Because the incident occurred after dinner, the disappearance of Takahashi and Chikako—both of whom had returned to their rooms early—went unnoticed by the others in the villa.
Nothing happened through the night.
It wasn't until breakfast the next morning that everything came to light.
"What—?! Chikako-san she—?!"
Suzuki Ayako rested her elbow on the table, one hand pressed to her forehead. Her eyes were filled with confusion and a weariness that suggested deep mental exhaustion.
Xiaolan covered her mouth, disbelief written all over her face. The three remaining members of the film club stood frozen in shock.
"How… how could this happen…"
"Ayako—you're not joking, right?" Kakutani Hiroki asked, eyes wide. His tone held doubt, but more than that, denial.
"Takahashi…" Ota Masaru swallowed hard. He suddenly remembered mocking Takahashi for gaining weight during dinner the night before.
And he himself had gone into the forest that night as well.
A chill ran down his spine. His face darkened as fear crept in.
Sonoko had already been given a heads-up by Ayako, so she remained silent, her presence subdued.
Conan tugged lightly on Shimizu Koji's sleeve. His sleepy eyes widened instantly.
He didn't need to say anything—Koji understood immediately.
What happened? Weren't you outside? How did you find nothing?
"I was only hiding near the villa for a while," Koji replied quietly.
Conan froze for a moment, a hint of frustration flashing across his face.
"So Chikako-san's famous debut work… that movie currently in theaters, The Blue Castle… it was plagiarized from Atsuko's work…"
Xiaolan murmured softly, stunned.
It was hard to accept that the two people who had been sitting across from them the night before—so alive—were now gone. One dead, the other locked away in a place that would never see daylight.
Breakfast ended in silence.
Soon after, Ayako arranged for cars to send everyone home.
"That's fine here. Thank you for your trouble."
Koji spoke softly. The driver nodded and brought the car to a smooth stop at the intersection.
It was only ten in the morning. The fresh scent of early day still lingered in the breeze. Green leaves stretched over courtyard walls, casting a small patch of cool shade onto the pavement.
From the alley entrance to home was only a two- or three-minute walk. Koji had already grown familiar with the area.
The alley where the Kudo residence stood had only two households at present—his own, and the neighbor who had once lived next to Kudo Shinichi.
Koji only knew that the neighbor's surname was Agasa.
He had lived here for several days now but had never seen what the neighbor looked like, nor had he felt particularly curious.
Still, every time he passed by the Agasa residence, he couldn't help but glance at it—a house that was clearly a home, yet somehow looked more like a research lab or office.
This time, however, just as Koji reached the front gate, the door opened.
An elderly man with a round head, a broad and plump figure, and graying facial hair stepped out, carrying two shopping bags.
Koji glanced once, then looked away.
But when the old man lifted his head and saw Koji, he froze—then hurriedly called out.
"Wait! You're Shimizu-kun, right?"
The man jogged over to the yard gate, slightly out of breath. Koji looked at him with mild confusion as the old man broke into a wide smile.
"Excuse me—do you need something?" Koji asked politely.
Instinctively, he reached out to support the elderly man.
"Ah—thank you," the man said with a chuckle. "Sorry for stopping you so suddenly. I just didn't expect to see you right as I stepped outside."
He finally caught his breath, clearly having exerted himself with that short run.
Koji withdrew his hand quietly. The man clearly knew him—but Koji didn't recognize him.
Most likely, Kudo Shinichi was close with this neighbor and had mentioned him.
"I was actually planning to visit you today," the man explained warmly. "Shinichi told me about your situation and asked me to look out for you."
He smiled kindly as he spoke.
Unbeknownst to Koji, Conan hadn't been idle at all. He had secretly investigated everything he could.
Koji's solitary nature. His spotless, almost nonexistent social circle. The fact that he was, in reality, an orphan.
Conan knew it all.
The maintenance costs for the villa and garden had been a joke at first—he'd never intended for Koji to actually pay.
And after confirming Koji's background, Conan couldn't help but feel sympathy for him.
From Conan's point of view, Shimizu Koji was strong—but also painfully unfortunate.
No parents. No friends. Completely alone.
According to neighbors from his old apartment, Koji used to live on instant noodles and discounted convenience-store bento. Even when people tried to help, he always refused—until Hirota Masami, a kind and gentle older girl, moved in. Only then did his life seem to improve.
In truth, Koji didn't care about any of that.
To him, surviving safely one day at a time was enough.
He had died too many times from trying to "improve his life" recklessly.
But in Conan's eyes, Koji was an orphan isolated from the world.
Somewhat similar to himself as Kudo Shinichi—except far worse. Shinichi had merely been out of sync with his peers. Koji was utterly alone.
And most importantly—
Hirota Masami was dead.
Killed right in front of them.
To Kudo Shinichi, she had been an unfortunate civilian caught up in crime.
But to Shimizu Koji, she may have been someone like an older sister.
For the first time, Conan felt a strange sense of responsibility—as a senior.
He spoke with Professor Agasa more than once, explaining Koji's situation in detail.
And naturally, the kind-hearted Agasa couldn't help but feel sympathy for the "pitiful" Shimizu Koji Conan described.
If Koji knew what they were thinking, he would probably be speechless.
He simply didn't share the same values—or interests—as hormone-driven teenage boys. He didn't care much for socializing. He could eat well and dress fine on his own.
So why did everyone think he was lonely and depressed?!
Alright… at a glance, maybe he did look that way.
But seriously—he wasn't sick.
Koji politely declined Professor Agasa's offer of help.
Agasa didn't take offense, nor did he insist further.
He had expected this reaction.
What mattered was that he had explained why he came.
Because words and actions—
Should always be kept separate.