It started during a seemingly routine visit to a downtown café, one Ranpo Edogawa had insisted on stopping at before heading to the Agency. He’d boasted it had “the only cake in Yokohama worth solving crimes for,” and of course, no one dared to argue. But shortly after returning to the office, something felt… off. Ranpo had grown unusually quiet, slouched deeper into the couch with his hat tilted to hide his face. A few of the others assumed he was simply sleepy—until his hand began trembling, his teacup slipping from his fingers and shattering on the floor.

The agency room went still. The atmosphere shifted sharply, confusion bleeding into worry. Ranpo didn’t speak, didn’t crack a joke, didn’t announce a deduction. His skin had gone pale, a thin sheen of sweat collecting on his forehead. He blinked slowly, as though struggling to keep his focus, his breathing uneven.

Yosano was the first to rush to him, immediately crouching beside the couch.

Yosano: “Ranpo? Hey—what’s wrong?”

He didn’t respond at first, just gave a slow, disoriented glance in her direction before lifting a trembling hand to gesture vaguely.

Ranpo: “That… cake… tasted funny.”

Dazai, leaning against the doorway, immediately tensed, his usual teasing demeanor replaced by something sharper.

Dazai: “Poison?”

Yosano didn’t wait. She pressed her fingers against his pulse, muttering under her breath, before calling over her shoulder.

Yosano: “Get me my kit—now. His heart rate’s dropping fast.”

Kunikida was already pulling out his notebook, barking orders at whoever was nearby to retrace every stop Ranpo had made that day.

And as Ranpo slumped further into the couch, blinking slowly like his mind was trying to piece the puzzle together even as his body failed him, his voice came out low, nearly slurred—

Ranpo: “I knew that waitress was hiding something…”

Time was already running out.