Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
THE SHORTCUT
The Bullet
THE SHORTCUT
The Bullet
‘Ran-kun’s house is a detective agency. They might have info on those guys.’
That was how Professor Agasa persuaded Shinichi Kudo to stay with Ran while he was trapped in the seven-years-old body of Conan Edogawa. Logical choice; the odds of stumbling upon cases involving the men in black, who had turned his world upside down, would be fairly high. The first night showed a sign of hope: Kogoro Mouri was hired by a client whose daughter was kidnapped by a man dressed in black. Too bad it wasn’t the identical man Shinichi was looking for.
Conan had elevated this appalling detective’s career to an unthinkable degree within the next six months, yet Uncle never really contributed to his relentless pursuit. He learned more about the organization from other sources, mostly from the seasoned FBI agents stationed in Japan.
Until most recently.
Conan woke up, brushed his teeth, dressed up for school, and walked into the front office room like every other morning; except what greeted him wasn’t the sight of Uncle passing out after five rounds in the middle of a shipwreck.
The whole office had been transformed. No Yoko Okino posters, less cupboards and boxes. Layers of blackout curtains blocked the windows. The lamp was turned on all day. The walls were now decorated with countless photographs, newspaper clippings, police reports, hand-drawn sketches, and sticky notes interconnected by red strings. Kogoro had redesigned his workplace into a massive evidence board for one case:
The organization.
Conan observed Uncle had put on a button-up shirt, tie, and trousers. With a cup of hot coffee in his hand, he walked around, analysing the progress of his investigation.
In a flow state, he was dependable, but his detective skill was still imperfect. A few times, Uncle jumped into a wrong conclusion or connected the wrong dots, so whenever he went sleeping, Conan fixed those errors and pretended the subconscious “Sleeping Kogoro” side was the one doing all the work last night.
“Waking up already, brat?” Kogoro turned to Conan.
Conan spoke up, “I have a class, it’s Tuesday.”
“Whatever, I fear I’ve lost my track of time,” Kogoro took a sip of his coffee, “Aah, sorry if our home was a mess right now. You know how important this one case, right? Can’t believe the literal second most dangerous man in Japan used to live next door. That level of coincidence still pisses me off!”
Conan responded with a subtle smile.
Kogoro added, “I and Ran will meet Obasan tonight. Apparently, I need some legal advice about how we can deal with them through the justice system. You’re coming?”
“Sure.”
“Have a good day at school. I’ll go downtown this morning in two hours. Odagiri-san notified me the CID has dug through the archives and found the puzzle pieces I want. Have to check myself. So be careful of the alarm if you come home early.”
Kogoro went to his bedroom.
Conan was left alone in the room, his mind recalling the strings of events that started this all.
Four days ago, Mary Sera, having ingested Haibara’s perfected antidote, was killed at the airport after insisting to report back to MI6 in London. Conan caught Kanenori Wakita acting suspiciously during the commotion. Realizing the sushi chef was Rum in disguise, and fearing his true identity was too close from being unveiled, Conan devoured a temporary antidote, and Shinichi made a public reappearance to expose the organization in front of live television. Shinichi then staged his death in a plane explosion, convincing the world Conan Edogawa was the only one remaining.
According to Yusaku, Kogoro hugged him and offered himself to join the war after that airport show. Seemed he finally empathized with Shinichi’s death, realizing crime solving was a joint matter, not a competition where one could steal from the others.
Conan’s eyes wandered around the room.
A collection of Gin and Vodka’s photographs reminded Conan of his first encounter. The first time Ran saw those photos, she shrieked, pointing out to Uncle they were in Tropical Land during Shinichi’s date.
A front page of a newspaper covering the news of a burning pharmaceutical company, exactly the one presented by Haibara. The FBI had informed Uncle about APTX 4869, though his understanding was limited to its use as an experimental poison for assassinations. He didn’t know its side-effect of shrinking the subject, and Conan ensured he wouldn’t figure it out.
A mugshot of Rum nudged Conan that his mission was far from done.
The whole nation was now wary of the organization. Several busts had been carried out by local police departments, but their efforts only cleaned out the lower floors, not the top brass. Meanwhile, Rum’s arrest was not as fruitful as the initial expectation. He could withstand hours of grilling by James and Camel.
Then there was a single photograph of Kir when she was inducted as CIA agent Hondou Hidemi. “MIA” was written in the photo with a bright red marker. Unfortunately, a day after the airport incident, the agency lost their contact with her. Conan wanted to keep his optimism, but he acknowledged the risk of her duty.
There were other materials that silently recounted Conan’s journey:
Excerpt of an article reporting bombings in Baker Hotel and Le Cocktail café.
A cut-out of a newspaper’s photo that exposed Pisco’s crime.
A picture and police report from the crime scene of Kohji Haneda’s murder.
And surveillance shots from the feds.
In the middle of one wall was a printout of Karasuma Renya’s portrait painting, a black shadowy figure of an old man holding a walking stick. A crow extending its wings perched on his left shoulder. It was the only existing depiction of his physical appearance. So far, everyone suspected the original Karasuma had passed away and been replaced with someone else pretending to be the identical billionaire.
He was the boss, the mastermind, the mystery Conan determined to uncover.
The boss wasn’t the only person of interest who captivated his thirst for truth, though.
The boss’ own favourite was just as interesting.
Vermouth.
Sharon Vineyard.
Chris Vineyard.
Her section was plastered next to Karasuma’s. It was more colourful compared to other parts of the walls with pictures of the actress attending various events, a forensic report detailed the mother-daughter identical fingerprints, and how could Conan forget? The envelope she mailed for the off-season Halloween party’s invitation months ago. Never thought Uncle would preserve it in his drawer.
All the evidence, yet more questions than answers.
Why did the boss like her so much?
Did she really stop aging?
Did she consume APTX 4869 too?
Why did she despise Haibara and the Miyano Family?
Why did she desire Suguru Itakura’s software more than the organization did?
The woman was basically a walking enigma.
Conan also questioned her true allegiance. Vermouth clearly revelled her organization’s role, but he couldn’t fathom why she was protective towards him. She was aware of his and Haibara’s real identities, yet never divulged it to her partners. Conan further recalled that she “kindly” covered his body with her coat before running away in their latest confrontation under the full moon.
Was it because his mother was her friend?
Was she an ally who waited for the right moment or an enemy who toyed him?
Uncle, Yusaku, Shuichi Akai … the list went on. Conan had allied with a lot of great minds, but the young detective had a hunch that Vermouth would be his greatest ally if she ever cooperated with him. It stemmed from her secretive persona. She must be hiding a reason behind her ‘secret makes a woman, woman,’ motto on why she seemingly supported him.
She could be a shortcut, an alternate route to bring down the organization faster.
For now, however, she was an organization member in Conan’s eyes; he had to stay cautious.
Regardless, Conan was amused. He relished this messy scenery of Uncle’s office. Reflecting at how deep he had descended down the rabbit hole was satisfying.
Professor Agasa was right, Kogoro had the info on those guys.
He just needed to be patient.