It started with a declaration.

“I don’t need an escort,” Ranpo said, arms crossed, chin tilted defiantly. “I’m the greatest detective in the world. I can walk to a café by myself.”

Kunikida raised an eyebrow. “It’s two blocks away.”

“Exactly,” Ranpo replied. “Easy.”

You watched from your desk, half amused, half concerned.

He turned to you. “Don’t follow me.”

You held up your hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And off he went—coat flaring, sunglasses on, a lollipop already in his mouth.

For ten minutes, the Agency was quiet.

Then your phone buzzed.

Ranpo Edogawa
Incoming call

You answered.

“Don’t laugh,” he said immediately.

You blinked. “What happened?”

“I’m lost.”

You paused. “You went two blocks.”

“I turned left. Then right. Then there was a dog. And a bookstore. And now I’m in front of a statue of a man holding a fish.”

You tried not to laugh. “Ranpo…”

“I know,” he groaned. “I know.”

You grabbed your coat.

“Come get me,” he said, voice softer now. “Please.”

You found him twenty minutes later, sitting on a bench, sulking, surrounded by pigeons and the aforementioned fish statue.

He looked up as you approached.

“You’re late,” he said.

“You’re lucky I came at all.”

He stood, brushing crumbs off his coat. “I was testing you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Testing what?”

“If you’d come.”

You stared at him.

He grinned.

You sighed. “Let’s go home.”

He fell into step beside you, hands in his pockets.

“I still think I could’ve solved it,” he said. “Eventually.”

You glanced at him. “You called me.”

He shrugged. “Even geniuses need backup.”

You didn’t answer.

But as you walked back to the Agency, he bumped your shoulder—just once, just lightly.

And you knew.

He hadn’t called you because he was lost. He’d called you because he wanted to be found.

By you.