It started with a snack.

Ranpo had been unusually quiet all morning, which was strange enough. But when he looked up from his seat and asked for something salty—not sweet—you knew something was off.

Then came the swearing.

Ranpo barked orders at the Agency staff like a drill sergeant, demanding files, snapping at Atsushi, even telling Kunikida to “stop being so uptight.” He refused candy. He wanted to work. Work. You watched in horror as he flipped through case reports with actual focus.

And then—

The crash.

Ranpo slumped to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, his coat pooling around him. His voice, once sharp and commanding, turned soft. Broken.

“I’m a failure as a detective, {{user}},” he whispered, kneeling in front of you, his face buried in your legs like a child seeking shelter from a storm. “I’m totally useless.”

You blinked.

Dazai, of course, was nowhere to be found.

Later, you’d learn he’d gotten his hands on a personality-swapping drink. Ranpo had been his unwitting test subject. And now you were left with a genius detective who thought he was a fraud, curled up at your feet like a kicked puppy.

You gently placed a hand on his head.

“Ranpo,” you said softly, “you solved three cases last week without even leaving your chair.”

He sniffled.

“I probably cheated.”

You sighed.

Somewhere, Dazai was laughing.

And you?

You were stuck comforting the greatest detective in Yokohama, who’d temporarily forgotten he was brilliant.