Chapter Text
Zenigata entered the temporary office the Monaco police station had provided for him and Yata to store documents and photographs for the case. The stacked boxes looked like they would topple over if he sneezed, the entire room smelled of damp and cigarette smoke, and there were numerous mold stains on the ceiling. His superiors treated him wonderfully.
Outside the cubicle, Yata slumped onto the rickety armchair. The boy began to sneeze. His hair was still wet from falling into the sea after being dragged in the most recent chase. Zenigata took a quick look at him before closing the door. The boy had just returned from Japan after a much-needed vacation, yet Yata was still gone. Zenigata took off his trench coat and covered his apprentice to let him rest. Upon returning to the cubicle, he found the swivel chair facing away from him. When had he turned it? These past few days, he'd forgotten most things due to how saturated his mind had become. He took a few steps forward when he noticed the shadow projecting on the wall. The chair hadn't been turned around before. There was a new folder on the desk, and the window was half-closed. Someone had come in when he got distracted. In the silence of the night, the loud beating of his heart deafened him. The inspector reached for his belt to pull out his weapon. He held his breath and walked to his desk, thinking it was all a result of numerous days without proper sleep. However, the familiar laughter paralyzed him.
—Don't you think I'm too old for that? I should have retired at least fifteen years ago.
Zenigata couldn't answer, that voice was raspier than he remembered, as if he were barely recovering from a terrible wound, although if he was honest, he believed that no one recovers from that kind of wound.
—It's nostalgic to return to Monaco, the boy's spectacle was amazing, look at him stealing not one, but two things, that car was magnificent, I'm sure it would be a great pleasure to drive it. Do you think he stole the jewel for the pretty lady who was with him?
—I don't have the slightest idea.
—No, you rarely have any idea about something, even if it's about him you decide to ignore those kinds of details, it helps you feel less guilty if something goes wrong, doesn't it?
Zenigata raises the gun and aims, he is not afraid but continues to tremble while a knot begins to form in his stomach that he thought he had forgotten.
—You have a ten-minute head start, Emanuelle. If you don't leave now, I'll call the gendarmes.
The chair swiveled, and then the light from the lamp on the table revealed a thin man with a sly smile, his sharp features, his kind face riddled with wrinkles, and his gray hair falling to his shoulders and gathered in a ponytail. The man in the chair amusedly reviewed a note while smoking one of the cigarettes Zenigata hid in the right drawer. The old Japanese man's heart leaped with fear; for a moment, he thought he had a ghost standing before him.
—I came to collect the favor you owe me.
—Favor? I haven't made any deal with you, thief. If you respect your freedom, leave now.
The man in the chair stops smiling, stands up, and walks over to the policeman.
—You don't owe me anything? So I can take back the fifteen years you stole from her?
Zenigata almost chokes on his own saliva, he puts a hand to his chest where he supposes his heart is and feels it beating, now he is painfully aware of his own life and that makes his voice tremble.
—It was never my intention
—You didn't do anything to prevent it either.
Zenigata fell silent, lowered his head, and covered his face with his hands.
—What do you want? You've never asked me for anything in all these years.
—It's not that I really like asking you for favors, Zenigata. I know you have a career and a curious relationship to maintain, but in this case, you're the only one I can turn to.
Zenigata raised his head. "What relationship are you talking about? Maintaining what career?" The old thief asked him to stop acting so surprised, and from his jacket he pulled out a note that must have been on the desk.
— “ My dear inspector, I'll be expecting you next June 9th at 3:00 PM at Place Vendôme so you can witness how I will steal Cartier's latest piece, with the desperate desire of your beloved thief. Lupin III Just as theatrical as ever
Zenigata clenched his fists as the other man sniffed the note, the trembling of his eyelids seemed to please the elderly thief, the policeman tried to take the note from his hands, but Emanuelle made it impossible, he put his foot on it and in the end the inspector ended up on the floor with the old man's foot on his back.
—What will you gain by keeping it?
—Proof that you're not entirely professional. I've known the brat since he was in diapers and he's still the same. Isn't that right, my dear inspector?
—It's a nasty joke he likes to play.
—Yeah, sure, just kidding. How long have you known each other? You'd think you'd be fed up with each other by now, but it seems you refuse to stop tugging at that thin rope.
Zenigata snorted and stopped fighting, Emanuelle withdrew his foot, and the inspector stood up. The old man stood with his arms crossed as he looked over the other's shoulder.
—What should I do?
—Put someone behind bars
—I thought that's what you had the Ganimards for.
—Things need some adjustments
Zenigata understood. The old man handed him an envelope. Holding it in his hands, he felt like it was burning. Then everything came back. He was back in his thirties, back in Switzerland, and the warmth of blood soaked his hands. Hesitantly, he opened the envelope to find an organized folder of documents, plans, case histories, account traces, maps—everything necessary to track a criminal.
—But these…are your files. What are you planning?!
—Return to the stage, I need you to be the one to take over the Leblanc case, leave someone else in charge of the Lupin case, as we progress I will show you more, but not here.
Zenigata let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his temples, he has no choice and Emanuelle won't let him get away.
The thief was about to leave when the half-open door allowed him to see the sleeping boy.
—I want him out of this.
Zenigata frowned.
—He is more than capable of doing his job.
Emanuelle looked at him reproachfully, her voice now more severe.
"And you?" She whispered. "I don't think you can do anything for him if things get out of hand, leave him with Lupin... unless you're capable of carrying another soul."
Unable to respond, Emanuelle left, leaving behind a rose-shaped locket. The inspector refused to open it. Instead, he scanned every page he was given, including a warning about what the organization would steal.
As the sun began to peek behind the buildings, he left the office in search of coffee and found Yata still asleep, albeit with red eyes. Emanuelle is right; it's best to exclude him from this case. In the end, he considers that he and Jigen have a grim similarity; life takes its toll on them with every stroke of luck, along with the misfortune of those they loved.