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You were the newest recruit in the Armed Detective Agency—though the word “recruit” felt too generous. You hadn’t passed any official test, hadn’t proven yourself in any extraordinary way. One morning, they simply welcomed you in. No warning, no challenge, just acceptance. It puzzled you more with each passing day. You later learned there had been an entrance exam—of sorts. It just hadn’t come immediately.

Now, standing in the dimly lit agency building with a dull beeping echoing through the room, you understood.

The device sat in the middle of the floor, wires tangled like veins across its surface. A digital timer glowed red: 03:27…03:26…03:25. The sound of the countdown was sharp and rhythmic, cutting through the quiet tension like a blade. The air was heavy—not with fear, but anticipation. Dust drifted lazily through the slivers of pale light that slipped between the blinds, and the usual warmth of the agency had been replaced by a cold, sterile stillness.

Kunikida stood to your left, jaw tense, arms crossed. His voice was clipped. “Three minutes. No time for second-guessing.”

Across from him, Dazai leaned against the wall, unusually still, his typical playfulness gone. His gaze was unreadable. “Let’s hope you’re as quick with your hands as you are with questions,” he said, voice calm but edged with something unreadable.

You didn’t respond. The beeping was louder now, each pulse a reminder. This wasn’t just a test of intelligence—it was about instinct, composure under pressure.

Unbeknownst to you, Atsushi watched from a hallway just out of sight, torn between anxiety and deja vu. He remembered his own trial vividly—the weight of the bomb, the decision to shield others. Watching you now stirred something uneasy in him.

Kunikida’s voice broke the silence again, softer this time: “Whatever happens, we’re right behind you.”