During this half month, Ran worked hard to adapt to a life without Shinichi Kudo's text messages and phone calls, focusing more on her karate practice and... her "family" time with Kanjuro and her mother. Kanjuro always appeared by her side at just the right moment, offering care and companionship. That meticulous gentleness was like a fine net, gradually filling her heart that had been left hollow by the breakup, even though the filler itself carried a lethal toxin. Her hazy affection for Kanjuro, which transcended sibling love, did not dissipate under daily contact and Kanjuro's intentional or unintentional ambiguous guidance; instead, it grew quietly like vines in a dark room, often causing her to fall into self-doubt and secret throbs of excitement.
Sonoko had completely become Kanjuro's most loyal shadow, almost on call at any time, with no room for anyone else in her eyes but Kanjuro.
However, this superficial peace was broken by a phone call from Osaka.
The call was from Kazuha, her voice hoarse, carrying a heavy sob and undisguisable grief.
"Ran... Dad... Dad... he passed away..."
The news spread through Teitan High School like a thunderclap. Ginshiro Toyama, a capable veteran of the Osaka Police Headquarters, had unexpectedly passed away in his sleep due to sudden heart failure from long-term overwork. The official conclusion was "death from overwork," and no one questioned it, only felt regret. After all, being a police officer is a high-pressure profession, and Officer Toyama's dedication was obvious to all.
Only a few people knew that behind that seemingly reasonable "death from overwork" was a colorless, tasteless Black Magic Potion that had slowly eroded the essence of life, one drop a day for a full half month. It was personally administered by his wife, Toyama Ayame, in a tangle of fear, guilt, and twisted love.
Ran's heart was heavy after receiving the call. She immediately thought of Kazuha; how painful it must be for that lively and cheerful girl to suddenly lose her father. She didn't hesitate at all and decided to go to Osaka to accompany Kazuha.
"Brother Ye Xiao," she found Kanjuro, her eyes full of pleading, "Kazuha's... her father passed away. I want to go to Osaka to see her. Can you... can you come with me? And Sonoko too." At such a moment, she subconsciously wanted to rely on the most "reliable" person around her.
A look of surprise and grief appeared on Kanjuro's face at just the right moment. He gently held Ran's hand, his tone full of comfort and support: "Of course, it's only right. Kazuha is our friend too. We'll go together to accompany her. I'll go talk to Sonoko."
His reaction was impeccable, like a gentle elder brother who truly cared for his juniors.
Thus, the three of them—Kanjuro, Ran, and Sonoko—once again boarded the train to Osaka. Only this time, the atmosphere was completely different from half a month ago, shrouded in a heavy air of depression.
The Toyama household was shrouded in white solemnity. The mourning hall was set up at home, and a steady stream of guests came to offer their condolences, mostly police colleagues and distant relatives. The air was filled with the scent of incense and sadness.
Kazuha, dressed in black mourning clothes, sat kneeling before the mourning hall. Her once bright eyes were red and swollen, and her face was as pale as paper. She mechanically returned the bows of every guest who came to offer condolences. Heiji Hattori was also there, also in mourning clothes, his face dark and his lips tightly pursed. Besides sadness, his eyes held a trace of imperceptible doubt and anger. He always felt that Uncle Toyama's health had always been robust, and such a sudden death was too suspicious, but the autopsy report and all superficial evidence pointed to overwork, leaving him with nowhere to direct his efforts.
When Ran, Kanjuro, and Sonoko appeared, Kazuha's hollow eyes finally showed a flicker of emotion.
"Ran... Brother Ye Xiao... Sonoko..." she choked out, tears welling up again.
Ran immediately stepped forward and hugged her tightly, whispering comforts. Sonoko's eyes were also red as she held Kazuha's cold hand.
Kanjuro stepped forward with a solemn and grave expression, bowing deeply before Ginshiro Toyama's portrait. His posture was beyond reproach; anyone would only think he was a polite young man come to express his grief.
However, when he raised his head and his gaze met that of Toyama Ayame, who was kneeling to the side, also in mourning clothes and looking pale and haggard, an invisible current seemed to flash through the air.
Toyama Ayame's body trembled almost imperceptibly, and she quickly lowered her head, not daring to meet his eyes. Her hands tightly gripped the hem of her clothes, her knuckles turning white. This half month had been like an ordeal in hell for her. Every time she mixed the potion into her husband's food, it felt like she was cutting her own soul. Now that her husband had truly died "as scheduled," a massive sense of guilt and fear almost crushed her, but deep in her heart, the twisted expectation and attachment ignited by Kanjuro flickered like a ghost fire.
The corner of Kanjuro's mouth twitched very slightly at an angle no one noticed, then returned to an expression of grief. He walked towards Toyama Ayame and said in a heavy yet gentle tone: "Mrs. Toyama, please accept my condolences. Mr. Ginshiro was a respected and good police officer."
His words were like the sharpest needles piercing Toyama Ayame's heart. She could almost hear the sound of her own heart shattering. She could only keep her head down and respond in a voice as faint as a mosquito: "...Thank you."
After the simple condolences, Ran and Sonoko stayed by Kazuha's side to accompany her. Kanjuro used the excuse of getting some fresh air to walk out of the oppressive mourning hall.
He stood in a quiet corner of the Toyama family's courtyard, seemingly admiring the dry landscape garden. Before long, a footstep so light it was almost inaudible stopped behind him.
It was Toyama Ayame.
She still kept her head down, her voice carrying a desperate tremble and a trace of imperceptible... credit-seeking? "I... I did... what you said..."
Kanjuro didn't look back, only giving a faint "Mm," as if it were a trivial matter.
Toyama Ayame summoned her courage, raised her head, and looked at his cold back, tears falling silently: "Now... now can you... fulfill your promise? To be with me... with us, mother and daughter..."
Kanjuro slowly turned around, his gaze falling on her face, which was tear-stained but still charming. There was no pity in his eyes, only the coldness of someone inspecting an object.
"Of course." He reached out, his fingertips gently brushing her wet cheek in a gesture of sacrilegious intimacy. "You did very well. From now on, both you and Kazuha belong to me."
His touch made Toyama Ayame tremble all over, from both fear and that inescapable, morbid longing.
"However," Kanjuro's tone shifted, his voice low and full of control, "Kazuha still needs time to move on from her grief. You must 'comfort' her well, and make her... rely more on me, her 'considerate' Brother Ye Xiao. Understand?"
Toyama Ayame looked into his eyes, which were as deep as a cold pool, and nodded as if hypnotized. For that illusory "being together forever," she had already sold her husband's life. Now, even her daughter's heart was to be offered as a sacrifice to this demon.
Just then, a slight noise came from the entrance of the courtyard.
Kanjuro and Toyama Ayame looked over at the same time and saw Heiji Hattori standing there, his face ashen and his eyes as sharp as a hawk's, staring fixedly at their overly close posture and the undried tear tracks on Toyama Ayame's face.
Although he hadn't heard the specific conversation, the ambiguous atmosphere and Toyama Ayame's abnormal reaction caused the cloud of doubt in his heart to expand several times over in an instant!
(Kanjuro... him and Aunt Toyama...?)
(At Uncle Toyama's funeral...?)
A chill crawled up Heiji Hattori's spine.
Facing Heiji Hattori's questioning gaze, Kanjuro merely withdrew his hand calmly and gave him a slight nod. His face still wore that impeccable expression of faint sorrow, as if everything just now had been nothing but Heiji's hallucination.
But Heiji Hattori knew it was definitely not a hallucination.
Ginshiro Toyama's death, Toyama Ayame's abnormality, Kanjuro's appearance in Osaka... all of it seemed to be connected by an invisible dark thread.
And the end of this thread was very likely held in the hands of that man named Kanjuro.
Beneath the sadness of the funeral, deeper conspiracies and dangers were spreading silently in the shadows. Heiji Hattori clenched his fists; he knew he had to do something. As the night deepened, the guests in the Toyama family's mourning hall gradually dispersed, leaving only close family and friends to keep vigil. The white candles flickered, lengthening people's shadows and casting them on the walls, swaying gently with the flames, adding a touch of grief and quietude.
Kazuha still knelt before her father's Spirit Tablet, her thin back looking exceptionally fragile wrapped in the large mourning clothes, her shoulders occasionally twitching slightly from suppressed sobbing. Her daytime strength completely collapsed in the dead of night, leaving only boundless sadness and the bewilderment of losing a loved one.
Kanjuro walked silently to her side and slowly sat down. He didn't speak, but gently placed a clean handkerchief by her hand, then accompanied her with a silence full of understanding and tolerance.
After a while, he reached out and very gently patted her back, the movement carrying a soothing power.
"Kazuha," his voice was low and gentle, sounding exceptionally clear in the silent mourning hall, "if you want to cry, just cry. Don't hold it in. Mr. Ginshiro... definitely wouldn't want you to be too sad."
This seemingly comforting sentence was like a key that unlocked Kazuha's last psychological defense. She could no longer hold it in; her suppressed crying turned into low sobs, and her body went limp as she subconsciously leaned toward the only source of "warmth" she could feel—Kanjuro's shoulder.
Kanjuro took the opportunity to gently pull her into his arms, letting her lean against his chest. His movements were natural yet carried a kind of undeniable gentleness, one hand lightly patting her back while the other stroked her hair, as if comforting a wounded child.
"It's okay... it will pass... I'm here..." he whispered in her ear, his words like a spell penetrating into Kazuha's sad and confused heart.
This scene happened to be seen by Heiji Hattori, who had just come back from getting some fresh air and wanted to comfort Kazuha again.
He was like someone struck by a thunderbolt, instantly freezing in the shadows of the mourning hall entrance, his blood seemingly congealing at this moment. He watched Kazuha nestling in Kanjuro's arms, so naturally, so dependently... a sharp, tearing pain spread from his heart, more violent than any karate blow.
... 0 Requesting Flowers 0 --- (Kazuha... you...)
He almost wanted to rush forward and pull Kazuha out of that man's embrace. On what grounds? He was the childhood friend who grew up with Kazuha! He was the one who should be her support when she was at her most vulnerable!
Just then, an extremely faint but cold voice rang out behind him:
"Hattori, you saw it too, didn't you?"
Heiji Hattori turned his head abruptly and saw Conan Edogawa appearing in the shadows behind him at some point. There was no expression on his small face; only in those eyes behind the lenses flickered a calmness and sharpness that didn't match his age, along with a bottomless chill.
"This is the most terrifying thing about Kanjuro." Conan's voice was very low, yet every word was clear, like an icicle. "He's good at exploiting women's vulnerability, taking advantage of their weakness to steal them away. Ran was like this, and now Kazuha... I'm afraid it's the same."
"Bastard!" Heiji Hattori squeezed these words through his teeth, his anger mixed with heartache, nearly burning away his reason. Conan's words confirmed his worst suspicions and ignited all his resentment and fury.
He wouldn't accept it! He absolutely would not accept it!
In a fit of impulse, Heiji Hattori could no longer care about the setting and strode into the Funeral Hall, coming directly before the two embracing people. His movement broke the silence of the hall, drawing the attention of the few relatives still keeping watch.
"Kazuha!" Heiji Hattori's voice was slightly distorted with emotion. He stared fixedly at Kazuha, who was still leaning in Kanjuro's arms, and pointed a trembling finger at Kanjuro. "You and him... what exactly is your relationship?! Why... why are you leaning in his arms?!"
His interrogation was like a clap of thunder exploding in the solemn Funeral Hall... Kazuha was startled out of her grief by this sudden roar. She looked up, her eyes misty with tears, at the furious Heiji Hattori, feeling momentarily dazed and at a loss. She subconsciously glanced at Kanjuro. Kanjuro's face held a hint of displeasure at being disturbed, but more so a sense of "helplessness" and "tolerance."
"Hei... Heiji?" Kazuha's voice still carried a sob. "What are you doing..."
"What am I doing?" Heiji Hattori's chest heaved with anger. "I'm asking you! What exactly is your relationship with him, Kanjuro?! Do you need to... hold each other so tightly at a time like this?!" He deliberately emphasized the words "hold each other so tightly," filled with irony and pain.
Kanjuro spoke slowly now, his tone calm but carrying an invisible pressure: "Hattori-kun, please mind the occasion and your words. Kazuha just lost her father, and her emotions are very unstable. I am merely comforting her as a friend. Your loud shouting is disrespectful to the deceased and will frighten Kazuha."
With these words, he immediately placed himself on the moral high ground, making Heiji Hattori seem immature and unreasonable instead.
"Comfort? Is this kind of comfort necessary?!" Heiji Hattori didn't buy it at all. He looked at Kazuha, his gaze full of pressure. "Kazuha! Answer me!"
Kazuha looked at the two men at each other's throats. On one side was her childhood friend, furious and aggressive; on the other was Brother Ye Xiao, gentle and tolerant, providing solace during her most painful moment. The immense pressure left her at a loss, and Heiji Hattori's attitude made her feel aggrieved and even a bit repulsed.
Under the weight of her father's passing and the current chaotic emotions, she blurted out with a sob and a hint of defiance:
"Brother Ye Xiao is just caring for me! He's much better than you! At least he wouldn't come to scold and interrogate me at a time like this!"
Her words were like a poisoned dagger, accurately piercing Heiji Hattori's heart. He looked at Kazuha in disbelief, seeing the resentment toward him and the defense of Kanjuro in her eyes. All his anger was instantly replaced by a cold despair.
He stumbled back a step, his face pale.
"...Fine... Fine... I'm scolding you... I'm forcing you..." he murmured, his eyes dimming completely. Finally, he gave Kazuha one last look, filled with heartbreak and unspeakable disappointment, then abruptly turned and rushed out of the Funeral Hall, disappearing into the night.
"Heiji!" Kazuha subconsciously called out, but he could no longer hear her. She looked at the empty doorway, a sudden sense of panic and emptiness in her heart, and her tears fell even harder.
Kanjuro gently pulled her back into his arms and whispered, "Don't mind him. Let him calm down. What you need right now is peace."
His embrace was warm and his words soft, but in the shadows, the corner of his mouth curled into a fleeting, cold arc.
(See, destroying this kind of young and naive affection is just that simple.)
(Anger and misunderstanding are the best catalysts.)
Conan stood in the shadows outside the Funeral Hall, watching Heiji Hattori's collapsing figure as he left, then looked at the two embracing inside. His small hands clenched into fists.
Kanjuro's net was tightening. And they all seemed to have become fish struggling in the net. Heiji Hattori's impulsiveness had instead accelerated Kazuha's lean toward Kanjuro. The situation was sliding toward the worst possible direction.
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