Friendly rivalry

…

I suppose I should start from the beginning.

Before Yokohama, before the flight that carried me across the world, before my first disastrous encounter with Edogawa Ranpo—I lived a life of structure. A life dictated by expectation, polished to perfection by wealth and legacy.

Home was an estate on the outskirts of New York, a grand old-world mansion where history pressed in from every corner. The halls were lined with portraits of ancestors with sharp eyes and carefully neutral expressions, as if even in oil and canvas, they were guarding the weight of the family name. The library was vast, filled with first editions and forgotten manuscripts, but despite its treasures, it was never truly mine. Nothing in that house was. Not the heavy mahogany desk where my father conducted his business, not the sprawling gardens my mother tended to with meticulous care, and certainly not the future they had carved out for me before I could even speak.

My father, ever pragmatic, was a man who valued control above all else. Wealth was not to be squandered on passion or frivolity; it was to be cultivated, expanded, and maintained. My mother, a socialite with a penchant for perfection, had a different vision. She believed in appearances—the right schools, the right connections, the right reputation. And so, from the moment Lucy and I could walk, we were expected to embody both ideals: the power of my father’s empire and the grace of my mother’s world.

For the most part, I complied. Not out of devotion, but because it was easier. I excelled in my studies because I had to. I attended the right events, shook the right hands, and memorized the right answers, all while keeping my true passions tucked away between the pages of the novels I cherished. Books were the only place where I was allowed to exist without expectation, where I could be more than just a carefully crafted extension of my family.

But I wanted more.

The opportunity arrived in the form of an exchange program—one year at Yokohama City University. A prestigious institution, renowned for its criminology and literature programs. A place where, for the first time, I could study what I wanted without constant oversight. The moment I read the brochure, I knew I had to go.

My father had been reluctant at first, seeing little value in a degree that did not directly serve the family’s interests. But when I framed it as an expansion of our influence, as an opportunity to gain international credentials, he relented—with one condition. I would take business courses alongside my chosen studies. A compromise, a small price to pay for escape.

Lucy, as always, was my fiercest supporter. She had never been one for tradition, never cared for the rigid roles our parents tried to impose. Where I hesitated, she charged forward. "You’ll be fine, Poe," she had told me the night before our flight, sprawled across my bed like she had when we were children. "Maybe you’ll even make some friends for once."

I hadn’t responded. What was there to say?

And now, here I am. My bags are packed, my passport in hand, my future unfolding in a city I have never set foot in. I should feel nervous. I should feel uncertain.

Instead, I feel something else entirely.

Anticipation.

Tomorrow, I leave for Yokohama.

Tomorrow, my life begins anew.

…