It's been a long time since I worked the Kira case. It's strange, but the things I remember most are the small, stupid details. Things like the ceiling fan in my office. The fan was almost older than the wallpaper, and on slow, hot days, you could just barely hear the low swish as its blades creaked around in lethargic circles. Days like that were so hot that I had to keep the blinds drawn, casting the room in shadow punctuated by long yellow bars of light. Cigarette smoke wafted throughout the room, rolling through the light from the blinds like clouds on a rainy day.

Those are the details I remember from the day when the Kira case walked into my office.

She was blonde as hell, wearing a lot of black. I've never placed much stock in first impressions, but I could tell right away that the woman who slunk through my door was dangerous. But she also had a strange allure, an air of mystery that swirled around her wide-brimmed hat and floated down to the heels of her stilettos. "You're Private Detective Matsuda, right?" she purred, her voice smooth and sultry.

I leaned back in my chair, my trenchcoat collar turned up and my charcoal-grey fedora pulled low over my eyes. "Depends who's asking."

The woman smiled, stepping forward and leaning her hip on the edge of my desk. "Misa Amane's asking."

I smiled coolly back at her. "Well, then, Misa Amane can call me Matsu." As the smoke swirled around her, I saw her blood-red lips lift upwards in something between a smile and a smirk; I should have guessed then that the case she'd brought to me would only be trouble, but by that point, it was too late. I was irrevocably, inextricably, forever involved. From that moment on, there was no going back-

"Hold it right there!"

"...?"

Aizawa scowled. "What the hell is this?! I thought you were writing an autobiography!"

Matsuda pouted, lightly pushing the scruffy detective away from his computer screen. "Look, this is just the prologue. It's... it's supposed to catch the reader's interest!"

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Ide drawled, arms folded across his chest, "but isn't it also supposed to not be utter bull?"

"W- What do you mean?!" Matsuda sputtered indignantly. "It's a true story!"

"No it is not!" Aizawa roared, slamming his hand down on the desk's surface. The motion made the younger detective jump, and he let out a little yelp before scooting his rolling chair backwards. Once he felt securely out of the bigger man's range, he asked, with a slight huff, "What's wrong with it, then?"

Ide snorted. "Would you like a list?"

"You're not a private detective, for starters," Aizawa grumbled, leaning back against the surface of the desk. "And you've never even had your own office, let alone one with a window and a fan."

"You didn't meet Misa-Misa that way, either," Mogi chimed in from where he stood by the door.

Matsuda chuckled nervously and scratched the back of his head. "Okay, point taken. I was just... taking creative license..."

"You never wear a trenchcoat or a fedora," Aizawa continued, masterfully ignoring the detective. "And you don't remember small details... heck, you could barely remember to pick up milk when we were all staying at the old Task Force HQ!"

Matsuda pouted. "In my defense, everybody forgets to pick up milk..."

"You stole a line from Kenneth Fearing," Ide said, sounding and looking very sour. "And what was with that smoke in the room? You don't smoke, and neither does Misa. Nobody was even smoking in the story itself."

Matsuda cringed. "It was for the ambiance!"

Aizawa shook his head, scowling. "Just scrap the whole thing. It's hopeless."

"...Fine." Matsuda sighed heavily, scooting back over to the computer and deleting all the text from the document he was working on. "I did ask you guys to give me your honest opinions... but you could've been a little bit nicer about it..."

"Oh, quit whining," Ide growled. "For writing that, you deserve a night in holding, at least."

Matsuda threw back his head and let out a raw cry of frustration. "Well, this sucks! What the heck am I supposed to do now?!"

Mogi hesitantly held up his hand. "I'm not good at writing, but why don't you try just telling the story exactly like it happened?"

Ide nodded sagely. "Your style is far too crapulent to pull off anything beyond that."

"Besides, the simple fact that Kira's involved is all the interest-catching you need," Aizawa added, giving the computer's ancient monitor a friendly pat. "Just make sure you don't make me look stupid."

Matsuda grinned impishly. "Should I leave out the part where you came in to work with your pants off, then?" The comment earned a sharp snicker from Ide, and even a smile from Mogi.

Aizawa scowled, cheeks bright red. "You are never going to let that go, are you?"

"Nope." Matsuda laughed and cracked his knuckles. "Alright, I guess I should start writing my real story..." He held out his hands over the keyboard, fingers poised over the keys like a concert pianist's, and began to type.

My name is Touta Matsuda. Usually followed by "you idiot." Yeah, I'm probably the most underrated member of any special task force ever... my best weapon is that no one sees me as a threat. The great detective L probably thought his cake was smarter than me. But you know what? This is my story, too. And even if nobody wants to listen, I'm going to tell it.

It starts on a crisp autumn afternoon in Tokyo. The National Police Agency's headquarters are bustling with activity, officers swarming through the halls like bees in a hive. The Criminal Affairs division is a sprawling mess of cubicles, a sort of office slum filled with rank-and-file officers and detectives who will most likely never see a promotion. These people mill about answering ringing phones and shouting at each other, all of them pretty much the same, dressed in muted shades of greys, blues, and browns. However, one man stands out from among the rest; he strides across the room with a quiet smile on his face, exuding confidence, charisma, and enthusiasm from every pore.

That man... is not me. It's my partner, Tamaki; the paragon of bright young promising talent. I am the slightly pathetic-looking bum spinning around listlessly in someone else's spinning chair with his hands clasped behind his head.

Now you're probably thinking, 'what's with that guy? He's a total slob.' Well, there's actually a pretty good reason for that lax attitude. I started working with the NPA about two years before the day in question, and I realized quickly that, while my partner was probably on the fast track to a cushy desk job, I was not going anywhere. I was actually a pretty good detective (believe it or not), but I just didn't have the connections or the ambition needed to make something more of myself. The way things stood at the time, it would have taken a miracle for me to get out of Criminal Affairs.

Luckily (or rather, luckily for my career, unluckily for the rest of society), the so-called god of a new world had chosen the day before to start working his "miracles."

"Tamakiiiiii," Matsuda groaned, pushing off the corner of a nearby desk and whirling around on the spinning chair. "Today suuuucks..."

Tamaki rolled his eyes amusedly. "Hattori made you get him coffee again, didn't he?"

"Twice," Matsuda moaned, looking bitter. "I know I'm not exactly a big deal around here, but that doesn't give him the right to use me as his personal gopher!"

Tamaki shook his head. "And yet you've never actually refused him. You need to get a spine, Matsu."

Matsuda sighed dejectedly. "You're probably right... I guess I've just resigned myself to my fate." He reached lethargically across the desk and scooped up a stack of manilla files, which he then opened and started leafing through. "I'll probably be sitting here filling out paperwork on petty criminals and getting paid peanuts for the rest of my life."

Tamaki grabbed a file from Matsuda, gave it a quick once-over, and placed it carefully on the desk. "Don't talk like that; you're a great detective," he said, somewhat half-heartedly. "Don't worry, I'll help you out with this stuff later; I promised Hattori I'd help him interrogate a suspect in a murder case he's working."

"Yeah, sure," Matsuda replied, smiling weakly. "Have fun."

"Thanks. See you later." And with that, Tamaki turned on his heel and strode out of the room, leaving Matsuda alone with his thoughts and an immense stack of paperwork. He watched Tamaki's back as he left, then stared blankly at the files for ten minutes before throwing them back on the desk with a sigh. I'll just make him do them all when he gets back, since he decided to ditch me for that jerk Hattori... Matsuda nodded to himself, satisfied with that resolution, then promptly went back to spinning around lazily on the chair.

After twenty minutes or so, he was still spinning when he heard a loud, startled shuffling noise. In that same instant, everyone in the room went deathly silent. After a brief awkward pause, Matsuda slowly rotated in his chair, certain that he was in big trouble.

The moment he turned around, he found himself facing an imposing man with an imposing moustache. The rest of the officers in the room were standing at attention. Matsuda felt a lump form in his throat, and he froze, rooted firmly to the chair. "Ch- Chief Yagami..."

The chief of the NPA gazed at him silently for a few moments, as though studying him. Finally, he spoke. "You don't look like you're busy."

Matsuda gulped. "...No, sir. I'm not."

Yagami paused for a moment, then nodded. "Good. Then you can accompany me to the ICPO meeting today." He made as if to turn away, but then seemed to remember something and turned back. "What's your name, Detective...?"

Matsuda blinked. "Ah, it's Matsuda, sir."

"Nice to meet you, Matsuda. Come to my office at ten; I'll provide you with the necessary paperwork." With that, the chief turned and strode towards the door.

The other officers gradually began to go about their business a few moments after Yagami left the room. Some of them shot Matsuda hostile stares as they passed him, obviously wondering why a layabout like him had gotten such a great opportunity. The man himself simply sat in his chair, completely motionless, with his mouth hanging open.

After about five full minutes, he sat up straight and rested his elbows on the desk.

"...What the heck just happened...?"

Author's Note: This is my first DN fanfiction, guys! I'm so excited! :D

I just love Matsu so much. He's totally adorkable. So I felt like I had to write something from his perspective. And... I've been itching to write some comedy. So this happened. Random noir intro is random.

Please just bear with me with this "Criminal Affairs" stuff... I really don't know anything about the NPA, and I've been having difficulty looking it up, so I just decided to name Matsu's division after the one Gumshoe works for in Ace Attorney. Sorry. But it's not going to be very long until he joins the Task Force, anyway, so it's not that big of a deal in the long run, I guess...?

Fun fact: this was written at several different airports, so it feels kind of disjointed to me... oh well. *shrugs*

Anyway, please review and tell me what you think! :)