Valentine Gala: Sweet's are ain't good. Part 3
"Get away from her!"
The percussion was savage. Wakamatsu's gargantuan frame shuddered before collapsing leadenly onto the floor, rendered unconscious by the brutal counter-strike—though only momentarily.
Outside the residence, Kaori—freshly relegated to the "friend zone" by Katsuhiko Minagawa—stood in solitude, weeping quietly. She scrubbed at her tears with the back of her hands, struggling to reclaim her composure, when the faint percussion of approaching footsteps reached her.
She swiveled and perceived Naomichi, the saturnine youth, standing in the shadows behind her.
"Kaori…?" he called out with a hesitant, cracked voice. "Why do you weep? Do not tell me… it is Minagawa again. Did that bastard do something to you?"
For reasons she couldn't fathom, a flare of visceral irritation ignited within her. "It is none of your concern!" she snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.
Her vitriolic response triggered a transformation in Naomichi. His countenance darkened, his features twisting as his voice curdled into something hard and dangerous. "Minagawa is nothing but human refuse. There is no justification for him to wound you in this manner… Kaori!"
Kaori pivoted away from him, her fists clenching until her knuckles turned white. "Just leave me in peace!" she shrieked.
Naomichi watched as she widened the distance between them, rebuffing his empathy despite his transparent agony. His eyes burned with a volatile fury; his teeth ground together audibly, his simmering frustration finally spilling over into a dark, silent resolve.
"…That abysmal piece of human refuse…" he hissed internally, his mind churning with vitriolic curses directed at Minagawa.
Having reached the precipice of his endurance, the saturnine youth finally pivoted on his heel and retreated toward the domicile—abandoning Kaori to the solitude she had so vehemently demanded.
Back within the parlor, Mrs. Minagawa was in the process of distributing the final course upon the mahogany surface. One by one, the assembly began to reconvene.
"Now then, I present the dessert," she announced as she positioned the plates, followed by a porcelain cup of obsidian coffee for each guest.
They partook leisurely, savoring the artisanal cake she had meticulously crafted. Even Conan Edogawa consumed his portion, though his vigilance remained razor-sharp, his eyes occasionally flickering toward Wakamatsu. The simian-like brute had already recuperated and was presently devouring his dessert with a casual indifference, as if the earlier confrontation had never transpired.
The entire group indulged in the confection—with the singular exception of Minagawa. The charismatic host harbored an evident distaste for sweets, leaving his slice untouched. Nevertheless, he still drained his cup of coffee in tandem with the others.
Susumu, the lad, reached for a vessel and took a tentative draught of the bitter brew.
His mother's scrutiny was instantaneous. "Susumu, that is quite enough—do not pilfer from the cups of others," Mrs. Minagawa chided with a gentle sternness. Then, excavating a morsel of cake with her fork, she fed it to him instead. Susumu's countenance became radiant; he unhinged his jaw with alacrity, eagerly consuming the sweet offering.
Meanwhile, Yoshimi Watanabe, perched beside Minagawa, ventured a soft inquiry. "Katsuhiko… do you not intend to partake in your cake?"
Katsuhiko Minagawa finished his caffeine, sliding a hand into his pocket as he retorted, "Negative… I harbor no particular affinity for saccharine things."
He then extracted a crimson carton of cigarettes.
Yoshimi monitored his movements, her brow knitting in a slight frown. "Do you not find your tobacco consumption excessive? Perhaps you should attempt to diminish the habit slightly."
Minagawa's irritation flared, his features sharpening with a sudden, jagged intensity as he elevated his volume. "You are being incessantly clamorous… you are behaving precisely like my mo—"
He truncated the sentence mid-articulation.
A sudden paroxysm of vertigo assailed him without warning. He hoisted his right hand to his temple, attempting to stabilize his equilibrium. "It appears… I have become somewhat inebriated…" he muttered thickly.
Every gaze in the chamber gravitated toward him as he sluggishly hoisted himself to his feet. "I believe I shall seek some revitalizing air."
He agitated his cigarette carton, but it yielded no sound. "…Tch. Depleted?!"
Naomichi, who had been observing the host with a predatory focus the entire time, rose and approached. Without a word of hesitation, he proffered a crimson pack toward the captain. "Here. Utilize mine."
Minagawa glanced at the offering, snatched it without a syllable of gratitude, and stalked away—offering no acknowledgement whatsoever.
Naomichi watched his departure, a clandestine, fleeting smirk manifesting upon his thin lips.
Minagawa transgressed the threshold of the glass door, stepping into the nocturnal yard. Yoshimi Watanabe quietly trailed in his wake. The remainder of the troupe remained sequestered inside, their eyes tracking the silhouettes as they dissolved into the darkness beyond.
Wakamatsu observed their exit, then grumbled while nursing his coffee beside Ran Mouri, "Yoshimi is truly enamored with him… I am perplexed as to what she perceives in that fellow." Then, his mood pivoting with jarring speed, he turned toward Ran with a brightened expression. "Which serves as a reminder—do you possess any confections for me, Ran-san?"
"Eh?!" Ran's brow shot upward in sheer bewilderment.
Before a response could be formulated—
"AAAAHHHHHHHH—!"
A piercing, visceral shriek shattered the atmosphere.
The assembly snapped their heads toward the glass portal. They beheld Yoshimi sprinting back toward the house, her visage drained of color, her entire frame convulsing with terror. Her expression was a mask of absolute, unadulterated panic as she staggered into the room.
"I-it is… Ka—Ka—Katsuhiko… h-he…" she stammered, her digit vibrating as she pointed frantically toward the yard.
The collective gaze followed her trajectory. There, sprawled motionless upon the verdant grass of the yard, lay Katsuhiko Minagawa.
A frantic exodus ensued.
Mrs. Minagawa reached the fallen youth first. The instant she beheld him lying insensate upon the earth, a wave of profound shock submerged her. "Ka—Katsuhiko! Katsuhiko!" she wailed, seizing his shoulders and agitating his frame with desperate fervor.
Hearing the fracture in her voice, the others converged upon the scene. They all bore witness to the tragedy—Katsuhiko lying inanimate upon the ground.
Conan Edogawa was the first to galvanize. "Summon the authorities—and an ambulance!" he commanded sharply to Ran beside him. Ran offered a frantic nod and sprinted off without a second's delay.
Mrs. Minagawa clutched her son's cadaver, her hands trembling violently as she sought any vestige of vitality. There was no respiration. No rhythmic pulse. Her voice fractured into a guttural scream. "KATSUHIKO!!!!"
Wakamatsu stepped forward, perceiving that Katsuhiko remained utterly stagnant. He gently gripped Mrs. Minagawa by the shoulders, assisting her to her feet.
Conan moved closer, his clinical gaze narrowing as he meticulously examined the body.
A fragment of chocolate lay just above Katsuhiko's head. His form was prone against the grass. Caught between the index and middle digits of his right hand, a cigarette persisted in its slow combustion, a thin ribbon of smoke curling languidly toward the heavens.
After an agonizing interval, the ambulance arrived—but the effort was futile. Katsuhiko Minagawa had transitioned from the world of the living. Despite the finality, they rushed his remains to the infirmary for a more comprehensive post-mortem examination.
Meanwhile, the police who arrived established a perimeter at the Minagawa residence, initiating their forensic inquiry.
From the medical facility came the definitive report—the catalyst for the demise of Katsuhiko Minagawa…
Food poisoning.
AM N. NOT.(っ－＿－)っ♤♤DRAFT♤♤