Bungo Stray Dogs - Volume 3 Chapter 5 Part 4

Chapter 5 Part 4

When Fukuzawa returned to the lobby, Ranpo was proudly waiting for him with his hands on his hips.
“How did it feel?” Fukuzawa quietly asked Ranpo while walking over. “I feel…”
Ranpo paused with a bold smile, then raised his voice so that the entire lobby could hear him declare:
“I feel sooo much better now!”
Figured…
The lobby was jam-packed with patrons who had since been allowed to leave their seats. Some people were calling their family, some were fervently discussing the incident among themselves, others still were idly thinking back about what just happened. On top of that, the city police and the theater staff were busily running in and out of the room, dealing with the aftermath. Some people were angry, some were sad, and some were bewildered. Among the crowd, Fukuzawa thought, Thank goodness.
His mind was at ease. Nobody died, and Ranpo solved the case. The rest was trivial. There was a group of three women in the lobby crying. They must have been Murakami’s fans. While passing by, Fukuzawa overheard them saying, “I’m just glad he’s alive!” Fukuzawa basically felt no different.
Looking back, no one could have asked for a more logical approach from Ranpo’s peculiar stage detective work. Even if he just unveiled the truth and the criminal, the criminal would have run away, and the audience would have been traumatized after witnessing a murder. It would have ended only with some light shed on the circumstantial evidence, thus leaving a deep scar on those who worked with Murakami. Just uncovering the truth wasn’t enough. Dragging Murakami out in front of everyone and having him confess was an absolute requirement. But to do that, Ranpo needed Murakami, a born actor, to believe there was no use in hiding any longer. Nothing could have been better than using the audience to draw him out. Ranpo’s entire monologue was for that moment.
“Revealing the truth onstage was a brilliant idea,” complimented Fukuzawa.
“Right?” Ranpo proudly smirked. “I’d always wanted to scream out whatever I wanted, just once. Did you see the blank looks on their faces? Seems like everyone knows just how amazing I am now! Whew. As a master detective, nothing beats unraveling a mystery in front of a large group of people! Just a universal truth.”
Something wasn’t sitting well with Fukuzawa. “Wait. You unveiled the mystery onstage because—”
“I wanted the attention,” answered Ranpo with a straight face. It was as if he wanted to say, “Of course. Why else would I have done that?”
“… Oh, okay.”
“Anyway, these glasses are amazing! The moment I put them on, my mind gets sharper, and all deductions reveal themselves to me! Those Kyoto elites sure have some amazing treasures! I feel so alive. I finally understand who I am! With these glasses and my skill, nobody can beat me!”
Ranpo was gleefully scrutinizing the black-framed spectacles. Of course, it was all in his head. There was nothing special about them. Everything Ranpo did, he did himself. He figured out what really happened just from the little information he got in Murakami’s dressing room. It was an extraordinary achievement born from the hastily made fib that his ability was the reason why he knew the truth.
Fukuzawa suddenly remembered a question he had that still had no answer.
“I saw something vaguely square-shaped and metallic behind the lights, close to the ceiling. What was that?”
“Oh, that? Here.”
Ranpo picked up something he had leaning against the wall. “…Aluminum foil?”
“Yep. Just an ordinary square board. It’s a piece of reflector used for photography. Although it was used to temporarily mess with the investigation this time. I found it just lying on the ground in the shadow of a large prop on the stage wing.”

Fukuzawa groaned. It was light, so it could be easily pulled down with some string and taken home. The main reason Fukuzawa had thought there was an external device that had killed Murakami was because he’d seen the reflection. While it was only supposed to be a temporary decoy, it was created with very fine detail and thought.
“One more thing. How did you convince Ms. Egawa to help?”
Her transformation was significant enough to puzzle even Fukuzawa. She’d handled the lights with a smile and given the thumbs-up. How was Ranpo able to get on her good side like that?
“I didn’t really have to convince her to do anything. The moment I saw her, I knew she wanted to do stage production—lights, sound, that sort of thing. So I just told her I thought she seemed like she’d be good at it and asked if she could help. That’s all. She said she finally made up her mind and was going to start following her dream starting tomorrow.”
No wonder she was in such a good mood. Having one’s talents complimented by someone as gifted as Ranpo would probably change anyone.
“Good work, you two!” A city police officer briskly approached them and bowed. “That was beautiful; got me right here! When Watchdog here was checking the scene of the crime, I knew he was going to be able to solve this complicated case…but wow! I had no idea he was armed with a secret weapon! Mighty fine work, Detective!”
It was the young uniformed officer whom Fukuzawa was talking to earlier. Ranpo’s smug grin widened every time he was called Detective by the officer, while Fukuzawa’s expression was best described as dubious.
“Leave the rest to us. There’s still some paperwork that needs to get done, and we’ll need you to come to the station to outline the events for us, but—”
“An outline of the events?” asked Ranpo.
“Yep. Just a basic rundown of what you saw and heard that led you to solving the case.”
“Huh…? I mean, that’s fine, but my written statement’s just gonna say ‘Because I’m a skill user.’”
“A—a ‘skill user’? You mean like from the play?” “Uh-huh,” Ranpo said with a nod.
Oh, great. I wasn’t expecting that.

“Officer, wait. Allow me to handle the interview at the station. As you can see, Ranpo is still a boy. He’s new to this and exhausted from the investigation. He gave me his version of the incident, so I should be able to
—”
“The heck? I’m totally fine. If anything, I feel better now than when we got here.”
Ranpo curiously tilted his head. He was telling the truth. His skin had seemed to be glowing ever since he stole the show.
“Wait… This amazing young detective is a skill user?” The officer’s eyes opened wide.
“That’s right! The skill user capable of knowing the truth behind every case, the master detective Ranpo Edogawa!”
“Wait… Wait.” Fukuzawa stopped him in a fluster. “Ranpo, I wasn’t going to tell you this, but you’re not a skill user. You were able to uncover the truth through observation and reasoning alone. That’s why—”
“Huh?” Ranpo seemed bewildered. “What are you talking about? That’s impossible. Besides, you were the one who told me it was a skill in the first place.”
“Yes, but—”
“The reason I’m special is because I’m a skill user. Do you really think it would be possible for me to see things that others don’t, otherwise?”
“I sure don’t. I am just a dumb cop, though.” “Listen, you—”
“Oh, hey! Is that a police car?! Whoa! Are we gonna get in that and go to the station?”
“If that’s what you want, I can make it happen.” “Hold on. Listen to me.”
“Ha-ha-ha! You cops better start buttering me up while you can! I’m sure it’s obvious, but I could steal all your jobs! A skill that can solve cases is a godsend! On second thought, it’s better than that! It’s God itself! I am God!”
“Oh, I’m not worthy! Thank the heavens for bestowing you upon us!” “H-hold on, you two…”
Fukuzawa was at a loss. The lie he told to save Ranpo was slowly growing. At this rate, the white lie was only going to get bigger until the damage was irreversible.

However…
“I feel so alive. I finally understand who I am!”
When Fukuzawa first met Ranpo, the boy was a cynic who had turned his back to the world, but now he was carefree, smiling, and so full of life.
Forget it.
Just because it was his extraordinary mind and not a skill didn’t make Ranpo any less exceptional. If anything, his talents would make even a skill user goggle. So one could argue that he was being humble whenever he called himself a skill user. Besides, Ranpo wasn’t always going to be able to solve mysteries with such ease, and when that happened…was he going to find out the truth for himself? Or would Fukuzawa be there to break it to him?
That was when Fukuzawa finally realized his thoughts were heading in a bizarre direction:
—Ranpo solving more difficult mysteries.
—Fukuzawa, right there with him. “So we’re going to the station, right?”
Ranpo’s voice dragged Fukuzawa back into reality.
“I really wanna ride in the police car, but just thinking about doing paperwork and being interviewed is boring me to tears. I’m just gonna get in there and out in two seconds and go home. It’ll probably take forever to get it over with if you’re there, old guy, so I’ll go on ahead, okay?”
Fukuzawa didn’t reply.
“Hey, you listening? I’m leaving…?” “…Hmm? Oh, okay.”
Ranpo looked up at Fukuzawa for a few moments.
“Oh? I see… Anyway, about ready to go, Officer?” Ranpo asked before patting the officer on the back.
Absurd. Working together with Ranpo from now on? Solving cases together? Absolute nonsense.
However, Ranpo was truly extraordinary. Somebody had to protect that talent and utilize it to its fullest potential. On the other hand, Fukuzawa had always been alone ever since that one incident. He didn’t need anyone’s help, and he didn’t feel the need to work together with others. To Fukuzawa, depending on others meant there was something he lacked. Deliberately ignoring his own shortcomings and relying on others would only warp who he was.

He could also become a demon that killed others if his allies so requested. He could hardly even imagine teaming up with someone, let alone creating an agency and becoming its leader.
Many people had witnessed Ranpo’s talents bloom today. Nobody was going to put him on phone duty or make him run errands at a construction site ever again. Whether it be for good or evil, somebody was going to use Ranpo’s talents and do something big. Perhaps the day would come when he would rise to the top of some group of thieves or an illegal organization. But that day wasn’t today; therefore, it had nothing to do with Fukuzawa himself.
“I’m going to discuss the aftermath with Ms. Egawa,” Fukuzawa said to Ranpo. “You go ahead to the station. Officer, take good care of him for me.”
“You got it,” the officer replied with a smile. “Come on! Let’s go!”
Ranpo hopped over to the exit with mirth in his step, and Fukuzawa’s eyes were naturally drawn to him. All of a sudden, Ranpo stopped at the exit and turned around.
“Mr. Fukuzawa,” he said with a smile. “Thank you.” And just like that, he got into the police car and left.

Fukuzawa went to see Murakami after that. The dressing room was being used as a temporary interrogation room. Inside were three guards and Murakami sitting in the center. When the actor saw Fukuzawa, he feebly smiled before lowering his head.
“I’ve done a lot of things in my life, but this is the first time I’ve ever been handcuffed.” He showed the handcuffs around his wrists and smiled. “Everything’s an experience. This’ll only enrich my acting.”
Fukuzawa was both exasperated and impressed at the same time. It appeared that performers faced a fate incomprehensible to most.
“I have two or three things I want to ask you.” “Be my guest.”
“I want to see the device that made the blade come out of your stomach.”
“Oh, that? It’s over there.”
Murakami pointed at the device with his chin. Leaning against the wall was a thin, cylindrical instrument that looked as if a sheet of metal had been bent into a circle. It was as thick as a human’s torso, with piano string–like wire with a loop on the end sticking out.
Murakami explained how he wrapped it around his waist and hid it under his clothes. Then he ran the piano wire through his costume and pulled it to tug the metal plate over his stomach open. The metal plate was thin, and its surface was finely polished, which was probably what made it look like a blade under the powerful lights. It was a rather simple device to understand after hearing how it worked. It was a device only a theatrical performer would have thought of due to his familiarity with how props appeared to the audience.
“The biggest hurdle was seeing whether it would fool the first person who came running over,” Murakami boasted with a smirk. “I knew you were used to seeing dead bodies, being a bodyguard and all. That’s why I was cheering on the inside when my acting fooled you. It’s an accomplishment I’ll be proud of for the rest of my life.”
And as a result, everyone in the crowd was deceived, and the police were utterly confused. Fukuzawa couldn’t blame him, especially since he wasn’t the type to lecture others. He simply said, “You’re hopeless.”
“You could say that again.” Murakami smiled.
“There is one more thing I want to ask you,” continued Fukuzawa. “It’s about the man in the suit who was tied up and unconscious. Who is he? Why did you do that to him?”
“Oh, that guy? I heard he’s…another one of the plan’s objectives,” said Murakami with a shrug.
“You ‘heard’?”
“Yes. Originally, I came up with this plan with the playwright, Kurahashi, but he apparently had his own goals in mind. I don’t know all the details…but apparently that man in the suit rarely ever shows himself, so meeting him was one of Kurahashi’s goals or something. I wasn’t expecting him to catch the guy and tie him up, though.”
“What?” Fukuzawa knitted his brows, at which moment—

“The suspect! Bring me the suspect!”
—what sounded like pounding footsteps was immediately followed by the door to the dressing room being thrown open. A slightly older detective stood at the doorway, trying to catch his breath.
“What happened?” asked Fukuzawa.
“W-Watchdog! We’ve got big trouble! Has the suspect been here this entire time?!”
“He’s been under surveillance the whole time, as you can see.”
Fukuzawa glanced at the nervous-looking actor, whose eyes were darting back and forth between Fukuzawa and the detective. It seemed he had no idea what was going on.
“The playwright—he was found dead in his home! Somebody killed him!”
“What?!”
The detective spoke while trying to catch his breath, his eyes shaking with fear.
“The door to his room was locked, and something impaled him from behind—but there was no weapon or any signs of a struggle at the scene! It’s like an invisible person just came in and stabbed him!”