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Cold, damp, empty.
these streets once were remembered as that, from the mind of the individual who's been roaming them for 12 years. A man in his mid twenties, raven hair, rosy skin, with a limp figure, his brain being the opposite of limp, which also gives him reason to call himself 'the greatest detective in the world'--and yes, this is quoted from him.
as feet stride across the pavement, the figure looks around, taking the scene in. Of course, he's seen these cemented roads long enough, but he's never actually realized everything that's changed. His memories charge in, lights all around him speed past, circling his figure, and did he mention they were excruciatingly fast?
As everything muffles out, the first thing he notices is a change of color from the warm lights to grey hues. Well, there's rain too, but it surprisingly doesn't reach him by an inch. He looks around, and sees a young boy, with unruly hair and disheveled clothes, that seems to be his only pair of, around the age of his youngest coworker. He can't recognize him, but the boy feels familiar. like he's seen him before.
He tries to call out to the kid, but he can't. He can just watch, as the boy sits down in the rain, head down, hugging his bag. The man can't help but feel unexpected pity, seeing this view, not being able to move, to help. Which was intriguing. He never really felt for anyone, save for a few people he saw at their worst.
He tries to reach out, but before he can, the lights zoom back, and the cityscape changes--this time grey with hints of green and yellow. The boy is with a man, one that the detective recognizes. The man's face belonged to and is Fukuzawa Yukichi, the president of his agency. He deducts they are walking towards a mission, specifically the young president's. Usually he'd be interested in Fukuzawa.
But he felt inclined to follow that mysterious boy's story.
Various settings come after another, each one dyeing more colors. The next added blue, for the sky, and similar to the president's more metallic eyes. He wishes he could see the kid's, always sealed shut--like the detective himself. And then came another memory, with a new addition.
Yosano Akiko. And the addition of purple. How was she connected to the boy? How were they all connected? Could this detective even call himself one if a simple mystery's answer was kept locked away from him? He tensed at the thought. Whatever. He'll figure it out, even with a damaged ego. This boy grew, doubts and worries that wrinkled his face stained with calm and gratified expression, the more walks back to the alley, and getting dangerously close to this spectator's age. Why was he here again?
Wasn't he supposed to be in the agency by now?
Minutes pass, his interest (surprisingly) doesn't falter. Each memory of this 'child' feeds his deductions--and suspicions, on who this is. As he assumes the boy is at his early twenties now, he seems to gain a hat. A brown one, slanted just the way the detective's is. He's with the president again, chatting about a solved murder, which he assumes the boy was at. And the man listens in; hoping those lights don't fly past him again.
"-nd then of course I got it in less than a minute, I think I'll break my record the next time, you know?"
"That's great,"
His name. He'll find out now.
"Ranpo."
What?
Oh.
That's him. That's him? That small, peculiar boy who he was intrigued by? The one he directed a wrinkled face full of cringe after listening to a joke he made? (Everyone laughed, painfully forced, which was obvious to him and that boy, I guess.) Wait, he can't call him 'that boy.' That's him. And it's awkward. He never really realized anything when he was younger. The way everyone would look in admiration, (if he didn't insult them before he says anything) when he solves a case,
When people didn't even look at all, yet he remembers the discomfort of thinking he was murky and deviated from them, thinking of them as baneful and judging, as if he was a laughing matter.
And he goes back to the thought;
That's him.
The one who helped the president create this agency, the one who interviewed the new hires, the one who introduced people to a new start, the one who got saved himself. That kid who had intelligence on par with gifteds, who thought he was a gifted himself. That's him. With mistakes, with flaws, and with imperfections. He failed, and it hurt, but he never truly lost. His family faded once, but he built another, with others who also failed. That's him, Ranpo. Edogawa Ranpo. A person who doesn't care for evil or good, but for people he doesn't want to lose.
His surroundings go back to normal, as he walks back to the agency, a smile on his face, not smug, or pride. A smile. Just a smile.