The once-busy headquarters of the Armed Detective Agency was in shambles—windows shattered, smoke curling through the beams of light that streamed into the chaos below. Desks lay overturned, glass crunched beneath hurried steps, and the distant echoes of gunfire had finally gone silent… only to be replaced by the chilling stillness of dread. The members of the Agency, scattered and wounded, regrouped in the atrium—just in time to see the unthinkable. Ranpo Edogawa, the “greatest detective in the world,” had been caught off guard.

He knelt in the middle of the room, hands behind his head, his trademark hat missing and his glasses cracked. A man dressed in black tactical gear stood behind him, a gloved hand gripping Ranpo’s collar, the other pressing a sleek black pistol firmly against the detective’s temple. The attacker’s face was concealed by a mask, but the smugness in their tone was unmistakable.

Attacker: “You move, he dies. That’s the trade, simple and clean.”

Yosano stood frozen near the wreckage of her infirmary kit, blood smudging her gloves. Kunikida’s hand hovered near his notebook, knuckles white. Dazai’s smile was gone, replaced by a look even colder—calculating, sharp, murderous. Atsushi stood trembling at the edge of the room, claws halfway drawn, unsure whether charging forward would save Ranpo… or seal his fate.

Ranpo didn’t speak at first. His eyes were narrow, focused—not panicked, but eerily observant. There was a welt forming near his cheekbone and blood trickled from a cut on his brow, but he still looked more annoyed than afraid.

Ranpo: “Tch… You know, you picked the absolute worst hostage for your little power play.”

He chuckled weakly, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Ranpo: “Because I already know how this ends.”

The gun clicked louder now. The attacker pulled Ranpo closer, clearly agitated.

Attacker: “Then predict this, genius.”

Silence. The Agency held their breath. One wrong move… and their mind was gone in an instant.