Mihana Supermarket was bright, clean, and humming with the quiet efficiency of a weekday afternoon. Kurosawa Hoshino trailed behind Ran, half-watching her deliberate selection of vegetables, half-observing the orderly rows of goods.
Then, his casual scan snagged.
A staff member was restocking a shelf with bottled tea. Short-cropped blond hair. Dark skin. Efficient, unassuming movements.
That profile…
Hoshino's gaze lingered a beat too long. The man's instincts were sharp. Within seconds, he turned his head, his cool, observant eyes meeting Hoshino's directly across the aisle.
Amuro Tooru. The name on his tag confirmed it.
Of course. The randomly spawning part-time king. Refreshed at a supermarket this time.
Amuro's own recognition was a flicker behind his eyes. The high school student from last night's news. He noted the stare, attributed it to the usual curiosity about his mixed-race features, and gave a polite, professional nod before returning to his work.
"Hoshino, shrimp for dinner?" Ran asked, her attention on the seafood display.
"Sounds good," Hoshino replied, shifting his focus. "Here, let me take my jacket. You need both hands free."
"Thanks." She handed over the folded coat.
"Ahem."
A soft cough came from behind them. They turned to find Amuro Tooru there with a stock cart. He flashed a quick, conspiratorial wink, his voice dropping to a stage whisper as he glanced past them at a supervisor auditing a shelf nearby.
"A little tip for my favorite customers," he murmured, nodding subtly toward the shrimp Ran was eyeing. "Ten-minute countdown to the evening markdown. Might be worth the wait."
"Oh! Really—" Ran began, then caught his subtle, repeated blinking. Following his glance, she spotted the manager and understood. "I mean… thank you. We'll wait."
"My pleasure. Regulars know the schedule. Enjoy your shopping." With another easy smile, Amuro pushed his cart away, blending back into the store's rhythm.
As he left, Ran's face lit up. "Hoshino! How lucky is that?"
"Incredibly lucky," Hoshino agreed, a faint smile on his lips. Luck, or something else? "Let's grab the fruit and circle back."
"Deal."
He filed the encounter away. Amuro Tooru was a variable, a piece on a much larger board. For now, they moved in separate lanes. That was enough.
An hour later, a taxi dropped them, laden with grocery bags, outside the Mouri Detective Agency.
"We're back!" Ran called out cheerfully as she pushed open the door to the second-floor apartment.
The main room was quiet. Only Conan was there, a small figure dwarfed by the sofa, watching a variety show with unseeing eyes.
"Conan? Where's Dad?"
"Dunno. Wasn't here when I got back," Conan replied in his practiced childish tone. His gaze flickered from Ran's cheerful face to his own small hands, a familiar, profound melancholy settling in his gut. When will I get back to normal? When will I be able to…
"He's probably out on a case," Hoshino offered, setting his bags down.
"No way!" Ran huffed, her good mood souring. "When it's a case, he calls. When he vanishes? It's drinking. Or gambling. Sometimes he even hops over to Beika Town to lose money. You have no idea." The frustration of years tinged her voice.
Hoshino chuckled. "Nothing to be done, then. I'll go change out of these damp clothes." He headed back across the street to his own apartment.
When he returned ten minutes later, changed and dry, the afternoon rain had finally ceased. He found Ran in the kitchen, prepping ingredients with more force than strictly necessary.
"Early dinner?" he asked, settling onto the sofa near Conan.
"Yes," Ran declared, not looking up from a bell pepper she was slicing with precision. "We eat early. No free meals for people who gamble away their afternoons and waltz back for dinner."
Hoshino exchanged a glance with Conan. They both knew it was an empty threat. Ran would leave a plate covered in the fridge, without fail.
Brinng-brinnng!
The sudden jangle of the landline made them all jump.
Ran wiped her hands and picked up the receiver. "Mouri Detective Agency, hello?"
A boisterous, jovial voice exploded from the other end. "KOGORO! It's me! The wedding's the day after tomorrow, you cannot miss it!"
"Ah, I'm sorry, my father isn't in. May I ask who's calling?"
"Ran! Ha! Don't worry about it. Just tell the old drunk it's 'that guy from Kyoto.' He'll know! He'd better show up! Alright, gotta run! Tell him tonight!"
Click. The line went dead.
Ran held the phone away from her ear, a look of profound exasperation on her face. "…No wonder he's friends with Dad."
Hoshino's laugh was cut short by a new sound from the entrance—a fumbling, scraping, repeated jiggling of the doorknob. No key turned. Just persistent, clumsy shaking.
"I'll get it," Hoshino said, his 'Danger Premonition' silent. He walked over and opened the door.
A figure slumped forward immediately, carried by his own weight and a powerful wave of alcohol fumes. Kogoro Mouri collapsed in a heap on the genkan floor, mumbling into the wood, "No more… can't drink another drop… 'm a genius…"
Silence.
A heavy, palpable silence filled the room.
Ran slowly lowered the knife in her hand. She didn't look up, but a dark, terrifying aura began to shimmer around her, making the very air feel dense.
"Um, Ran…" Hoshino ventured cautiously.
"Yeah," Conan piped up, voice a little high. "It's, uh, cold on the floor…"
"Honestly! I knew it!" Ran finally lifted her head, the terrifying aura receding into sheer, frustrated irritation. "Out all afternoon, drinking and playing pachinko, and look at him!"
She stomped over, Hoshino following, and together they hauled the muttering, completely insensate detective off the floor and toward the stairs to his bedroom.
If he'd been conscious, the reckoning would have been swift and terrifying. Unconscious, he was just a heavy, smelly problem to be stored for the night.
As for the mysterious wedding invitation from "that guy from Kyoto"?
That was a problem for tomorrow's hangover.