InsaneJournal

Every Friday, Mello’s mandatory Civics class, of which both Near and Matt were also a part, had a free-for-all debate. This usually turned into Matt making some pointless, but related in his mind, pop-culture reference, Mello laughing, and both of them condemning all those who gave them funny looks to Utter Loserdom. Like shoes, lettuce and salads with lettuce in them, and Near, who was, at least in their Civics class, the Prince of All Loserdom. Mello made Near a crown once, and Near had actually worn it for the entire day. Mello was now training a cat named Dickface to piss all over anything white, in hopes Near would run out of clothes and puzzles. And possibly hair. Mello hoped Dickface was fully trained by the end of summer. Near would accept the cat as fifteen-year-old Mello reforming, and Mello would laugh at him when news of what the kitten did to the sheep got out.

However, such digression was reserved usually for the last two-to-three minutes of the class. Students at Wammy House were often too bored to not at least watch the news, and there was always something current and debatable, which kept their lazy-assed teacher happy.

Mello was one of only a few students at Wammy’s who spoke Italian fluently, and as such, had both of the Italian newspapers and, through brute force, one of the two copies of the Times of London Wammy House got all to himself. It was a shame; Italian was a very useful language to know, Mello often found.

So, as Mello sauntered in before the majority of the class, or rather the losers who went to class on time, they turned to the boisterous boy rather than their teacher, wondering what Mello deemed worthy of conversation. It was a bit of an ego boost, but Mello felt rather humble this particular Friday. This Friday was for testing the waters, not for forcing his opinion on others.

Just in case, he had brought his copy of the Times with him. This was a cautious Friday indeed.

“So, you all know how it goes, who has a topic this week?” All eyes stayed on Mello, although Near occasionally came up with their starting topic. Next year they’d have to stick to the starting topic and pick a clear side, so they were getting used to looking to the top for something interesting.

“I found something quite remarkable,” Mello stated, and even Matt was a bit shocked. He wasn’t coming outright with his topic, and was implying he’d actually brought the article with him, as they were supposed to and as such, Mello never did. “Some Arséne Lupin wannabe sent a note to a British inspector—Interpol, but British—about a robbery that I believe is taking place in France, written in what the Times says is Japanese.”

“Yes, I read that article as well,” Near quipped from somewhere in the middle of the row nearest the door. Mello sat in the front of the row that allowed him to sit with his back to the window, which he was told had a dramatic effect, especially on his hair, when people looked at him as he spoke, with Matt directly behind him. Mello liked being dramatic; it was fun. “They said the signature was the Japanese word for Phantom Thief, Kaitou, and the English word ‘Kid’.”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Mello said, and all of them except perhaps Matt thought he was just talking about the thief in question. “They had a scan of the note, and you can clearly make out the signature because of the caricature right next to it, at the bottom.”

“It didn’t look like it said ‘Kid’ to me at all,” Near stated. Near stated practically everything; because of his lack of inflection, he always sounded matter-of-fact. That’s how Mello saw it, anyways.

Damn you Near! Mello resisted the urge to growl; he really didn’t want to be kicked out of this class, not this week. “Then what—” Mello caught himself before he cursed; emotionally charged words were another reason to be kicked out on Fridays. “What do you think it said?” He practically hissed. Near always ruined everything.

“A number, actually. The handwriting, from looks alone, is impeccable, except the English word at the bottom. There are only two reasons this could be—“ Near, in his mechanical way of speaking, left a two second chance that Mello pounced on.

“The writer obviously didn’t speak or write Japanese natively, wanted to make sure he wrote each ka—racter perfectly,” he’d almost slipped there; Mello had never taken an oriental language at Wammy’s and didn’t intend to. There was no pause in his speech; only a messy pronunciation, but Mello mixed up his ‘a’ pronunciations enough nobody cared. “And rushed when he got to letters he was familiar with.” Mello knew it was fact, but he couldn’t share how. Mello turned to the teacher. “He’d trailed off!”

“Or it’s the number fourteen hundred twelve, or perhaps the year 1412, which, when coupled with the strange trailing under the D, is nearly doubly likely.”

Near, I fucking hate you. I hadn’t meant to reveal that for another three or four heists! Mello turned to the window for a minute, making a show out of fuming. If he was kicked out of this class again, it might be taken off his schedule, because it was the only class they’d let him have with Near and therefore the only one he was kicked out of. However it was also the only class he had with Matt and mandatory, and Mello did not re-take classes. He then turned back, making a show out of half-assedly pretending to be calm; Mello made a show out of everything. He pulled out his copy of the Times forcefully, making a show out of that, too. “Yeah, okay. That works. I’ll give you that.” He only gave Near that credit because he knew that, too, was fact, and for the same reason. Mello made a big deal of giving the Prince of Loserdom some credit for the idea he’d apparently not had in his body language. “I won’t believe it though.” Won’t implied that he refused to, even though it was fact, but still hated Near enough not to care. Yes, and Yes, so long as they weren’t used all together in the same sentence like that.

“I had previously concluded you wouldn’t.” Smug little bastard. Near frowned, and that made Mello smile. “You mentioned the heist taking place in France?”

“Yup,” Mello’s attitude took a complete 180, because now he was one-upping Near, and the rest didn’t really realize it, but he’d made a big show about that too. “The Louvre, three Sundays from now, at midnight exactly local time. I also figure it’ll be something small, and easy to carry, either jewelry or a smaller vase, because, according to the translation at least,” Mello looked back at the Times again, because he had forgot that he had taken no oriental language classes therefore needed to reference the Times’ translation. “…I’ll abscond with your least greatest treasure. ‘Abscond’ implies that he’ll be light on his feet, and it just makes sense that he’s stealing something he can carry.”

“Also, while ‘greatest treasure’ implies great worth, which is true about everything in the Louvre if you’re right about that, ‘least’ is probably in reference to the size or weight,” Near continued, noting something that Mello knew was not there on purpose, but worked. Somehow, Mello knew Near wanted to be looking at the Times’ translation himself.

“Or that it’s not going to be missed,” Mello pointed out, because he knew that meaning was there on purpose.

“Yes, because anything that’s stolen is not missed,” Near tried for sarcasm, but it came out as little more than his usual monotone.

Mello’s breath caught, because he knew Matt would get this one, because Matt watched too much anime, and as a fangirl, he was more appropriate than Mello himself to come up with the explanation. If any more than three seconds passed, however—

“This guy called himself a Phantom Thief,” Matt started at just the right time, looking like he interrupted Mello.  “He might just be implying that he’s gonna do what Kaitous do and return what he stole—And did everybody miss the part where the note was found inside an egg? That was epic. The note was almost lost because it was sitting in melted butter on a frying pan.”

“Where is the logic in that?” Near questioned with his version of a frown. Mello had to admit, Near’s frown was barely noticeable, and the difference between that and the sheep’s pout doubly so, but because Mello worked so hard to get the reaction, he noticed it easily. Or maybe he just spent too much of his time staring at Near’s mouth.

“There’s plenty of possible motives,” a slightly older, and therefore stupider, girl named Win interrupted, because Matt already had and that meant that the solo battle for the top was over. “This Kaitou Kid—Phantom Thief 1412—Whatever,” Mello felt a rush of joy at the thief’s name. “He might be an art fanatic who thinks the Louvre needs tougher security. He might think the police need to get their collective ass in gear. He might have stumbled upon a bunch of true works of art that had been replaced by fakes and is going to use he heists to return them. Hell, he might be replacing the true works of art with the fakes. We won’t know until he’s caught.”

Mello’s heart sunk at the until part of the sentence. He did not make a show of that, however. “My theory is that he’s an adrenaline junkie.”

“Valid,” Win remarked, and then the bell rang—chimed really, for it was a true bell—and where had the hour and a half gone? There was no way that conversation had lasted the full period. Maybe Mello had sulked longer than he thought.

He couldn’t help but notice their lazy-assed teacher heading out of the room, probably to inform Interpol of when he’d said the heist would be. There were more than enough clues to it, and when they looked back over it would be obvious. Mello knew all the clues were there for the same reason he couldn’t tell how he knew what he knew. It was simple really…

It was because he put them there.