Damn that Rye Bastard!
Amuro Tooru clenched his fists, the leather of his gloves pulled taut with tension.
It wasn't a surprise that the Organization didn't fully trust Bourbon and had assigned a separate team to monitor the situation. What he hadn't expected was that this team would be led by Rye… and that they'd use violence against Karasawa.
A storm of rage churned in his chest, along with a sharp, creeping concern for Karasawa Akira's safety.
Two codename members just to monitor a high schooler. The intel Karasawa held clearly wasn't just important—it was explosive.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Amuro snapped, face grim. "Do you think I'm incapable of handling this kind of threat? Hmm?"
Of course not. It's because you're too damn good at tailing people—I didn't even realize I was being followed!
Karasawa knew better than to talk back. He lowered his head, looking properly apologetic. "Sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. It won't happen again."
Amuro sighed, switching to a more rational angle of persuasion. "Your case isn't simple. If things blow up, everyone involved with it is going down. You need to take care of yourself."
"I understand. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have acted on my own." Still the perfect picture of obedience.
Amuro couldn't stay angry with that face. He shook his head and turned back toward the prep counter. "I hope you do understand. What do you want for lunch? I'll make you a sandwich."
"Okay~" Karasawa immediately chimed in with enthusiasm, eager to move past the scolding.
Two bandages came flying over the counter and landed in front of him.
"Stick one on that cut. Even small wounds can leave scars."
Says the guy who just yanked it open! But since he was in the wrong, Karasawa wisely kept his mouth shut.
The café quieted. Only the hiss of oil from Amuro's frying pan broke the silence.
On the TV, the midday news began.
Karasawa turned his head to watch. Maybe there was a new murder case being reported. With "Sleeping Kogorou" now a public figure, he needed to stay informed so as not to miss any chances to mingle with main characters.
Traffic accidents… celebrity deaths… assaults… more assaults… murder cases… more murder…
After seven or eight grim headlines, Karasawa was numb. Was this really Tokyo or some alternate-universe Gotham?
As he was silently critiquing the city's crime rate, the next segment aired.
"Breaking news: Maru Denjirou, CEO of the Maru Group, held an emergency press conference just half an hour ago, announcing that he wishes to atone for years of wrongdoing. At the press conference, Mr. Maru admitted to his company's involvement in illegal loan practices and confessed to using predatory lending and coercive tactics to seize dozens of antique items…"
Karasawa sat up straight, fully alert.
Damn. Maru Denjirou might be a rat bastard, but he had efficiency. Got beaten up in the morning, confessed before lunch—didn't even take a coffee break.
"…Next, we go live to our field reporter at the scene of the press conference…"
The elegant anchorwoman's smile was replaced by the balding, bearded face of Maru Denjirou, sobbing under a barrage of camera flashes.
"I let my greed get the better of me," Maru said, tears streaming. "I hurt so many people. Some were even driven to suicide by my actions. I know my sins are beyond forgiveness, but I hope I can return what I stole to their rightful owners…"
"If the items were already sold, I'll do my best to recover them. Please, believe in my resolve." Maru bowed deeply. "For all the pain I've caused—I am truly, deeply sorry…"
Karasawa touched the bandage on his face, lips curling into a satisfied smile.
"What are you grinning at?" Amuro placed a plate in front of him, glanced up at the TV, then shook his head. "Old bastards repenting at the end of their lives—what's the point? The damage's already done."
"I dunno," Karasawa murmured, still smiling. "Just feels like the world's gotten a little brighter. That's enough for me."
…Too bad for the detective upstairs. Looks like that high-paying job just disappeared.
Karasawa's sympathy lasted until dinnertime.
Mouri Kogorou, with Ran and Conan in tow, was now seated at the café bar, laughing and boasting as he chatted with Amuro.
"…No idea what got into Maru Denjirou," Kogorou snorted. "He hired me just last week to investigate his wife's affair—booked a meeting and everything. Then today, poof, press conference, full confession! No final payment, no meeting. What a pain."
"So the job's canceled?" Amuro asked, keeping his tone light as he monitored the bubbling pot behind the counter.
"Yup, but fortune favors the bold," Kogorou declared proudly, puffing out his chest. "I went over anyway, figured I'd try to get my fee or at least a breach-of-contract charge—and wouldn't you know it? His wife bought out all the evidence I collected!"
"Dad…" Ran looked pained. "That's not really something to brag about…"
Kogorou waved her off. "If I hadn't done such a good job gathering those photos, that money would've been lost!"
"Now that Maru Denjirou's definitely going to prison—with all that evidence out in the open—the company's falling into the wife's hands. If the board had gotten my photos, it'd have hurt her position. So she paid triple to buy it all back."
Kogorou laughed heartily, basking in his own brilliance. Ran and Conan both gave him classic half-lidded stares of disbelief.
"Uncle Kogorou, you really shouldn't be talking about client info in public…" Conan muttered helplessly.
"It was Maru Inako herself who asked me to," Kogorou countered, ever the ethical P.I. "She said letting the rumors spread would help tank the stock price. She's trying to buy up more shares."
Ran's expression twisted with quiet horror. She glanced between Maru Denjirou and the elegant, calculating Maru Inako. "Is this what adult relationships are like…?"
"Rich folks, huh? Whatever. Amuro, three orders of seafood pasta!" Kogorou called, throwing out his arms like a man who just won the lottery.
Karasawa took a sip of his hot cocoa, eyes drifting elsewhere.
So his calling card hit that close to the wire?
If he'd waited even a day, Maru Denjirou would've been turned into a human skewer by now…
Death gods really don't mess around.
Conan dropped the half-lidded expression and narrowed his eyes, fingertips pressing to his chin.
Maru Denjirou's sudden change of heart made no sense. After decades of shady dealings, the man suddenly grew a conscience at fifty-something? Overnight?
Could it be tied to the "calling card"?
The group calling themselves the Phantom Thieves of Hearts had claimed they'd make him pay today—and today, he really did confess.
Was it intimidation? Coercion? Some kind of vigilante justice?
How the hell did they pull that off?
Across the bar, Karasawa choked on his cocoa and sneezed violently.