He takes cases on a whim, cracks them with hard-core logic, and solves the strangest crimes on sheer instinct.
With a monkey for an assistant and his heart set on retirement, the detective sleeps in a refrigerator, waiting for the bait to catch its willing prey.
Under the light of the Phantasmoon, the vile beast howls. How will he draw the net on this hunt?

Canon of Beastie Detective (I)

“Dedicated to my friend, Ashveil. He has no talent for prose, so I am happy to continue serving as his 'Narrator' through this book.”

To outsiders, my friend is extremely eccentric. For example:

1. His pocket watch is always delayed, but he refuses to replace it.①
2. He talks in his sleep frequently.②
3. He has a habit of sleeping in the refrigerator.③
4. He enjoys being rude while others are trying to write, and even goes so far as to snatch away their feather quill… like right now.

…
Due to these oddities and his total lack of deductive skill, my friend tried the following to become a “real” detective:

Monday: Brought home a stack of deduction guides and studied them for five whole minutes.
Tuesday: Bought clothes for disguises, but they were too garish to be of much use.
Wednesday: Dressed as a gentleman to join a high-society banquet, but was kicked out for poor table etiquette.
Thursday: Spent the afternoon disguised as a friendly old lady, but the police were called when he revealed his male voice while digging for info.
Friday: He landed a client. His career finally seemed to be going somewhere.
Saturday: Slept all day on his deduction guides.
Sunday: Day off.
Monday: No clients. Another day off.
This endeavor ended in a total, if temporary, failure.
…

Now Mr Ashveil is the “Ashen Detective” of Planarcadia, running the most secluded detective agency in Dovebrook District and leading his loyal employees with bananas. Reflecting on the time he spent in what I call “Beastie Rolepay,” he had this to say:
“Don't believe a word of Mister N's nonsense. It wasn't that bad.”
He didn't even blink as he spoke, wearing a perfectly natural smile.
It seems those experiences really did improve his acting.

From this, I draw a simple conclusion:
“Detective's Code, Rule 1: Act like a detective long enough, and you'll practically become one.”

(Notes added at my friend's request:
① Ashveil is not an idiot who doesn't know how to set a watch.
② Ashveil's sleep-talking is not funny.
③ Ashveil is a human, not a bear in hibernation.)

Canon of Beastie Detective (III)

The great detective doesn't work alone. Take a look at the agency's group photo: The monkeys are all smiles, squeezing the detective (second row, third from left) into the center of the frame.
He gazes into the lens with an expression of blissful despair. That's the same look he wears when reviewing his bills, emptying his pockets for bananas, or seeing the utilities cut off at the end of the month.

He really worries about his companions. Due to severe regression, they can't think or talk as fluently as I can.
As the boss of the monkeys, he has to warn them over and over:
“Archer, this city isn't a laboratory. Don't let the noise scare you, got it?”
“Ploos might be yellow, but their not bananas.”
“Nana?”
“You can't eat the mechatron either, Poet. That's the second time I've told you.”
“…“
“And that goes for you too, Musician. No more stealing snacks.”
“Nom nom!”

He sometimes tells me their stories: how Archer lost their hands in the crossfire while covering for their companions; how the mute Poet used to be so witty; how Musician wielded a man-sized hammer to carve a path through the carnage…

According to Mr Ashveil, the “First Fang” has a duty to help every member in the pack. Those who couldn't make ends meet were all carefully relocated to star systems where they could rest and recover.
With everyone pitching in, the detective agency actually managed to crack all sorts of bizarre cases that Madam Pearl threw their way over the past year, though minor hiccups like entrapment operations and aggressive interrogation tactics are… well, another story.

Of all the cases he'd worked, the one that haunted him most was a revenge killing between gangs in Dovebrook.
To hunt down an enemy from over a decade ago, the man sacrificed his partners, his family, his children… Yet at the end of that failed revenge, all he found was the moon's reflection dyed crimson with blood.

After that case wrapped up, the detective lingered by the river for quite some time. Did he see his own reflection, too?
No one knows that sometimes this detective can turn dark and unfathomable, like a whirlpool.

Fortunately, he still had his daily banana budget to earn, and there are plenty of other mundane little tasks to distract him from the loneliness.
“Detective's Code, Rule 2: Treasure your companions, even if they're just a bunch of monkeys.”