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Kunikida makes for a shit liar.
He knows that about himself, it’s never been a skill he was able to hone. When confronted with a situation that requires a complete, unscripted falsification, his mind goes blank. He can’t come up with anything plausible to answer with, and even when he does, his body language betrays him. He does fine when given strict instructions, a well written script, but only if no unexpected variables are needed.
Thankfully, he’s excused from having to lie for the most part, at least where work is involved. It’s really quite simple, if lying is part of the mission, send literally anyone else.
So yeah, Kunikida can’t lie for shit, gets teased accordingly for it. But if there’s something he will give himself credit for, it's telling half truths.
He does it well enough to have been able to deflect any inquiries on the specifics of his time before joining the agency. When asked, he will simply mention his time as a part time tutor, maybe the ditched degree if he’s feeling generous. It’s the perfect story, really, one that doesn’t invite any follow up. It’s unremarkable and quite frankly, boring, and he’s more than happy with it.
It’s not that he doesn’t trust his friends, he’s not hiding anything maliciously. If any of them decided to really confront him about this, ask him direct questions, he wouldn’t put up a fight, it’s not like he could lie to them after all. Or they could try and piece his past together, using whatever unconscious behaviors of his that they’d picked up on over the years. Ranpo probably already has everything he would ever need to figure him out, and whatever gaps there might be left, he’s sure Dazai and Yosano have got covered.
Or they could turn to Fukuzawa. Kunikida still remembers meeting the man for the first time, introduced at whatever bullshit party he was forced to attend. The circumstances were rather unremarkable, he met a lot of people during events just like this one throughout the time living with his grandparents. All of said people were exactly the same, high status and military connections, oblivious to the harm they keep causing the world. Fukuzawa grabs his attention though, because of the look he can see on his grandfather’s face, the fakest of smiles, with irritation dancing behind his eyes.
This should be good.
Their first interaction is brief and dictated by the imposed etiquette, with Fukuzawa swiftly moving on to greet other guests. That doesn't deter Kunikida from seeking him out later, when the man is busy sulking on his own in the corner, looking vaguely uncomfortable and like he would rather be anywhere else. Kunikida will continue to seek him out for years after that night too, the fascination at the distaste Fukuzawa inspires in his grandfather soon replaced by admiration for the man. They just play go at first, little said between them, but it doesn’t take them a while to warm up to each other, surprising, given they both tend to keep to themselves. Kunikida isn’t sure why Fukuzawa decided to indulge him like that, why he agreed to teach him how to fight. Maybe it had something to do with the desperation pouring out of him, combined with what Fukuzawa knows about his family, but really, all that matters is that the man agreed.
So Kunikida learns how to fight hand-to-hand, Fukuzawa beating martial arts into him one intense fight at a time. The man wants to teach him kendo, but he refuses to even consider it, the way of the sword hitting a little too close to home. They don’t see each other too often, because Fukuzawa only comes to Tokyo once every few weeks, but he will take any excuse to leave the house, so he spends his time putting his new found skills to the test. He got into fights before, but now he actively seeks them out, coming back late with scabbed knuckles and ignoring the cold look his grandmother throws his way.
He makes quick progress and it makes Fukuzawa look at him with a combination of pride and worry, his face unreadable when he hears about the trouble Kunikida keeps getting into. He asks him if he enjoys the violence and he doesn’t really know what to say. He wants to tell him that no, no he doesn’t, that he doesn’t react unprovoked, that he only ever initiates where there’s a moral imperative to do so.
That would be a lie though, and lying is not something he has a grasp on, exactly.
So he admits to the thrill of violence, the pleasure found in the sound of broken bones and the power trip that makes him grin uncontrollably for long after the fight is done, the taste of blood still lingering inside his mouth. It’s a part of himself he’s vaguely disgusted with, but has a hard time letting go of, unsure if it’s even what he wants. It makes Fukuzawa look at him with something akin to recognition in his eyes, that quickly fades to worry.
(That worry will never fully disappear, even years down the line, after Kunikida finally finds a goal to channel his frustrations towards. Fukuzawa will continually tell him off for the way he conducts questioning, more or less turning them into interrogations, but he decides the effectiveness of his method is worth the trouble.)
Katai is not happy with him either, wary of Fukuzawa in the same way he always is when it comes to adults in Kunikida’s life. The suspicion lessens over time though, in part because really, Katai is probably the person benefiting most from what Kunikida learns. They both have a bad habit of running their mouths when they shouldn’t, but it’s Katai who always suffers the consequences. They’ve been friends since middle school, both of them outcasts, although for different reasons, where Katai is a standoffish recluse, Kunikida simply skipped a grade. Their friendship is easy though, both of them having little to no respect for the social hierarchy they have found themselves in.
Their abilities manifest within a few months from each other around the time they enter high school, and they proceed to use them like any teenager in their place would, testing their limits. Kunikida’s is much more handy in day to day life, turning any piece of paper into just whatever they can imagine and supplying them with whatever substance they decide to try next. Luckily Katai’s parents are almost never home, even on weekends, so they’re free to trip balls in the middle of the japanese style living room whenever they feel like it. They rarely spend time outside, Katai feeling most comfortable when hidden under his futon, but that’s alright with Kunikida, even if he does try to get his friend some fresh air every once in a while, by dragging him around shady Tokyo parlors.
They talk a lot, try to figure themselves out, serve as each other’s only confidants. Kunikida is there when Katai decides to get rich from hacking and nearly gets killed in the process. Katai helps him deal with the infection he gets after a badly done belly button piercing and lets him stay over when the fights with his grandfather start to turn into one never ending conflict.
This development was to be expected, they had never got along very well after all. He moves into his paternal grandparents house when he’s twelve and an empty shell of the child he used to be, the sight of his mother’s bloody wrists haunting him whenever he closes his eyes. His father is a distant memory, a casualty of war whose face he can barely recall, relegated to a medal now sitting on top of a living room shelf.
His father wasn’t the first in their family to serve the military, far from it. It’s a tradition that goes as far as they can trace their ancestry, one his grandfather keeps close to his heart. There are meiji era katanas hung in his office, the Tokyo residence a mixture of traditional and western, proudly recalling the samurai lineage. It’s strange, living in the city again, having spent the duration of the war in a sprawling summer house overlooking the Musashi plain.
He finds the military-like life rhythm he’s subjected to comfortable, he’s perfectly fine with a set schedule, it helps him manage his grief, neatly repress it, replacing it with tasks to fulfill. It also makes the first few weeks conflict free, his new guardians happy with the subservience, assuming it to be his standard disposition, but the impression doesn’t last. His grandfather decides something had to be done about his hair, writing the past the shoulders length off as a result of his emotional distress. Kunikida has no intention of telling him about how his mother liked to run her fingers through it, how she enjoyed brushing and braiding it, that it’s the one thing he has left of her.
They fight explosively, but it really doesn’t matter, because Kunikida is twelve and doesn’t get a say, so by the end of the evening his hair has been cropped close to his head.
If the haircut had happened under any other circumstances he probably wouldn’t have minded it, comfortable with the hair now out of his face, but instead he feels violated, whatever trust he’s managed to build with his guardians irreparably broken.
(He will spend the next ten years growing his hair out, if only out of spite.)
But the worst thing about living with his grandparents by far, is that for every fight, every disagreement, every difference between them, there is no doubt that he is a Kunikida through and through. His grandfather and him are similar in ways that make something inside of his stir uncomfortably. They’re both quick to anger, stubborn as mules and refuse to ever apologize, the tension palpable for days until a tentative calm takes its place. They both like to be in control, reacting badly to anyone trying to impose themself on them, unless they decide that person is worth their time. They’re the type of men his grandmother, a good wife and wise mother, was raised to handle. They even look similar, which is something that only gets clearer as time goes by, both of them tall and broad, with handsome albeit stern faces. Later he will try to blur the similarities out with hair dye and body modifications he’s legally too young for, but these can only go so far, his grandfather’s face staring back at him whenever he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
Another issue comes to the surface when he turns thirteen, and his grandfather decides it’s time he learns how to shoot a gun. It’s not just that he’s good at it, really good, it’s that he enjoys the power trip it gives him. It also makes life at home easier, his apparent proclivity for violence a reason to celebrate. His grandfather seems convinced it’s a sign he will follow in his footsteps, making a career in the military like so many men in his family before him, and Kunikida knows, deep down, that he’d excel in that path. That he’d make a good soldier and an even better general. This knowledge brings him dread, more than anything though, and he quickly decides he’ll do anything to avoid that, keeping that rotten side of himself hidden for the most part, until training with Fukuzawa coaxes it back out.
(He will have to confront it again after the sleazy Hunting Dog picks up on it, hoping to extort it in exchange for his hands. Kunikida will stand his ground, but the brief exchange will take more out of him than he’d like to admit.)
He can’t really just ignore this issue forever and somewhere between his vehement refusal to follow in his family’s steps and the stories Fukuzawa tells of his agency back in Yokohama he starts thinking that maybe a better world is possible, and that he could help to make it happen.
He constructs his ideals on negatives, on what he refuses to be. He can’t let pointless violence take over him, he can’t indulge in it just for pleasure. Instead, he will use it against those who cause harm, acting when nobody else does, he will do what must be done, whatever it might take. He can never be late again either, no matter how trivial something may seem. He was only a few minutes too late to save his mother after all, too much blood having already left her body for the paramedics to help her. He won’t allow for anyone to die in front of him ever again, not if he can help it. He won’t make the same mistakes again.
(Later he will add another section, one he will have a hard time judging objectively, or even justifying. Turns out some of his late mother’s friends have funny ideas about helping a teenage boy with grief, continually inviting him to work through it in the privacy of their own homes. The experience leaves him with a pit inside his stomach that he hopes the 58 points will help to fill.)
The notebook he decides to put his new found ideals in is a small, sleek thing, traditionally bound. He finds it in an inconspicuous stationary store, something about its thick pages calling to him. He caligraphs the cover himself and starts bringing it wherever he goes, if only as a reminder of his new goals. Fukuzawa’s face softens almost imperceptibly when he first catches a glimpse of it, and extends to him his first proper invitation to the armed detective agency, one that Kunikida declines for the time being.
He leaves his grandparents house the moment he’s able to, but Tokyo never stops feeling too small, as if the ghost of his family is waiting for him at every corner. University doesn’t seem to be the place for him anyway, tedious and pointless work, interspersed with heavy drinking and regrettable flings. He decides to take Fukuzawa up on his offer and moves to Yokohama, dropping out halfway through his second year, Katai tagging along with him. He cleans himself up too, if only a bit, by preemptively taking all his piercings out. They’re already a hazard during fights, but even worse, they’re unprofessional. He knows Fukuzawa doesn’t care, but he wants to make a good impression, unburdened by his life up to the current point.
The agency is strange, Fukuzawa and his two employees trying to fill up an office much too big for them. To say he feels welcome would be a huge stretch, so he opts for a part time employment, much to Fukuzawa’s thinly veiled disappointment, filling his spare time with tutoring, just to have a space to breathe.
Yosano keeps eyeing him like he’s a piece of meat for her to cut up. She mentions her ability with a wide grin that’s as sharp as a knife, suggesting he should visit her office at some point soon. He avoids it for quite some time, the innuendo acquiring a concerning shape given the amount of heavy weaponry she carries around. He can’t avoid her forever though, and she seizes the opportunity when he comes back with a gunshot wound in his arm after a fight gone wrong. He barely has any time to protest before she plunges a knife into his throat, butterflies appearing out of nowhere. The pain and inability to breathe are gone before he can process it, leaving him with nothing more than acute panic flowing through his veins.
He tries to get his breathing under control and looks up at her. She looks apathetic, if not a little smug, but the look gets replaced by shock after he thanks her, his voice thin and shaky, but earnest. He doesn’t know he’s the first person she got to use her ability on in years, so he doesn’t think about the interaction much, coming back to it only months later, when she decides to uncharacteristically open up to him.
Ranpo is another case altogether. He ostensibly ignores Kunikida for the most part, not speaking to him unless he’s absolutely forced to. It takes Kunikida aback at first, the older detective never giving him a chance to get to know each other, treating him with barely concealed scorn. If it was coming from anyone else, Kunikida wouldn’t let it slide, but the respect he has for Ranpo beats any anger or frustration. Ultradeduction is incredible, the reason as to why the agency exists and the main driving force behind it. And although Kunikida is nowhere near as smart as Ranpo, he’s still a detective, so it doesn’t take him long to find the source of his colleague’s discontent.
Ranpo gets particularly nasty whenever he sees Kunikida interact with Fukuzawa, when they spar in their free time or play go after work. He corners the president as soon as they’re done, trying desperately to bring the man’s attention back to himself, as if worried Fukuzawa is losing interest in him. The train of thought is ridiculous of course, as it’s clear to Kunikida that Ranpo holds a special place in the man’s life, his insecurities completely unfounded.
It seems Fukuzawa picks up on them too, unhappy with the tension between his subordinates. Kunikida assumes he must have talked to him in private, as somewhere during his second month at the agency, seemingly overnight, Ranpo warms up to him. Not much, but he’s not being openly vicious anymore and Kunikida counts that as a win.
His own relationship with Fukuzawa doesn’t change much though. They’re closer now, if anything, not separated by distance anymore. The president is gracious enough to not bring up his family life and agrees to employ him under the name he chooses to use. Tetsuo is what his grandparents called him, a name passed down in his family, but Doppo is how his mother always referred to him, the name she had wanted to give him.
The agency allows him to finally put his ideals to test, the biggest one coming in the form of the azure king case. To say it goes badly is to say nothing and Kunikida is left filled with regret and self loathing, feeling like the same useless child he swore to leave behind. 5 men dead and a child orphaned because of him, but he refuses to give up, the tragedy only corroborating the sanctity of his ideals, adding fuel to the fire that burns inside him. Despite his mistake, Fukuzawa welcomes him to the agency officially, voice sure and grounded when he tells Kunikida this is the place for him, accidentally awakening his ability in the process. All men are equal confines his own matchless poet to his small notebook, putting on limitations, but also amplifying the strength of his creations, now able to withstand more than a day in the form he gives them.
By the time Dazai Osamu enters the picture, he manages to put his adolescence decidedly in the past. He doesn’t speak on it nor does he think of it, the agency making him a blank slate. When asked about his time before joining it, he will talk about his brief part time job in teaching, the ditched degree and martial arts training picked up along the way. He will try to make his answers as comprehensive as they are boring, trying to steer the conversation towards literally anything else.
He can tell Dazai wants to ask and he’s not stopping him from it, but unless his partner's questions become specific, he will continue to stick with the way he chose to present himself up until now. After all, it’s not like Dazai was all that eager to share his own past with them anyway.
Regardless, if anyone really asks, he will open up no problem, but for now, he thinks, the half truths are enough.