Let us discuss my knowledge of the original storyline. Soon, Pisco will assassinate a politician on the Organization's orders. The gist of the event is that the exact moment he shoots the chandelier will be captured by the media. Consequently, the Organization will discard Pisco without a second thought.
(What a roundabout way to kill someone, dropping a chandelier! I, on the other hand, slice through my victims in a single blow with my iron claws...)
Thinking such trivial thoughts, and having disposed of the listening device, I hastened toward the banquet hall.
The Haido City Hotel had not yet witnessed any fatalities, so the police had not yet established a perimeter. That was relatively lucky. Had entry been restricted, I would have been forced to sneak in using Mr. Furuya's techniques.
I slipped quietly into the festive banquet hall, a different world inhabited by the wealthy. Fortunately, since I always dress formally when playing the role of Bourbon, I managed to blend into the atmosphere seamlessly. Although, the black suit makes me look more like a waiter than a guest. Well, fitting in is what matters.
The only downside is that this suit restricts my movement during combat, yet the flashy outfits Vermouth chooses for me attract far too much attention.
Near the entrance, Pisco noticed me and approached with a cheerful, optimistic smile.
"Oh, is that you, Amuro-kun? Is something the matter?"
"I heard you have some 'business' shortly. Since I was nearby, I came to offer support."
"How wonderful of you! You really are always attentive and kind. But don't worry, the task isn't too difficult this time. There is no need for concern."
"Is that so? As expected of Mr. Masuyama. You are still strong, and you seem to get more energetic with age."
"Hahaha, hearing that makes me even more motivated."
We exchanged friendly pleasantries. Internally, however, I felt a twinge of melancholy knowing this man would die shortly. He is a cunning and wicked old man, but as a leader, he is remarkably competent; he evaluates those in his faction fairly.
He is also articulate and sensitive to power dynamics, making him well-suited for politics—a pioneer in a field that neither Mr. Furuya nor I can replicate. If asked whether I would want a personal relationship with him, the answer would be a definitive no.
At that moment, Mr. Furuya, sounding displeased, murmured faintly from within me, directing his words at Pisco, who was concealing a gun in his pocket.
── (Shouldn't we stop this politician's assassination?)
── (He is someone who has engaged in plenty of shady dealings outside the Organization anyway. His disappearance will clean up the Japanese political landscape.)
── (That is also true.)
As expected of Mr. Furuya, who puts Japan's interests above all else. He abandoned the victim easily and accepted the situation. Is this acceptable for the Public Security Bureau? No, perhaps this is exactly how Public Security should operate.
"Well then, allow me to enjoy the party for a short while."
"Alright. Make yourself at home. By the way, my son told me yesterday that he wants to meet you. I know you are busy, but please see him every now and then."
His son was Irish. We had become close friends, having spent a long time traveling and dining together; we were even sparring partners. Irish was an avid outdoorsman who frequently went solo camping—a sort of Laid-Back Camp for the Black Organization, though the "laid-back" part hardly applied in this context. I remember joining him at his campsite once; it was entertaining to watch him pull piece after piece of high-end, authentic gear from his packs.
The thought that Irish might come to hate me after this... was already weighing heavily on my mind.
"Very well. I'll call him myself; we owe your son a great deal."
"Hahaha. It seems he's been taking his training seriously lately, thanks to your influence. I hope you two stay close in the future."
"Yes, of course."
At that moment, Conan was in a truly desperate situation. Pisco—Kenzo Masuyama, the chairman of an auto manufacturer—had uncovered Ai Haibara's true identity. Conan found himself immobilized, a gun trained on him. It was nearly checkmate.
Conan had not gone into this confrontation without a plan. His attempt to set the wine cellar ablaze using Spirytus, a high-proof alcohol, had actually worked.
The fire alarm was blaring. The police officers investigating the murder upstairs would likely notice the commotion and burst into the room at any moment. It was only a matter of time.
What he hadn't anticipated, however, was that Pisco would prioritize eliminating the bleeding Haibara. Pisco turned his muzzle toward her. Conan had no choice but to shield her, taking a bullet in the process.
It was merely a graze and the bleeding was minimal, but even a flustered Pisco would not miss a second time.
Aiming to kill both Haibara and Conan, Pisco pulled the trigger.
In that instant.
Thud.
A muffled impact echoed through the room. With a brutal thrust from behind, sharp iron claws impaled him, bursting through his chest in jagged layers.
Crimson blood gushed from his mouth, mingling with the searing air and darkening to a murky black. The strike had punctured a lung and crushed his ribs from behind.
Eyes wide with shock, Pisco stammered, his voice trembling:
"Wh... Why...? Bou... rbon?"
"Because exposing Ai Haibara's identity to the Organization is not something we desire. And since the Organization has ordered your execution regardless, it's best you die quietly and take that information to your grave."
"Be... trayal... Ah..."
"Oh, no. I phrased that poorly. An official execution order for 'Pisco' has already been issued. Therefore, my actions here aren't insubordination, are they?"
"Ugh... Ah..."
The man who had materialized behind Pisco without a sound was supposed to be his comrade—a fellow executive in the Organization. He was the Executioner. The Bloody Wolf. It was Bourbon—Tooru Amuro himself.
"Farewell, then."
Bourbon laughed—a sound as beautiful as frost flowers, yet utterly cruel and merciless—and swept his iron claws through the air.
Accompanied by the sickening sound of tearing flesh, Pisco retched blood and collapsed, dead.
Confronted with this rapid sequence of events, Conan could do nothing but watch. Shock, overwhelming emotion, and rage threatened to make him tremble, yet a first-grader's body was powerless here. Moreover, his adult intellect coolly recognized that an emotional outburst would be a fatal error, and suppressed it.
He felt nearly torn apart by a sense of paralysis and helplessness.
Bourbon wiped the blood from his iron claws, his face void of emotion. Then, in a split second, his demeanor shifted completely as he rushed toward Conan and Haibara.
Ai Haibara was trembling visibly.
Terror had her teeth chattering so violently that she couldn't utter a single word.
With an expression of concern so exaggerated it bordered on the absurd, Bourbon frantically checked over Conan and Haibara.
"Are you two okay?! Can you walk?! You're not hurt, are you? You weren't hit!"
He grimaced when he spotted the graze on Conan's shoulder.
"I can't treat that here," he said, his voice gentle. "Come to my safe house later."
The warmth in his voice ran deep. Perhaps there was no falsehood in his desire to protect them. He projected a concern earnest enough to be believed, all while leaving Pisco's silent corpse abandoned behind him.
"Now, you must run. If Gin arrives, things will get complicated."
"You... You killed... a person..."
"Pisco's body will divert Gin's attention for a while. That is all I can do for you. Now, hurry!"
"Damn you!!"
Bourbon's eyes were sincere; he was genuinely thinking of Conan's well-being, which was precisely what made the situation so maddening.
Conan took off, chasing after Haibara in a daze.
He loathed his own volatility, fearing that if he stayed a second longer, he might hurl unforgivable words at the very man who had saved their lives.
Today.
A life had been extinguished for their sake.
The thought consumed him.
Damn it, damn it, damn it! Dammit all to hell!!
Conan felt as though his own powerlessness had engineered this entire situation, and he ran with frantic desperation.
Pisco's lifeless face would not leave his mind.
Ah, why am I so small? Why couldn't I handle this better?
Faster. Run faster.
He just wanted to grow up—to return to his true self.