Although Ran and Sonoko still had doubts about Shinichi Kudo's whereabouts, Aunt Yukiko had spoken so definitively that they couldn't probe further. Sonoko still wanted to pull Kanjuro along to go window-shopping to alleviate the disappointment of missing Shinichi, and Ran looked at him expectantly.
Just then, Mine Fujiko, who had been quietly observing, suddenly spoke, her voice carrying a hint of laziness and certainty: "Kanjuro... kun? Can you stay for a moment? I have some things I want to talk to you about in private." Her gaze fell directly on Kanjuro, carrying an irresistible inquiry.
Ran and Sonoko were both a bit surprised, looking at Mine Fujiko and then at Kanjuro.
A perfectly timed look of surprise appeared on Kanjuro's face before he gave the two girls a gentle smile. "It's alright, you two go on ahead. I'll stay and... chat with Miss Mine for a bit. After all, she is Mrs. Kudo's guest."
His tone was calm and reassuring. Although Sonoko was a bit reluctant, she and Ran eventually left, glancing back every few steps. In front of the Kudo villa, only Kanjuro and Mine Fujiko remained. The twilight stretched their shadows long, and the atmosphere became subtle and quiet.
"So, what did you want to talk about, Miss Mine?" Kanjuro looked at her leisurely, as if he truly were just facing a friend's 'younger sister' for the first time.
Mine Fujiko didn't answer immediately. She gave Kanjuro a meaningful look, then turned and signaled for him to follow. "Come with me." Her steps were light, carrying a sense of maturity and mystery that belied her age.
Kanjuro's eyes flickered slightly as he followed calmly behind her. They entered the villa one after the other and went straight to Yukiko's bedroom on the second floor.
The room was exquisitely decorated and full of feminine touches, but compared to the style of the rest of the villa, there was a noticeable lack of any trace of a male master. There were no men's products on the dressing table, and only a single photo of Yukiko sat on the nightstand. The air was filled with a faint, unique fragrance belonging to Yukiko—everything indicated that Kudo Yusaku and Yukiko had been living apart for a long time.
Mine Fujiko didn't pay any mind to this. She walked directly toward an exquisite oak cabinet by the window. Atop the cabinet sat a silver picture frame.
She picked up the frame, turned around, and faced it toward Kanjuro. Her soul-stirring eyes stared intently at his face, not missing even the slightest change in his expression. Her tone carried the certainty of someone saying 'let's see you talk your way out of this':
"Now then, 'Brother' Kanjuro... can you explain why my mother's room treasures an old photo from eighteen years ago that looks exactly like you, right down to the same Sobu High School uniform?"
Inside the frame was a slightly yellowed but well-preserved photograph. The youth in the photo wore the high-collared uniform of Sobu High School, standing tall with a look that was both green and arrogant on his peerlessly handsome face. Those deep eyes were identical to the Kanjuro standing before her—it was simply Kanjuro himself! There was no difference between him and the man standing here now, as if time had completely frozen for him.
Eighteen years of time had not left a single mark on his face.
The air seemed to freeze at that moment. Mine Fujiko's question was like a sharp sword pointed straight at the core. She clearly didn't believe that Kanjuro and Yukiko were just 'acquaintances'; this photo was the most powerful evidence, exposing their clumsy disguise from earlier.
Kanjuro looked at the photo of himself, his eyes momentarily dazed as if he were looking through time at the distant past. The usual gentle mask on his face loosened slightly, revealing a complex and unidentifiable emotion, but he quickly regained his composure.
He didn't answer Mine Fujiko's question immediately. Instead, he stepped forward, gently took the frame from her hand, and brushed his fingertips over the cold face of the youth in the photo. The movement carried an indescribable sense of... nostalgia?
He looked up to meet Mine Fujiko's searching gaze, and the corners of his mouth slowly curled into an arc. That smile was no longer gentle, but carried a sense of insight into everything—and even a... wicked air of admission.
"It seems," his voice was low, carrying a strange magnetism, "that some stories are hidden deeper... and are more interesting than imagined, aren't they?"
He didn't deny it; instead, he threw the question back in an almost provocative manner, while also tacitly admitting that there was indeed an unknown secret connection between him and Yukiko that spanned a long time.
Seeing his expression finally drop the pretense, a flash of triumph appeared in Mine Fujiko's eyes, followed by an even more intense curiosity.
(Just as I thought...)
(The relationship between this man and Mom is definitely not simple!)
(And as for myself... what is the reason for that inexplicable attraction and throb I feel with him?)
The fog surrounding the truth seemed to have been pulled back at one corner by this photo, revealing an even deeper and darker entrance behind it.
Mine Fujiko's gaze was burning, locked onto Kanjuro's face like a searchlight. That look, a mix of wildness and stubbornness, clearly showed she wouldn't give up her questioning easily. She took a step closer, almost able to feel the cold and alluring aura emanating from Kanjuro.
"So, what exactly is your relationship with Mom?" Her voice dropped, sharp and leaving no room for evasion. "And why... why do you look exactly the same as you did eighteen years ago? This isn't normal at all!"
Kanjuro looked at the thirst for knowledge burning in her eyes, and deep down, a faint, perhaps even unrecognized throb triggered by bloodline. He suddenly gave a low laugh. That laughter no longer carried any disguise, but revealed a genuine interest, as if he were looking at a fascinating toy.
"Do you really want to know that much?" He reached out, his fingertips naturally yet irresistibly brushing through the loose brownish hair on Mine Fujiko's forehead. The action was as intimate as if he had done it a thousand times, carrying the posture of an 'elder' yet remaining ambiguous. "Fujiko?"
That intimate call made Mine Fujiko's body tremble slightly. A strange sensation spread from where he touched her skin—not disgust, but a... slight numbness from being seen through and controlled. She forcibly suppressed the abnormality in her heart and nodded vigorously, her eyes becoming even more determined: "Yes! I really want to know! This is very important to me!"
Kanjuro withdrew his hand, his fingertips seemingly retaining the soft touch of her hair. The smile on his face became somewhat deep and unpredictable as he cast his gaze toward the heavy night outside the window, his tone carrying a deliberate delay and temptation:
"This story is very long and very interesting. However..." He paused, turning his gaze back to Mine Fujiko's face. "Regarding my relationship with your mother and everything you're curious about, I think perhaps it would be better if I personally found her, and the three of us... talked it out in person."
He needed an audience, a witness, and the daughter before him—flowing with his blood and full of rebellion and curiosity—was undoubtedly the best candidate. To uncover the past Yukiko had worked so hard to hide right in front of her, to watch her break down, struggle, or... completely sink; that scene would surely be wonderful.
Mine Fujiko narrowed her eyes, keenly sensing the calculation in his words, but her desire for the truth outweighed everything else. Without hesitation, she quickly pulled out her phone, brought up a number, and handed it to Kanjuro.
"This is Mom's private number." Her movements were crisp and decisive, carrying a resolve to force the situation. "Now, call her."
Kanjuro gave her an appreciative look and took the phone. He actually knew that string of numbers by heart already, but he still pretended to see it for the first time, slowly entering it and then pressing the call button.
He held the phone to his ear, but his gaze never left Mine Fujiko. That look was so gentle it was almost eerie, as if he were admiring a piece of art he had carved himself that was gradually revealing its magnificent colors... Meanwhile, on the city's mountain highway.
The night wind was biting, blowing against Yukiko's partially unfastened helmet with a whistling sound. She twisted the motorcycle's throttle to the maximum, trying to use the thrill of speed and the howling wind in her ears to forcibly disperse that seductive and dangerous face from her mind and suppress the restless, complex emotions that were almost swallowing her whole.
(Forget him! Yukiko Kudo, you're not that naive and foolish little girl from eighteen years ago anymore...)
(But... why is my heart still beating so fast... why does my body still remember that trembling sensation the moment I think of him...)
Just as her mind was in a mess, the phone in her pocket vibrated along with a sharp ringtone.
She instinctively slowed down, holding the handlebars with one hand while irritably pulling out her phone with the other. When she saw the number displayed on the screen—a number she thought would never actively contact her again in this life, or rather, a number she had secretly saved but never dared to dial—her heart skipped a beat!
It was Kanjuro!
How did he know this number?! Did Fujiko give it to him?
A massive wave of panic and a hint of secret expectation—one she didn't even want to admit to herself—swept over her like a mix of ice and fire. Her fingers trembled, almost unable to hold the phone. The motorcycle's speed slowed down unconsciously, and the roar of the engine grew low.
She took a deep breath, trying to make her voice sound calm and even deliberately distant as she pressed the answer button:
"Moshi moshi? Who is this, please?"
However, what came from the receiver was that low, magnetic voice she both dreamed of and feared intensely. It carried a hint of a faint smile, as if piercing through eighteen years of time to ring directly in her ear:
"Yukiko..."
Just that one address, that familiar tone, was like the most precise key, instantly prying open the mental defenses she had struggled to maintain. All her pretenses collapsed at that moment.
"It's me, Kanjuro," the voice on the other end continued, as gentle as a lover's whisper yet carrying a demonic allure. "Turn around and come back, Yukiko. Fujiko and I... are both at home waiting for you."
"We need to have a good talk."
"About the past, about the present, and... about our daughter."
Yukiko's fingers tightened around the phone, her knuckles turning white. Under her unconscious control, the motorcycle gave a whimper and almost stalled. She froze on the highway, her face under the helmet turning pale in an instant. Her ears were filled only with Kanjuro's voice—like a curse—and the sound of her own heart beating violently out of control.
He knows... he knows everything... and he's right there, waiting for her to walk into his trap.
Go back? Face that demon, face that shameful past, face the secret she desperately wanted to hide?
But if she didn't go back... Fujiko was still in his hands! And deep in her heart, that twisted love and desire that had been forcibly suppressed for eighteen years was screaming madly, driving her toward that abyss of destruction.
The night wind blew with a bone-chilling cold, yet Yukiko felt hot all over. She looked at the endless dark highway ahead, then through the rearview mirror back toward the direction she came from, her eyes filled with struggle, fear, and... a hint of desperate infatuation from completely giving up resistance. There was a long silence on the other end, with only the sounds of suppressed breathing and the wind. Kanjuro didn't rush her; he just waited patiently, as if certain of his prey's choice. Finally, Yukiko's voice rang out with a tremble, carrying a weary sense of resignation:
"...Where are you?"
Kanjuro gave the name and address of a high-end cafe located on a secluded street corner, known for its privacy. "I'll wait for you in half an hour." His tone was beyond dispute, and he immediately hung up the phone, giving Yukiko no chance to hesitate or bargain.
He handed the phone back to Mine Fujiko and, seeing the curiosity and excitement in her eyes, smiled slightly. "She agreed. Let's go, we'll go wait for her."
...Half an hour later, in a corner booth of that elegant cafe with dim lighting.
Kanjuro leisurely stirred the black coffee in his cup, the rising steam blurring his handsome features. Mine Fujiko sat opposite him, having ordered a vibrantly colored special blend, but her eyes frequently glanced toward the door, appearing somewhat impatient. She really wanted to witness for herself what kind of secret was hidden between her mother and this mysterious man... The cafe door was pushed open gently, and the bell on the door let out a crisp chime.
Yukiko appeared.
She had changed out of her motorcycle leathers and into an elegant champagne-colored dress, covered by a thin wool trench coat, with exquisite makeup on her face, trying to use these external armors to hide her inner turmoil. But her eyes betrayed her—they were full of tension and unease, and for a fleeting moment when she saw Kanjuro, a girl-like flutter and fear flashed through them that she couldn't suppress.
Her steps were a bit hesitant, but the moment Kanjuro raised his eyes and his deep gaze fell upon her, she took a deep breath, forced herself to walk over, and sat down on the empty sofa he gestured to, positioned exactly between him and Mine Fujiko.
"Mom," Mine Fujiko called out, her eyes scanning back and forth between her and Kanjuro.
Yukiko didn't look at her daughter; her entire attention was almost completely drawn to Kanjuro across from her. Her hands on her lap curled slightly, her fingertips sinking into the soft fabric.
"What... what do you want to talk about?" Yukiko tried to make her voice sound calm, but it still carried an imperceptible tremble. She didn't even dare to maintain eye contact with Kanjuro for long; those eyes seemed capable of sucking her in and leading her to eternal damnation.
Kanjuro didn't answer immediately. He unhurriedly picked up the coffee cup and took a sip, his movements elegant and composed, forming a sharp contrast with Yukiko's tension. After putting down the cup, he spoke slowly, his voice deep and clear, every word striking Yukiko's heart:
"Let's talk about eighteen years ago, in that Basement."
"Let's talk about how you, Kudo Yukiko, became one of my possessions."
"And let's also talk about..." His gaze turned to the wide-eyed Mine Fujiko, his tone carrying a nearly cruel tenderness, "Fujiko's heritage."
Yukiko's face instantly drained of all color, turning as pale as paper. Her most feared, most buried past was being unveiled by Kanjuro so casually in front of her daughter!
"Don't... don't say it..." she whispered almost imploringly, her eyes frantic, filled with humiliation and deep fear.
Mine Fujiko held her breath. Although she had long had suspicions, hearing words like 'possession' and 'heritage' from Kanjuro's own mouth still gave her a huge shock. She looked at Yukiko, then at Kanjuro, as the mystery in her heart seemed to be violently torn open.
Kanjuro ignored Yukiko's plea, leaning forward slightly, his gaze wrapping around her like chains as he continued:
"Are you wondering why my appearance hasn't changed? It's simple, because I am no mortal. Time has no meaning to me." He chuckled lightly, a smile that was handsome yet cold. "And you, whether it's you, Yukiko, or Fujiko, my power flows through both of you; you have been branded with my mark. This is an unchangeable fact."
He spoke as if stating a most natural truth.
"Eighteen years ago, you chose to flee, trying to use a normal person's life to cover all this up. But now..." His gaze swept over Mine Fujiko and finally returned to Yukiko's pale face, "It's time to return. To return to the place where you belong."
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