Shinichi’s eyelid twitched violently, but he clamped his eyes shut tight.
Don’t look.
If you look, you lose.
Across the table, Tōhō Getsukai leaned forward, parted his lips to catch a delicate piece of tiramisu off a silver fork, chewed thoughtfully, and gave a soft nod.
“There’s a bit too much cocoa powder on the top layer,” Tōhō murmured, his voice carrying that signature gentle cadence, “but the ladyfingers underneath are soaked just right.
The espresso balance is quite nice.”
“Right?
I think it’s absolutely delicious too!” Ran beamed, her cheeks flushed with delight.
“Next time you come over to my place, I’ll make some for you,” Tōhō smiled, resting his chin on his hand.
“I promise it’ll be even better than this.”
“Really?!” Ran’s voice shot up an octave in pure excitement, drawing Sonoko’s immediate attention.
“Me too, me too!
Count me in!” Sonoko leaned over the table, her eyes sparkling.
“It’s been ages since I’ve had the chance to taste Sister Tōhō’s cooking!”
“Fine, fine, fine.
I’ll make a whole batch for you two after we get back from the weekend retreat.”
“Yay!” Both girls cheered in perfect unison, their eyes curving into happy crescents as they bumped fists over the table.
Sitting opposite this picturesque scene, Shinichi finally opened his eyes.
Watching the three of them operate in their own impenetrable, sparkling bubble, he suddenly experienced a deep and crushing existential crisis.
What exactly was his role at this table?
An audience member?
A decorative backdrop?
Oxygen?
No, it was worse than oxygen.
At least oxygen was necessary for survival.
His only actual function right now was acting as a human shopping cart.
And frankly, a literal shopping cart could replace him at any moment without anyone noticing.
Shinichi Kudo, the great high school detective, had officially entered a state of being utterly useless.
“Ahhh—!!”
A scream exploded from the floor below.
Sharp, piercing, and laced with absolute terror, the sound easily penetrated the dessert shop’s soundproof glass and shattered the soft jazz playing overhead.
The bustling flow of people in the mall froze for a split second, immediately followed by a chaotic eruption of panicked chatter.
The piece of cake on Tōhō Getsukai’s fork stopped in mid-air.
Ah.
There it is.
The death god high schooler had been sitting here drinking a vanilla latte for a whole five minutes; naturally, the universe wouldn’t allow a single second of his standby time to go to waste.
Shinichi’s reaction was faster than anyone else’s in the building.
The way he pushed back his chair was practically an ejection.
His pupils dilated, locking onto the source of the noise, and his entire being suddenly radiated a completely different, razor-sharp brilliance from the very depths of his soul.
He was alive.
Completely, thrillingly alive.
Shinichi tossed aside his latte cup, rounded the table in a blur, and sprinted toward the shop’s glass doors.
That kinetic pace, that explosive speed—he looked like a completely different species compared to the lethargic, dead-eyed boy who had been dragging shopping bags just moments ago.
Tōhō Getsukai calmly placed the cake into his mouth, watching Shinichi’s rapidly shrinking back.
Fine, go play detective.
I’ll take excellent care of Ran for you.
You don’t need to worry about a thing.
Ran and Sonoko put down their forks at the exact same time, leaning forward, their muscles tensing as if they were about to jump up and follow him.
Tōhō Getsukai smoothly reached across the table, stretching out both hands to press down lightly on their shoulders.
The physical force wasn’t great, but the placement was precise.
Hamon Breathing circulated beneath his skin, channeling a soothing, gentle warmth through his palms that sank directly into the girls’ tense muscles, instantly melting away their nervous spikes.
“Just sit,” he said softly.
“But downstairs—” Ran started, glancing toward the glass.
“Leave police matters to the police.
We can just wait here.” Tōhō Getsukai picked up his fork and pointed it gracefully at the plates in front of them.
“There’s still half of the dessert left.
Finish eating before we worry about anything else.”
Ran hesitated for a second, the warmth from his hand grounding her, before she finally let out a breath and sat back down.
Sonoko, however, didn’t sit.
She turned her head, tracking Shinichi’s sprinting figure as he vaulted onto the descending escalator.
Suddenly, she cupped her hands around her mouth like a megaphone.
“Kudo—!
Hurry up and finish solving the case so you can come back!!”
Shinichi was practically flying down the metal steps.
“We still don’t have anyone to carry the bags!!!”
Sonoko’s voice was so incredibly loud that it echoed across half the mall’s atrium.
Shinichi stumbled hard, his foot catching on a step, nearly performing a disastrous front roll all the way to the bottom.
He desperately grabbed the rubber handrail with one hand to steady himself and snapped his head back, his face flushing a brilliant, furious red.
The surrounding crowd of panicked onlookers all turned to stare at him in unison.
The cool, dramatic image of the Great Detective rushing fearlessly to a bloody crime scene was instantly smashed into a million pieces by the Second Miss Suzuki’s ruthless shout.
He wasn’t a hero charging into danger; he was an errand boy being recalled to his duties.
Tōhō Getsukai coughed into his hand and put down his fork to hide his amusement.
Well played, Ms.
Sonoko Suzuki.
This physical, dimensional-reduction strike to the boy’s ego came completely out of nowhere and was precisely lethal.
Down below, the wail of approaching sirens began to pierce through the mall’s background music, growing louder by the second.
Tōhō Getsukai looked down through the dessert shop’s floor-to-ceiling window.
A yellow police cordon had already been rapidly established in the first-floor atrium.
Several uniformed officers were actively pushing back the morbidly curious onlookers, followed closely by a slightly chubby, familiar middle-aged man in a trench coat—Officer Megure.
Detective Takagi trailed right behind him, clutching a thick stack of files to his chest, his face wearing its permanent mask of seriousness mixed with sheer exhaustion.
As for Shinichi Kudo, he had already slipped under the yellow tape at some point and was currently squatting on the polished tile floor, intensely examining something near a fallen mannequin.
Tōhō Getsukai withdrew his gaze, taking a slow sip of his tea.
Conan-logic events: do not participate, do not gawk casually, just observe rationally from a safe distance.
This was the absolute iron rule he had set for himself since arriving.
The probability of unnatural, bizarre deaths occurring around this specific group of people was absurdly high.
The closer you stood to the epicenter, the greater the risk of getting dragged into a locked-room mystery.
He wasn’t a Great Detective, so there was absolutely no need to test the laws of physics and plot armor with his own fragile body.
“Sister, it looks like something terrible happened over there,” Ran murmured, glancing out the window, her brow furrowing with lingering worry.
“Yeah, but Shinichi is already down there.
It’ll be fine.”
Tōhō Getsukai picked up the glass pitcher and refilled Ran’s water cup, then grabbed a soft napkin and casually, affectionately wiped away a few stray cake crumbs that had fallen onto the table right in front of her.
“Just eat your cake, Ran.
Don’t think about these annoying things.
It’s rare for us to actually be out having fun together, so let’s just enjoy the moment.”
“Sister Tōhō, aren’t you even a little bit curious?” Ran asked, tilting her head.
“Not curious at all.
Eat your cake.”
He really wasn’t.
In this world, a person dropped dead on average every single episode.
Having an excess of curiosity would only guarantee that he became a victim himself sooner rather than later.
Ran looked at his calm, unbothered face, stunned for a second, and then a soft, genuine smile broke across her lips.
“Okay.”
She leaned back, naturally resting her weight against the crook of Tōhō Getsukai’s shoulder, pulling out her phone to scroll through sunscreen spray reviews.
Seeing the crisis averted, Sonoko happily plopped back down into her seat and immediately launched into a passionate discussion with Tōhō about their swimwear outfit plans for the upcoming weekend retreat.
In their cozy, sunlit world of three, the Great Detective downstairs—who was currently busily dusting for prints and interrogating suspects—didn’t even occupy a single syllable of their conversation.
…
Fifteen minutes later.
Shinichi Kudo stood tall beside the police cordon on the first floor, his fingers triumphantly pinching a crumpled shopping receipt he had just fished out of a nearby trash can.
Key evidence.
The timeline matched perfectly.
The suspect’s alibi was entirely forged.
The cash register identification number and the exact print time stamped on the faded paper were more than enough to prove that the killer wasn’t anywhere near the store he claimed to be at when the crime occurred.
Perfect.
The logical chain was closed; the deductive loop was impeccable.
This was the true strength of the high school Great Detective.
Shinichi’s lips curled up into a confident, arrogant smirk.
He had finally regained a bit of his lost face.
He turned around and, driven by pure habit, subconsciously looked up toward the second floor.
Every time he solved a case, he always liked to find Ran’s location in the crowd, even if it was just to lock eyes from afar and share that silent moment of victory.
His eyes found the dessert shop’s floor-to-ceiling window.
Warm, golden spotlights shone against the glass.
Ran was sitting right by the window.
She was smiling.
She was smiling incredibly happily, her entire body nestled comfortably into the crook of Tōhō Getsukai’s shoulder.
Her slender finger was tapping at her phone screen, pointing out something funny.
The two of them were huddled close together, the lighting and their posture making the scene look as warm and intimate as a café’s romantic promotional poster.
Not a single glance was spared for the first floor.
The crucial shopping receipt in Shinichi’s hand fluttered slightly in the air conditioning draft.
He stood alone by the cold plastic police cordon, staring up at the second floor, the triumphant smirk slowly sliding off his face.
Officer Megure called out to him from behind, his voice booming with anticipation.
“Brother Kudo, what did you find?”
Shinichi mechanically withdrew his gaze and handed over the crumpled receipt without turning around.
“The killer is the store manager.
The alibi is fake, and the obvious proof is printed right on this receipt.”
“Oh!
Brilliant!
As expected of Kudo-kun!
Then—”
Officer Megure was still excitedly asking for the breakdown of the trick, but Shinichi’s ears had already automatically filtered out the noise.
He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and walked two heavy steps toward the escalator.
Then, he stopped.
Why go up?
To go up and continue carrying their bags?
He walked back one step, stopped in place, and looked up at the second floor one last time.
Through the glass, he watched Ran raise her hand to gently brush away a loose strand of silver hair that had fallen against the side of Tōhō Getsukai’s face.
Her fingertips brushed delicately past his ear, the movement so tender, so incredibly natural.
Tōhō Getsukai tilted his head into the touch and smiled warmly at her.
Shinichi lowered his head, staring at the polished floor tiles.
Officer Megure caught up and patted him heavily on the shoulder.
“Brother Kudo?
What’s wrong?”
“…Nothing.” The high school Great Detective kept his hands buried in his pockets, his posture slumping, his expression entirely withdrawn.
“Officer Megure, the case is solved.
I’ll leave the follow-up and the arrest to you guys.”
“Eh?
You’re not going to wait for the commendation?” Megure blinked in surprise.
“No.” Shinichi turned around, his voice hollow.
“I still have to go upstairs and carry the bags.”
[Akarin’s Note:
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