Chapter Text
Oda opens his eyes to find himself in a bizarre space.
Like it's been aflame, the sky blazes with a blanket of deep orange. Even the cosmos’ shades of purple and blue are invited to the flurry blend. It stretches far way beyond what Oda’s eyes can see, and from where the sky and the ground are supposed to meet, there is nothing but crystalline water beneath his feet.
Oh, he’s standing on water.
“Well, would you look at this! It’s Mr.Killer himself,” a cheery voice chimes. “Ah, but I guess it wouldn’t be appropriate to call you that anymore,—but habits are hard to get rid of you know! How about just Oda then?”
A raven-haired boy with a black cap and a long cape over his student uniform suddenly appears before Oda. The boy walks around Oda in circles as he takes a look at the man.“Fire this time huh?”
Oda gazes down at his tattered and burnt suit. “I guess?” He wasn’t sure what to quite make of the situation. He actually doesn’t remember much.
“The same as ever aren’t you,” the boy comments, a bright smile decorating his face. “I’m Ranpo!”
“Oda,” he greets back. “Nice to meet you, Ranpo.” The name sounds weird in his mouth.
“Great, now that we got the greetings over with, follow me!” The boy drags him by his wrist. “We don’t have much time together this time—which is good! But there’s no fun if we just sit around!”
Being dragged forward by a running middle-schooler-looking boy, Oda stumbles a bit in the process, but he manages. He should ask where this is, where they are going, and he should probably ask what's wrong with himself and who the boy is too, but Oda doesn’t.
Ranpo's swift dragging and firm yet careful grip around Oda's wrist made Oda reluctant to ask. It reminds him of his students before, when they didn't want him to leave but also didn't want to be questioned any further.
Right, his students…
Ranpo leads him to an empty bus stop. The sky dyes the bus stop with vibrant hues, saturating everything in its shades except the wooden bench.
A white bus arrives the minute they reach the bus stop as if on cue. They board the bus, and Oda notices that the interior is rather plain, with nothing particularly remarkable except for the closed gates to the seats. Strangely, there is also no driver onboard. Instead, there is only a box with a marble-sized hole on top of it in the front, accompanied by a small screen beside it.
“Do you know what to do from here?” Oda asks, pointing at the box.
“Huhh, noooooo, transportation is so complicated I can’t be bothered with it,” Ranpo whines back. “But I do have this.” He holds out a small red marble to Oda.
Oda takes the marble and drops it in the box. As soon as he does, the small screen beside it lights up, dispenses a ticket, and the gates open. Oda takes the ticket and they walk in.
Oda sits down on a random seat and examines the ticket in his hand. The number 347 is printed neatly on it.
“You know the stop,” Ranpo takes a seat right next to Oda.
Oda wants to object because really, he doesn’t understand anything right now. Whether this is all real or not, he doesn’t want to risk being the reason why a middle schooler—at least Oda thinks the kid is a middle schooler—got lost.
“You do,” the kid says again, this time more insistent than the last.
Oda concedes. He guesses he does then.
Silence momentarily fills the bus but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Despite how peculiar this place is, Oda doesn’t feel entirely out of place.
“So what are you this time?” Ranpo turns to face him.
“I’m a teacher,” he’s not sure what Ranpo meant by ‘this time’ but Oda replies nonetheless. “I teach high school students.”
Ranpo perks up, seemingly interested. “Tell me about that! How’s high school? How’re your students?”
“They are good kids. With the right guidance, they will become good people, and that’s enough.” Just enough snippets of memories return to Oda as he answers. “It’s stressful for everyone, but there are fun times too, or at least we try to.”
Oda’s gaze lands on Ranpo’s uniform. “You will do fine there, don’t worry.”
He catches Ranpo's body briefly freezing at his words, but the boy quickly regains his composure when Oda blinks again.
“Of course I will!” Ranpo turns to face the window. “Are we there yet?”
Oda sees Ranpo’s hand hovering over the nearest stop button. “It’s the next stop.”
“About time, I’m really getting tired of riding this bus,” Ranpo retreats back his hand and stretches them in the air.
Oda doesn’t voice that it's been barely a few minutes since they got on.
The bus soon stops in the middle of nowhere. There is nothing to be seen except the sky above their heads and the water below their feet yet Ranpo is fast to run out of the bus. Oda follows behind him as he walks into an endless horizon, with not a single destination to be seen.
Oda inspects himself while they walk. From the reflection of the water below him, he can see the soot on his face, the burnt strands of his hair, and of course, his less-than-presentable suit. He wonders how he ended up in this state and if any of it concerns the peculiar boy he's now with. It feels wrong to accuse a child, but the way Ranpo speaks as if they've met before, and how fictitious this place appears to be, Oda can’t rule the possibility out.
“I’m hungry,” Ranpo's comment interrupts Oda's thoughts. The boy scans Oda's appearance and remarks, “And honestly, I should be used to it now but you look terrible this time too.”
“…I’m sorry.”
Ranpo gives a childish grunt. “Stop that. I know it’s not your fault. If you really want to do that, you can pay for the food.”
Leaving him in even more confusion, Oda realizes somehow they’ve reached a diner.
He follows Ranpo to the only table in the restaurant, situated in front of a conveyor belt counter. Despite there being no one behind the counter, Ranpo still proceeds to write an order on a notepad, which he then drops behind the counter.
“Oh,” After dropping the notepad, Ranpo shifts to him in a moment of realization. “Sorry, I probably should have asked you what you wanted.”
“That would be polite, yes,” Oda replies. “But it’s fine. I’m not a picky eater and I don’t want anything.”
“No, you’re not,” Ranpo agrees. “Too late though.”
The conveyer belt rolls out a plate of curry and a ramune the instant Ranpo finishes his sentence. Ranpo takes the ramune and pops it open. He takes a sip, not making any indications to touch the curry.
Oda contemplates the plate of curry right before him, and wonders if it is for him or not. Wouldn’t it be such an odd coincidence?
“Stop thinking about it too much and start eating it already!” Ranpo frowns at him. He mumbles with a slight pout forming,” I just forgot to ask this time again…”
Oda complies with Ranpo’s demand and chooses to disregard the boy's not-so-quiet mumbling, reaching the conclusion that Ranpo might be oblivious to his own volume.
Oda takes a bite of the curry.
“How does it taste? Does it taste good?” Ranpo asks, his own bottle of soda not even half finished.
“No.” Oda shifts his attention to Ranpo, about to answer the boy’s question. “It tastes—”
Until he sees Ranpo sitting on the table, cape sprawling around on the surface, wearing an expression that says he knows what Oda is going to say next, yet still appears willing to listen.
The scene overlaps with memories in Oda’s mind.
Just where else had he seen someone sitting atop a table like that before…? Where had he seen that all-knowing expression before? The memory blurs in his mind like a long-forgotten one, covered by dust. What is it? Who is it?
“Oda?” Ranpo leans toward him, probably wondering why Oda suddenly stopped replying.
Oda catches Ranpo by the arm with his free hand. “Have we—” He takes a deep breath. “Have we met before?”
He watches as the boy’s eyes open, those forest-green eyes mirror Oda’s reflection like glass. An overwhelming sense of inferiority engulfs Oda, and he feels small; much smaller than he had ever felt, as if kneeling before a higher being—a God, even.
Ranpo breaks into a grin. “Oda, you are the slowest out of everyone when it comes to remembering, and even after all this time it hasn’t changed.” He places a hand on Oda’s shoulder. “But as the genius protecting everyone, I will graciously forgive you once again!”
With a force that catches Oda off guard, Ranpo shoves him out of the chair. Oda staggers, surprised by the unexpected strength of the smaller boy.
“It was nice seeing you again, but I don’t want to see you again for the next 60 years or more okay?” Ranpo says, watching as Oda falls into the water. His voice is cheerful but already reminiscing. “You better be a shrunken old man with tons of wrinkles the next time we meet!”
Oda hears a loud splash as he plunges completely submerged underwater. Ranpo stands above the water, his image slightly distorted by the ripples. Despite this, Ranpo remains perfectly still, except for the gentle swishing of his cape. He stares back at Oda with a serene smile and mouths, "You'll be okay.”
Ranpo…
Oda thinks again. His eyes now growing heavier along with his heart. He knows now, the name tastes like an apology too late, an unwanted gratitude that he wishes he’d never had to say.
Oh, he never got to answer Ranpo’s question.
The curry didn’t taste nice at all despite how appetizing it looked. When Oda had taken the first bite, he questioned what was used to make the curry, and whether or not whoever cooked it even knew how to cook.
After all, how could a curry taste so—
Oda's chest feels like a boulder and he knows that if he gives in to the temptation to let his eyelids fall, his heart will stop beating as well.
—bittersweet.
Oda loses in the end.
He wakes up again, greeted by the soft humming of a fan and the beeping of a heart monitor.
Everything hurts. His skin stings, his eyes feel way too dry, his lungs feel like it’s working overtime—everything.
He was trying to rescue students from a fire before he collapsed from inhaling too much smoke.
But then…then…and then what?
Oda feels something in his palm. He gazes down and finds a ticket in his hands. It reads 347.
Oda feels like choking. He doesn't remember. Why can’t he remember?
-
From where Oda fell into the water a blood-red marble appears. The red dissipates from the marble.
Ranpo picks it up and raises it to the sky. The transparent marble mimics the orange hues of the darkening sky.
“He never finishes the curry,” he pouts. “Always leaving it here, all cold and lonely.”
Ranpo picks up the plate of curry and dumps it into a nearby trashcan. “But that can’t be helped, it is my fault in the end.”