would anyone use this uncontrollable kid for even if they did hire him?
There was silence on the other side of the line. He was waiting for an answer. Perhaps someone other than Fukuzawa would have been able to come up with a sort of compromise. However, Fukuzawa didn’t want a boss or coworker. He didn’t trust organizations or other people. Even if that weren’t the case, talking to this kid tired him like nothing else. The best thing he could do for himself would be to rush out of the café and forget all about it.
“Then…come with me on my next job,” Fukuzawa said into the speaker. “I can’t help you, but my client was looking to hire someone. I’ll mediate. How does that sound?”
“Really?!”
Ranpo’s eyes lit up as he turned around. He looked at Fukuzawa and grinned ear to ear, receiver still in hand. Fukuzawa let out a brief sigh.
Neither a feeling of indebtedness nor an interest in Ranpo’s talents had anything to do with this. He was a stranger, after all. Fukuzawa just couldn’t ignore someone drowning in solitude before his very eyes. Ranpo was all alone. After losing his parents, he was thrown into a confusing world to wander without a path. He had no one to turn to and nowhere to go. He was merely surviving, existing.
Fukuzawa chose solitude, but this kid didn’t even get that luxury. Besides, there was no way Fukuzawa could reject him now after seeing him this ecstatic.
“Great! Now that that’s settled, let’s get a move on! First, I’ll just get my stu— Wait. First, I’ll wash my hands and— Wait, wait, wait. Before that, I wanna eat something a little salty! The inside of my mouth is so sweet that I can’t take it anymore! Hold this for me! I’m gonna go to the fried snack shop next door and get something to eat. Oh, hey! Actually, how about you go grab me something instead? Ugh, I’m so thirsty! Get me some tea, would ya, old guy?”
Ranpo was full of smiles.
A thought crossed Fukuzawa’s mind:
Maybe I ought to just toss him into the ocean.