"Yes, I'm Kazawa... Right... Right now? Uh, okay..."
Kazawa helplessly put down his phone and made a shrugging gesture. "Sorry, something urgent just came up... Anyway, since Mr. Mouri is already passed out drunk, you can go handle the rest, right?"
After a round of investigation and deduction, Conan had already gotten on the right track. Not only had he confirmed that the person dealing with Tequila was Hideaki Nakajima, he also figured out that the explosion wasn't an intentional silencing—it was a complete mix-up. A fatal mistake.
After coming to that conclusion, he was even angrier.
He had been shrunk for so long, and finally, after Joker showed up, he managed to get a lead. But before he could dig deeper, the killer's attack had ruined everything.
Even though it wasn't something a just detective should think, Conan's first reaction was:
"Of all the ways to kill someone, you just had to use a bomb?!"
And Tequila—wasn't he part of the Organization too? How useless! Just got taken out by some random killer passing by!
He came to Kazawa hoping to wrap up the deduction and take down Hideaki Nakajima, who had dealt with Tequila, maybe pry some information out of him. But he had just started when Kazawa looked like he was about to be called away by a phone call.
Everything was going wrong. Nothing was going smoothly. So frustrating.
Fuming, Conan started shaking Mouri Kogorou, who was snoring away from his hangover. Meanwhile, Kazawa quietly backed away, slipping out of sight of Mouri Ran and Suzuki Sonoko, and made his way toward the side exit of the venue.
Fukami Yuya stood right by the door, in the middle of the police officers sealing off the area, arms folded, waiting for him to come out.
"Officer Fukami," Kazawa walked up with a polite smile and asked curiously, "You're here to help with the bombing case too?"
Of course he already knew—this guy was obviously sent here by Amuro Tooru. He just wanted to see what excuse they'd come up with to pull him away.
"I came here for you." Fukami Yuya felt like his forehead was about to get permanent lines from frowning too much lately. Every time he saw Kazawa's polite and friendly look, his stomach twisted automatically. He didn't hesitate and pulled out some prepared documents. "There are some investigations you need to cooperate with."
Kazawa glanced at the few photos in his hand, and his heart suddenly jumped. He instinctively pressed his ribs.
The photos were of some punk-looking thugs, with wild hairstyles and obviously bad attitudes.
In the memories of the body's original owner, their faces were even scarier and more vicious than in the pictures.
These faces instantly brought back the pain in his ribs—the humiliation and fear of being pinned to the ground, followed by kick after kick, coughing so hard the taste of blood came up his throat...
Kazawa instinctively stepped back, raising his arms in a defensive pose, and slapped Fukami's hand away.
His overreaction caught Fukami off guard. The photos almost flew out of his hand.
Kazawa's reflex only stopped when he finally snapped out of the surge of negative emotions. In his heart, he silently apologized to the hardworking Fukami Yuya.
He didn't know why, but Kazawa Shou's memories were unusually vivid. A person's memories should fade with time—especially the painful, fearful ones. That's a natural mental defense.
But Kazawa Shou's memories weren't like that. They were like carefully edited video clips. Once triggered, they replayed perfectly, second by second, along with all the emotions.
Kazawa knew very clearly—this kid, Kazawa Shou, probably had some kind of problem.
Maybe, the strange condition he'd been in after transmigrating—like having amnesia, but being able to remember things clearly when needed—was actually Kazawa Shou's mental self-protection method. He'd locked up his memories in separate "drawers," so he wouldn't remember them unless he had to. That way he wouldn't end up like someone with hyperthymesia, completely falling apart.
While thinking about this, Kazawa quickly covered up his earlier outburst and got back into character:
"Where did you get those photos? You're with them too, aren't you?!"
For someone like Kazawa, who had years of acting experience, this kind of reaction was basically muscle memory. Fukami Yuya didn't see through it at all. He just assumed Kazawa Shou saw him as one of the abusers too and was full of distrust and resentment.
"No. I'm investigating the suspicious points in your case." Fukami Yuya quickly revealed his identity to avoid Kazawa panicking and running away—because if he did, catching him again would be a nightmare. He pushed up his glasses. "Let's reintroduce ourselves. Public Security Bureau, Police Inspector—Fukami Yuya."
"Public Security…" Kazawa slowly relaxed his stance and repeated with doubt, "You're with Public Security?"
"That's right." Fukami mentally gave himself a thumbs-up for the quick thinking, and kept a straight face. "There are major issues with your case. We suspect serious negligence. Let's not talk here—come with me."
Good setup. Kazawa liked this kind of well-coordinated partner in a performance.
So he also adjusted his expression and tone, showing just enough hesitation and guardedness, like someone unsure but willing to believe, and followed Fukami Yuya into the car.
Once Kazawa was inside, Fukami immediately locked the doors. For some reason, he felt a strange sense of relief, like a wild cat had finally been trapped in a cage.
Maybe he should suggest to Amuro-san to apply for an ankle tracker for this guy once he's out on bail. He just caused way too much chaos.
Too bad that kind of over-monitoring would definitely make Kazawa resist. Amuro-san probably wouldn't approve.
Fukami sighed in his heart, then turned the key and started the car.
———
While Kazawa was being taken into the Public Security Bureau, Conan was fully absorbed in deduction.
"The one who planted the bomb... was you, Mr. Takeshita!" Conan shouted into his bowtie, clenching his molars before continuing, "The company briefcase from Mantendo we found at the scene—its label was bent outward. That shows the explosive wasn't placed on the outside, but was installed inside the bag!"
Inspector Megure turned to look at the squatting, panicked Takeshita Hiroshi and asked sternly, "So he was the one who handed the briefcase to the victim?"
"No. The one who handed the bag to the victim... was Hideaki Nakajima, who made a secret deal with him. Isn't that right, Mr. Nakajima?"
"Deal?" Megure turned his sharp gaze toward Hideaki Nakajima.
"Yes. The bag the victim picked up was from locker number 98. But just now, Mr. Nakajima took a bag from locker 124. You three inserted yourselves in line right between us while depositing your things, so your locker numbers should've been 97–99. That means you swapped tickets with the victim, completing a secret exchange."
Conan explained all this while his fists clenched harder. Tequila, Nakajima, Takeshita—he didn't know which one of them was the unluckiest fool. How the hell did such a stupid tragedy even happen?
He ignored the fact that maybe the real unlucky one... was himself.
Conan's grip on his bowtie tightened, but he forced his voice to stay steady as he continued.
"But the victim didn't know... what he received wasn't Mr. Nakajima's locker ticket. You had already swapped yours with him in advance, Mr. Takeshita. And the bag from your locker... had a whole case of explosives!"
Conan peeked out from behind a pillar, staring coldly at Nakajima's pale face.
"Tell the truth, Mr. Nakajima. Who exactly was the victim? And what deal did you make with him?"