Lucky DICE
My take on the PhantomThief!Ouma AU (even though I have multiple takes in my docs so really this is more like just a DICE with Komaeda in it AU) based on the prompt in this Youtube short. It's meant to be a whole mystery-esque sorta thing? with some unreliable/misleading elements. The plot's roughly there (plot is really hard for me) but I'm hoping to fledge it out more maybe.
Shuichi tentatively roams the admittedly modest lair, equipped with the darkness of night lit only by a window. Rooms lead out from beyond the table that sits proudly beside a large retractable screen. Closed doors are lined with messages etched into their frames: names of DICE members, as well as personalized touches in the form of stickers and drawings.
The detective would find all of it honestly endearing if it wasn’t for the fact that they belong to the crime organization that’s been terrorizing the city for a while now. But seeing these hints at people, perhaps young, he begins to wonder- not for the first time- if he’s missing something intrinsically apparent in this whole case. What he needs is something concrete, something beyond the measly conjecture he has.
His feet stop in front of the door he came here for. Supreme Leader it read, in messy scrawl and purple ink. There’s the silly art, serving as the signature that he knows so well beside it- a tiny caricature of DICE’s figurehead, with a peace sign, wink, and a stuck out tongue. And right underneath is the doorknob. It will get him answers, he knows, but he’s slow to lift his hand anyway.
He bites his lip. Again, he wonders where his hesitance lies- a hunch with no evidence, reliant on a lingering feeling despite being met with all the facts. Shuichi doesn’t owe him anything. The Phantom Thief committed his crimes with an edge, a malice, and that strengthens his resolve.
The detective turns the door, slowly. His eyes dart around the room as the crack widens, absorbing the calming light that comes from a nightlight perched on a nightstand. A chessboard lays in the center, most pieces having remained and yet are arranged out of place on the board, only having a white king, black bishop, and assorted black and white pawns. Cans of Panta are haphazardly sprawled out everywhere. The bed looks pristine besides a slightly ruffled sheet. Alternatively, the desk, a beautiful dark wood, is a frenzy of suggested activity with papers and photos in seemingly disorganized piles and-
Is that a whiteboard?
Normally, the idea of having a whiteboard in one’s bedroom isn’t the strangest thing, but the way it’s filled out with photos hung by tape and lines connecting both text and images makes him think he’s looking at a reflection of his own thinking board for this case. Perhaps a corkboard is too old-fashioned... Yet, he muses, he’s evolved from simple burglaries and mysteries to a syndicate of crime, and sticking to basics was the best way for him to start tackling such a jump.
He approaches the board. The connections being made… it’s recent hits, with some locations being X’d out and others highlighted. There are faces he doesn’t fully recognize in most of the photos. Most of them seem to suggest DICE members, if the clown mask covering their faces are anything to go by. One white-haired man is circled in red, with a large and sloppy, as if angrily written, LIAR over it.
His eyes roam lower, and he’s greeted with a shock. Small text, in the same handwriting as outside, forces his brain to run a mile a minute.
Detective Shuichi Saihara, it read, …trustworthy?
And on the ledge underneath, surrounded by a couple of markers, are a pack of cards. Non-standard, if the navy blue look embedded on the pack was any indication. He opens it, expecting to find dark cards to match the box’s aesthetic, and pulls out the first one near the front of the deck. White. He flips it. Also white, purely plain, identical to the front. Widely untypical, but highly familiar. The detective thumbs at the glossy finish. Memories of a beautiful checkered backing hit him unbidden, and playful text laughing at his expense, yet cheering him on… Except for the most recent time, where it was leering, conniving, borderline threatening in a faux-pleasant tone-
Nope. Not the time.
The detective laxes his grip. Ah. The card now has a permanent score in the middle.
He brushes it aside- although he murmurs apologies into his head- and looks through the rest of the cards. Finally, he finds what he’s looking for in the form of a date written along the top. He picks through the cards which contained a similar look, and it was all consecutive, almost as if the cards served as a journal or diary of sorts. There’s a handful of cards left that appear blank.
He’ll examine the rest later. Instead, he focuses his attention on the first card. It outlines, he skims, the third heist DICE carried out (and, he remembers, was when he was enlisted on the case officially). “Detective… new… told Ace not to be an idiot… no Kyouko…” His eyes dart to a passage that actually catches his eye. “This new Detective seems like a stick in the mud anyway, a complete anxious nerd type. But he did figure out our whole MO, so maybe he’s more interesting than I thought.” Shuichi flushes. It was true, but still, to be called out so blatantly…
Next entry. “He did get more interesting. I just had to get up-close and personal, y’know? He’s so convicted for a guy who could barely look me in the eye! That needs to be changed and fast. It’s cute,” And now he’s flushed for a whole other reason, “But that’s only because underneath is this really determined guy who wants to figure things out. And man, do I enjoy someone who plays the game.”
Next. “How often is he going to linger with the notes I leave him? I’m going to get caught this way! But he always reads it with this small smile, and I don’t know why, but it makes me stupidly happy. Yikes. Time to not dwell on THAT thought any longer.”
Okay, now he’s sensing a pattern. The navy blue on the box, the name repeated in every entry… is this whole deck about him?
No way. No way at all that’s it.
But the evidence speaks for itself. He reads further, skimming, his name or a variation always sticking out, and he can’t help but finish every entry as it dials further and further into something that seems… adoring. Borderline affectionate. Shuichi honestly can’t believe it.
The last words of the final entry catches his attention. He recalls the date and his jaw tightens. A day before the latest heist. “Joker said he’ll be making the next heist ‘a celebration of hope’. It’s bound to be a whole ploy to get me closer to my beloved, from Queenie’s laughter and all. If anyone can make it happen though, it’d definitely be him. But I’m concerned. I’m a little worried there’ll be an explosion, knowing Joker. But I know he’s learned his lesson.”
Hmm.
He looks through the remaining blank cards, flipping them just to make sure he doesn’t miss anything. On a seemingly random card, 4th last, he finds familiar purple handwriting.
It’s a lie!
Cold sweeps through his system. A lie? What was a lie? Where? He took everything at face-value, but there’s a lie? The detective frantically looks around, the shadows suddenly seeming oppressive and choking. Was it the whole deck, or something specific? A single card? A handful?
Was it the feelings he thought were there?
He steps back, the card mocking him.
It’s a lie! It’s a lie! It’s a lie! rings through his head, hearing the voice that often accompanied it. And as it ricochets in his head, he hears faint murmurs permeating through the walls.
God, what was he thinking? He needs to get out of here. He can’t believe he just let himself come in here, spurred by a single letter.
The detective looks to the door, but no, can’t go through there. He peers through the window. Seems clear. Luckily chasing the Phantom Thief gave him some practice in endurance and balance, because this patio wasn’t going to scale itself.
He jumps, roughly skidding down the slope before landing on his feet. Luckily the house wasn’t too tall. With adrenaline pumping through his veins, the detective slinks off into the night, wondering if this is how he feels after a heist.
