Conan had sensed the dissonance for a long time—in the way the man sat, his speech patterns, and even the placement of his hands. Although he was ostensibly Amuro Tooru, the contrast only grew sharper the more time they spent together.
Now, the man who held the answers to all those contradictions stared back at him with a silence as heavy and imposing as a monolith. Conan met that gaze, refusing to flinch.
"Well, you've found "Eddie P." Now only the victim, "DJ," remains. What will you do, Conan Edogawa?"
"...You don't intend to tell me, do you?"
"I trust your abilities. I believe that with your wit and your legendary luck, you will save the victim quite brilliantly."
I wish you the best of luck.
Amuro Tooru's other half—the one who called himself "Zero"—narrowed his eyes with an air of cold superiority. The "Amuro" persona, who committed murder with a gentle smile, was nowhere to be found. Not even a trace remained.
Then, the mask shifted again, and a warm, friendly smile returned to his face. He was a living embodiment of Jekyll and Hyde: Amuro Tooru, the ruthless killer with a charming smile who acted kindly toward everyone; and Zero, the rigid, intimidating figure who exuded the aura of a ruler—a man who saw himself as the law personified. These two diametrically opposed figures were two sides of the same coin, sharing a single body.
Conan swallowed hard. The tension filling the car made his shoulders go rigid.
"That's all. We've provided all the information we can. The rest is up to you, Conan."
"...I planned on handling it even without you telling me."
Conan laughed boldly, facing the newly revealed truth and mystery. He turned his gaze forward, looking straight ahead without a backward glance.
It was quite something. After teasing Conan and revealing the dual personality, events followed the original timeline. We met Jodie, gathered more intel, and resumed the investigation. Detective Mouri remained in a precarious position, directly in the Organization's crosshairs. Once the Black Organization marks someone, keeping them alive becomes nearly impossible—which was why Conan was fighting so hard to prevent the inevitable.
Jodie Starling blinked in astonishment at Conan's persistence. However, the moment she saw me inside Dr. Agasa's Beetle, her entire body froze. Her gaze turned razor-sharp.
"You... the Organization's enforcer, "The Wolf"! What are you doing with these children?!"
"You must be Jodie Starling of the FBI. A pleasure. I am Detective Mouri's apprentice. Is there some issue with me accompanying Conan?"
"An apprentice? Don't make me laugh. You're a sadistic killer who sends those sick "snuff films.""
Conan started to speak—
"Snuff films? Does that mean..."
—but I raised my hand to silence him. Jodie was too suspicious to believe me now, even if I brought up Akemi Miyano. In fact, it would only hurt Conan's own credibility. I had to avoid disrupting the cooperation between Jodie, Conan, and the FBI.
I smiled gently as Jodie aimed her pistol at me. If you get that close, I could neutralize you before you even pull the trigger.
"I'm on vacation right now. If I were on the clock, I would have cleared everyone here out of my way already."
"...A hollow excuse. What are you thinking, you mad dog? You have no reason to overlook Conan."
"We have our reasons for that. ...Furthermore,"
I paused, glancing at Conan, who was watching the scene unfold.
"I simply felt like seeing how far this "great little detective" could go. That's all."
That was the honest truth. He is the protagonist of this world, and heroism defines him. Such a being had declared he would "handle" this crisis. As a fan of Detective Conan, I couldn't help but want to watch it play out.
Jodie remained silent for a moment before nodding and taking the passenger seat. Two children and three adults made for a cramped ride, but they managed by having the kids sit on the adults' laps. Jodie's silent tension filled the car, creating a heavy, pressurized atmosphere.
Regardless, the hero remained the hero. Conan successfully identified "DJ" using the information he squeezed out of a scowling Jodie and headed for Haido Park. Thanks to his quick thinking—breaking the sprinklers to force people to open umbrellas and block the line of sight—he thwarted the Organization's assassination attempt.
We watched the entire sequence play out almost as spectators. Inside, Furuya and I exchanged enthusiastic commentary as if watching a live performance. In truth, this was part of my subconscious power; I had long known I could manifest what I imagined. This time, I discovered I could create massive constructs, provided I had clear knowledge and a vivid mental image.
Consequently, we used any spare time to collect blueprints and photo albums. Today, we finally succeeded in manifesting our own home: a massive samurai-style manor with a sprawling Japanese garden. The construction, which captured every minute detail, was a collaborative effort between Furuya's imagination and mine. Colorful koi swam in the pond, and a bamboo forest stood in the back. The only flaw was that the manor itself was submerged underwater, causing the koi to occasionally drift out, but it gave the place a "Dragon Palace" feel that we actually liked.
It was a refined feeling, sitting together on the porch, looking out at the "outer world." We sat there in custom-made kimonos, trading remarks:
"Ah, Conan finally figured it out?"
and
"What brilliant deduction. At this rate..."
and
"Wow, it's already raining. The gods must love him a bit too much."
But things didn't go perfectly. Gin discovered the bug on Kir's shoe just a step away from us retrieving it. When we rushed to the scene, Detective Mouri was safe for the moment. However, a flash of murderous intent and the glint of a rifle barrel from the opposite building suggested his life was measured in minutes.
Conan grabbed the soccer ball Dr. Agasa had brought. His grim expression betrayed the pressure of having only one shot. Behind Detective Mouri, who was listening to horse racing, Conan kicked the ball with his Power-Enhancing Kicks. The ball shattered the office window with a thunderous crack, circular fractures spider-webbing across the expensive glass.
"What the hell?!"
Mouri shouted, throwing the window open. Knowing it was cruel to let Conan take the heat alone, I hurried over and bowed in apology.
"I'm so sorry, Master Mouri! We were playing together and the ball went wild... I'll personally cover the cost of the glass."
"Our apologies. We interrupted your horse racing."
Conan, despite his surprise, made sure to say "horse racing" loudly, just as planned. If I recalled correctly, Gin would mistake the noise he heard through the bug for the audio of a horse race.
As I watched the events unfold, my emergency radio earpiece buzzed. It was Gin.
『Bourbon. Kill the brat and Mouri Kogoro.』
『...Understood.』
Just as I prepared to reply, weighing how to dodge the order and ensure Conan's survival, a whistle cut through the air. A surge of killing intent. A focused gaze. I threw my body backward with everything I had, narrowly dodging a sniper round aimed directly at the back of my head. The stray bullet struck the stone floor with a sharp, metallic ring. Sensing the next shot, I dove into the alleyway beside the agency.
Conan turned, stunned.
"Was that a sniper?! Bourbon, are you okay?"
"Luckily, I dodged it. Aiming straight for the back of the head... that's some serious killing intent."
"A bullet meant for you, not me or my uncle? Who on earth..."
That's the thing about Conan—he can actually worry about me in a moment like this. Even though I'm a nameless member of the Black Organization, and his life would be easier if I simply died here.
The radio crackled in my ear again.
『Bourbon. Do you hear me? Are you alright?』
"Yes, no problem. You mean the shooting?"
『Fall back. We've confirmed that the police noticed the gunfire and are moving in.』
"Understood. What about the boy and Kogoro Mouri?"
『Ignore them. They're just two fools listening to the races.』
"Yes. As you command."
I called out to Conan and gave him a thumbs-up. With a look of utter bewilderment and exhaustion, Conan slumped his shoulders.
"You are way too calm..."
"It seems Gin and the others have retreated. Only the sniper from that extreme distance remains... but don't worry, it's under control."
"Hey, wait! Are you sure we can go out now?! Even you'll die if a sniper hits you!"
"Don't worry. The killing intent has already faded."
The sniper—the FBI's Shuichi Akai—had already pulled out. It's the rule: fire one shot, and if you miss, disappear. He had moved with impressive speed, adhering to the fundamentals.
(Internally) Wait, what does he mean by "even you"? Of course I'd die if a normal bullet hit me. It just doesn't hit me.
Conan stared at me with scrutinizing eyes.
"No, wait! How did you just dodge that? Sniper rounds are supersonic!"
"How? By sensing their presence and feeling the shift in the air."
"You said that before... are you serious? Really?"
"Dead serious. I mean it."
When I nodded slowly, Conan put his head in his hands.
"Impossible..."
"That's a lie... you aren't human."
"That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"
The crisis had passed, but Conan kept tilting his head, sounding unconvinced.
"No, there has to be some trick to it."
Look, this is a battle-manga ability; there's no trick or setup, so just give it up.
I suppose I should wire the money for the window to Detective Mouri... I thought to myself. And so, the day ended with such mundane concerns.
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