Inside a bar, Vodka launched into his usual preamble: "By the way, Brother..." This time, the subject was Kudo Shinichi.
Vodka has endless stories about his brother. I nearly tuned him out as usual, but when I actually listened, I was stunned.
Turns out, that high school detective failed to notice a second accomplice approaching from behind. He was savagely beaten by Gin, who used a weapon far cruder and more unusual than his standard fare.
The news left me dumbfounded.
Apparently, while they were riding a roller coaster to confirm a trade partner's identity, the man sitting in front of them was decapitated. What are they talking about?! Heads don't just pop off that easily; this isn't Anpanman.
Of course, I knew the details from the original story, but the description on paper was truly gruesome.
"And then, it seems that arrogant brat sniffed out our transaction. He caused us completely unnecessary trouble."
"How annoying, Vodka. And what happened to the boy?"
"Brother disposed of him using that new poison... the one called Aptoxin. His corpse—likely with no determined cause of death—has probably been found by now."
After saying that, Vodka looked at me as if he suddenly remembered something. He bowed his head apologetically. "Sorry I didn't leave any prey for you, Wolf-Dog..."
What? I had no idea why he was apologizing.
"You love that stuff, don't you? Tearing out the guts of innocent kids."
I fell silent, a look of blank shock frozen on my face.
Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!!! What do you mean?! Where did you get this ridiculous, disgusting idea that I enjoy ripping out children's entrails?!
"Have I ever shown a preference for such things?"
"Don't you know you have a fan club? They're gathering intel on you."
He said this while showing me the fan club's chat group. The members were discussing my latest mission details, sharing photos, and trading handmade iron claws at exorbitant prices.
Worse still, my used drinking straws were up for sale. Strands of my fallen blonde hair had already been sold.
I nodded silently. Heh heh heh. I'm going to kill them.
Inside, Furuya-san made a throat-slitting gesture with dead eyes. Kill them immediately? Yes, absolutely. The fan club is dissolved as of today. Every member must exit this world, down to the last one. No mercy.
I have total confidence in the good looks and charisma I inherited from Furuya-san, but I never expected popularity in this twisted, bizarre direction.
For now, I will force them to delete every photo where I look like a psychopath. As for any Organization members who try to run, I will liquidate them myself.
Finding piles of bodies is a daily routine here, so a slight increase in mangled corpses is merely a rounding error. No doubt about it.
As I entertained these dark thoughts, Vodka patted my shoulder gently. It felt as if that tender touch cleansed my soul.
"As the one in charge of your training, I'm proud of you too, Bourbon. You really are working hard."
"...Thank you, Vodka."
Proud of what? Wouldn't a normal person despair if this were the fruit of their labor? Despite everything I wanted to say, I swallowed it all in Vodka's presence and forced a smile.
The entire Black Organization can go to hell. I'm going to tell the "Wizard of Light"—Edogawa Conan—everything, whether it's true or not.
Don't call this the howling of a beaten dog. This dog is vicious, and he will bite hard when the time comes.
Anyway, we arrived at Café Poirot. Driven by intense curiosity, I had come to meet the hero of this world, the "Wizard of Light," Edogawa Conan.
However, I had finalized all arrangements a week prior, ensuring it appeared I had my job interview at Poirot before Conan was shrunk by the APTX 4869.
I was greeted by Enomoto Azusa, the senior employee who has worked here for a long time.
Though cheerful, she is a die-hard Kaito Kid fan and has recently developed anti-Lupin the Third tendencies.
She mentioned that the new addition to the Lupin family—a dark-skinned, blonde user of iron claws who hides his face behind a fox mask—irritates her because his character design is "too on-the-nose and crude."
When she looked to me for agreement, asking, "Right?!", I had no choice but to nod solemnly.
──That's not true! I chose the fox mask because Furuya-san said a Japanese style would be better. So I'm not the one at fault here, am I?!
──Stop shifting the blame onto me. That violent, psychopathic dog persona is entirely your creation!
While we traded these ugly barbs internally, on the outside, I wore an elegant, gentle smile.
"Ah, Amuro-san. Are you on shift today?"
"No. Today I came as a customer to enjoy the coffee here in my spare time."
"I see. The Master's coffee is delicious, after all."
The one who answered Azusa-san's question was me—that is, the "Bourbon" persona.
Based on our consultations, we decided that Furuya-san and I would take turns playing the role of "Amuro" at Café Poirot.
The primary reason was to practice achieving perfect synchronization between my personality and Furuya-san's.
The "Amuro" I portray is vastly different from the original: a natural-born killer during Organization missions, but a friendly, likeable young man at all other times.
We agreed that, in case of an emergency, we must—at the very least—be capable of acting the part of that affable young man.
However, that is easier said than done.
The moment Furuya-san surfaced for his first shift, he made a blunder. Azusa-san asked him, "Did you cut your hair, Amuro-san?"
It seems the difference in our auras was so distinct that even an untrained eye noticed it, triggering a strange sense of unease.
He smoothed it over by saying, "Hahaha, did you notice? I just had it thinned out a bit," avoiding any real trouble, but we clearly need more training.
Incidentally, I have already become Mouri Kogoro's apprentice.
We need to drive the plot forward quickly.
Naturally, Furuya-san was baffled by my sudden, illogical decision to apprentice myself to Mouri. He asked, "What is the nature of your foresight? Is this born from absolute intuition?"
I answered him: "I suppose it's something like that. I'm not entirely sure myself."
Of course, suddenly becoming the apprentice of an obscure old man is highly suspicious. He is skilled at investigations requiring physical legwork, but his deductions—which rely on reasoning—are bizarre and utterly off the mark.
Speak of the devil.
Mouri Kogoro, having just descended from the floor above, spotted me sitting by the window at Poirot and called out.
"Hey, Amuro. I've forgiven you for your beginner's luck yesterday, but it won't happen next time."
"Ah, Mouri-sensei. Good morning... Please forgive me; that was truly just a coincidence."
In truth, I had visited a Mahjong parlor yesterday at Detective Mouri's invitation.
I was a novice who barely knew the rules, playing honestly without any setup, yet I seemed to draw good tiles through sheer beginner's luck.
Although Furuya-san offered some advice from within, Mahjong is ultimately a game of luck.
Detective Mouri, having lost to a beginner due to chance, got quite heated with his fellow players.
I figured this would be a better strategy to get close to him than simply going out for drinks, and my initiative to join the game seems to have been the right call.
"By the way, as of yesterday, I've been stuck looking after a kid."
"Apart from Ran-san?"
"Yeah. His name is Edogawa Conan. Another cheeky brat. If you see him, keep an eye on him for me."
At the mention of the protagonist's name, I barely managed to suppress the urge to twitch my shoulders.
The center of the world has arrived here. That fact made my tension spike involuntarily.
"Hahaha. I don't know if the child will like me, but I'll certainly do my best."
"Right, thanks, Amuro. He should be coming down soon."
Today is a public holiday. I'm not sure if he has started school yet, but even if he has, he would be off today.
The vibration of small footsteps tapping lightly on the concrete stairs outside reached my heightened senses.
The doorbell rang with a crisp chime. Then, the Great Detective appeared, looking incredibly small.
Black hair and deep blue eyes—the great mirror that reflects only one truth.
The lead actor tilted his head with the innocence of a child and looked at Detective Mouri.
"Uncle Mouri, were you here?"
"Ah, perfect timing, kid. This is my apprentice, a detective named Amuro."
"A detective? Are you a detective, mister?"
When I crouched down to meet his gaze, Edogawa Conan's eyes shone with vitality, his entire face expressing intense curiosity.
It seems the presence of a professional detective is a rarity for him. I couldn't help but think that Detective Mouri is also a real detective—and has always been close by—but perhaps he didn't count as a "pro." Poor Mouri.
"Yes. I am Detective Amuro Tooru. I am learning a great deal from Mouri-sensei as my mentor."
"Oh, okay. I'm Edogawa Conan. Nice to meet you!"
"Nice to meet you too, Conan-kun."
There was a lot of implied judgment in that "Oh, okay," as if to say: He became an apprentice to that hack? This guy has no foresight. I understand how he feels, but he shouldn't dismiss him so quickly.
While Mouri may lack the talent of an armchair detective, he is excellent at the type of work that requires gathering evidence through physical movement.
As I carried on this casual conversation, the corners of my mouth curled up without me realizing it.
Standing before me is Edogawa Conan. Or rather, Kudo Shinichi.
Many cases and events will undoubtedly spiral out from him starting now.
I will provide him with as much assistance as possible, and in doing so, contribute to the destruction of the Organization.
I have done my absolute best up to this point solely to achieve that goal.
Feeling as though I could hum a tune for these long-awaited days, I took a sip of my warm coffee.