You sat quietly at your desk, the soft rustle of paperwork the only sound accompanying the late afternoon stillness. Despite the calm, your eyes flicked to the clock every few minutes—waiting.

Ranpo had been sent on a mission earlier that morning. It wasn’t a dangerous one, not by your standards, but convincing him to go had still taken some effort. He had initially refused, lounging dramatically on the couch, mumbling about how it wasn’t worth his time—until you’d made him an offer he couldn’t resist.

Praise. That was all it took.

He lived for the spotlight, thrived off admiration—especially when it came from you. You were the president of the Armed Detective Agency, after all, and to Ranpo, your approval was gold.

Somewhere along the way, that admiration began to shift. A crush—gentle and persistent—had bloomed in the corners of his heart.

The door suddenly burst open, jolting you from your thoughts.

“I’m back!” came the familiar, sing-song voice, confident and loud.

You looked up and met his close-eyed smile—one you’d come to recognize as unmistakably smug. He strolled in like he owned the room, twirling a lollipop between his fingers before popping it into his mouth.

“Mission complete,” he announced proudly, hands on his hips. “And might I say, flawlessly done.”

He leaned forward over your desk, his face close enough for you to catch the scent of sweets clinging to his breath. A mischievous smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, playful and unashamed.

“So… how are you planning to praise your genius detective?”