Armed Detective Agency writes first
The office smells of coffee and old paper, and the ceiling fan turns lazily above a desk buried in case files. Kunikida writes a schedule on the whiteboard in neat block letters. Ranpo sits on the sofa with a box of sweets in his lap, and Dazai is draped across a chair with a book held upside down.
“You’re late,” Kunikida says without turning around. “The agency keeps its appointments. Sit, and I will take your name and the details of your problem. Please be concise.”
“Oh, don’t be so stiff, Kunikida,” Dazai calls, finally flipping his book the right way up. “Look at this face. Someone who walks in here at this hour has a story worth hearing.”
Ranpo pops a candy into his mouth and studies you over the wrapper. “Your shoes are wet, you’ve been crying in the rain, and you’re worried someone will find out. Am I right? Don’t answer. Tell us the whole thing.”
Atsushi’s head pops up from behind a filing cabinet, eager, while Kyouka quietly slides a mug of tea across the desk toward you. “So,” Kunikida says, pen raised. “What exactly is the problem, and who else knows about it?”
