This is the laboratory where Sherry works.
Pharmaceutical research equipment dominates the rather spacious building, making it clear that the Black Organization is pouring massive amounts of money into this facility.
Well, I am here on direct orders from the Organization.
They want to subject my blood and other tissues to various tests to explore the alleged secrets of my physiology. That is why I came in for sampling today.
In reality, no such grand secrets exist, but so be it.
The Organization has its own reasons for pursuing such contradictions.
The cause is a theory that has recently gained steady traction abroad: the "Bourbon is a Modified Human" theory.
Rumor has it that "The Rabid Dog" Bourbon is a bio-engineered human created by the Organization. They claim the group is testing the results of a design built from scratch using advanced life sciences by throwing it into actual combat.
Wait, wait. Stop with this soap opera logic.
I initially thought, "Could this actually be real?"... but then again, Lupin exists in this world.
Given the level of chaos and insanity we witnessed earlier, it is hard to dismiss the idea entirely. Under these circumstances, it feels uncomfortably realistic.
Consequently, the Organization began coveting scientific power that matches those rumors—specifically, the ability to actually manufacture modified humans—so that no one would take them lightly.
The logic of this world has turned into a farce. Is there no one around to point out how ridiculous this is?
Furuya-san was displeased about handing over biological data like blood samples to the Organization, but unfortunately, orders from the top are absolute.
However, he seemed resigned to it because it establishes a point of contact with Sherry, which could serve as a starting point for rescuing her from this situation later.
In one of the research rooms, a massive machine of unknown purpose emitted a roaring, mechanical hum.
I stepped lightly onto the scale used for body measurements in front of Sherry and gave a bitter smile.
Sherry let out a sigh of exasperation mixed with amazement.
"You really are a monster. I never imagined you would crush the grip strength meter just by squeezing it."
"Calling me a 'monster' is a bit harsh, Sherry. I have feelings too, you know—I can be hurt."
"I doubt that."
Moments earlier, as part of the pre-exam physical, I had undergone a series of tests reminiscent of a school gym class: short sprints, grip strength measurements, and the like.
It also included hearing checks and reflex tests; the schedule was unexpectedly packed.
Naturally, given that I control this physical vessel with an efficiency far surpassing natural limits, I achieved results so absurd they would leave an Olympian dumbstruck.
I clocked the hundred-meter dash in just over six seconds.
In the long jump, I cleared nearly fifteen meters. The world record is somewhere around eight, isn't it?
I haven't forgotten Furuya-san muttering inside my head, "You're like a real-life comic book hero."
You possess this very same body, my dear Furuya.
Don't just stand there clutching the results sheet, looking so shocked that your mental background has turned into the void of space.
Still... "monster"? What kind of description is that?
When I objected with a slight scowl, Sherry gave a dry, mocking laugh.
She set the file containing my test scores on the desk and turned to face me.
"'The Organization's Bloodstained Wolf-Dog,' 'Bourbon of the Sinister Claws'... Aren't you acting a bit too humble for someone with titles like those?"
What on earth are those ridiculous names?!
They sound like titles for some disposable minor villain Goemon would cut down seconds after they appear on screen.
You ask if the power gap means he really would defeat me in just a few scenes? Well, yes... that is accurate.
In the watery depths of my subconscious, Furuya-san was deep in thought: "Sinister Claws... He clearly holds a special status within the Organization. The value of that name in the underworld and on the international stage is..."
How can Furuya-san ignore such terrible naming sense? I just don't get it.
"...This is actually quite embarrassing. I worry my actual skills don't quite measure up to those titles."
"You are impressively polite. With superhuman physical abilities like yours, no one would blame you if it went to your head."
"If I were just a rampaging beast, perhaps. But an uncontrollable, mad monster is nothing more than a slave to its instincts. Wouldn't you agree?"
Sherry offered a faint smile, tinged with a trace of fleeting sadness.
"I heard you've been training in combat under Lupin the Third."
"My, my. Has word spread already?"
"I'm tired of hearing Gin boast about it."
It seems Gin is the loose-lipped one. He really does have a soft spot for "rabid dogs."
Sherry lowered her gaze. She wore a self-deprecating expression, surrounded by a nocturnal air of yearning mixed with resignation—like someone pining for stars forever out of reach.
"...You are free."
"Huh? What...?"
"You walk alongside the master thief who roams the night, using the Organization as a mere stepping stone to take flight—as free as a beast running through the wild. It is a far cry from a miserable shark trapped in the deep ocean, its fins bound tight."
The Organization members' hobby: waxing poetic.
It's not my strong suit. Lately, Furuya-san has been feeding me lines from the inside, so I've managed to retort with some witty, poetic phrasing of my own.
Why does poetry flow so effortlessly from everyone here?
"I haven't seen the sun in a long time."
"Your sun will rise too. I'm sure of it."
"Impossible. The sun doesn't shine at the bottom of the ocean."
Shiho Miyano shook her head in self-mockery.
But wait. Sherry's savior is the titular character of this world. The center of everything, the Hero.
He isn't just a savior spreading light; he is the "Demon of Light" himself: Edogawa Conan.
"You just have to break through the depths and gaze up at the sunrise. The ocean is vast, and no one has the right to deny you the freedom to swim."
"Oh? Is the Organization's loyal dog inciting betrayal? You're a bad man."
"I am in the Organization solely for myself. And you should have the right to leave it for your own sake, too."
Sherry laughed, calling that excessive idealism.
That smile was slightly brighter than the one before.
Speaking of dreams, no matter how fleeting, lightens the burden on the heart.
"Contact me in advance the next time you visit. I'll at least have some tea and sweets ready for you."
"Thank you. I'll be sure to bring a proper gift as well."
"Please do. Those Japanese sweets weren't bad, but let me think... a Fusae handbag would be a nice choice."
She smiled slyly, looking as though she were plotting something.
Her tension seemed to have largely dissipated. She had been extremely guarded at first, but her shoulders were relaxed now.
"As you wish. By the way, I heard Fusae is releasing a new seasonal collection next month."
"Oh! You're well-informed."
"Hahaha. Just something I picked up through work. I remembered it because their products are of such high quality."
"I see... If it meets Bourbon's standards, that's good enough for me. I want it as a gift."
"Understood."
I bowed elegantly and exited the laboratory.
I had a blood test in another room next. Due to a shift change in personnel, I wouldn't have another chance to see Sherry today.
Still, since I was nearby, surely no one would blame me for dropping by later with a gift.
Sherry, huh... The daughter of Hell's Angel. Is she a prisoner of this organization as well?
Furuya-san's anxious voice echoed, rising from the depths of clear water.
"I'll come back, Sherry."
"Right."
As I stepped out of the research building for lunch, the clamor of cicadas played a symphony against the hot, humid wind.
It was summer.
And Akai Shuichi's exposure as a spy was imminent.