Valentine Gala: Sweet's are ain't good. Part 5
Then, without a moment's hesitation, he thrust an accusatory finger directly at the weeping woman. "The solution was transparent from the outset. For you… you are the perpetrator of this heinous act."
Yoshimi Watanabe let out a sharp, aspirated gasp, recoiling as the weight of the indictment struck her.
Kogoro persisted with his relentless deduction. "You saturated the chocolate with toxin for the express purpose of eliminating the victim. Your impetus… it undoubtedly stems from a fractured romance. We need only subject the remaining confections to a forensic analysis, and that shall serve as the irrefutable evidence of your treachery."
Yoshimi's eyes dilated in a paroxysm of panic. "N-no… it was not I… it was not!" she stammered, her voice splintering into fragments. Torrents of salt water carved paths down her cheeks as she struggled futilely to repel the charge. Overpowered by the visceral surge of emotion, she buried her visage in her palms and surrendered once more to a cacophony of uncontrollable sobs.
At her flank, Kaori administered a rhythmic, soothing pat to her spine. "Maintain your composure, Yoshimi…" she murmured with a soft, hollow tenderness.
Meanwhile, Conan Edogawa remained a silent sentinel, absorbing the exchange with clinical intensity as he descended into the labyrinth of his own mind.
If Yoshimi-san truly administered the poison via the chocolate… then the circumstances are far too convenient.
His intellect dissected the variables with surgical precision. The assembly had partaken in a collective feast; the table had been burdened with a multitude of platters—how could a culprit ensure that only Katsuhiko was ensnared? The coffee had been decanted from a singular urn, consumed by every soul present.
That left only the cake as a potential vessel…
Yet Katsuhiko had famously abstained from the sweets.
Then what is the architecture of this crime…? Or was Yoshimi-san truly the assassin after all…?
Suddenly, the faint, mechanical click of a lighter fractured the silence.
Conan's head snapped toward the sound—and there he beheld Naomichi, igniting a cigarette. The flickering orange luminescence briefly bathed his saturnine features in an eerie glow.
Conan's pupils constricted.
That is it…!
He darted toward the elder Mouri, seizing his attention with a sharp tug. "Oji-san…!"
Inspector Megure and Kogoro both pivoted, looking down at the diminutive interloper.
"Upon reflection… there was a discarded cigarette butt discovered at the theater of death, was there not?" Conan inquired with a feigned, childish urgency.
"A cigarette?" Megure reiterated, his eyes widening as the logical gears finally meshed into gear. "Precisely… that is an entirely plausible vector!"
Megure then elevated a translucent plastic evidence pouch from the surface. "This is the tobacco recovered from the yard."
Kogoro scrutinized the specimen with narrowing eyes. "Indeed… you are correct. There are myriad methods to lace a cigarette with a lethal dose."
At that precise juncture, Wakamatsu redirected his scrutiny toward Naomichi, who had occupied the shadows in grim silence throughout the investigation.
"Naomichi… did you not bestow your own cigarette upon Katsuhiko earlier… just as he prepared to seek the night air?"
Naomichi's eyes flickered with a raw, jagged irritation as he met Wakamatsu's gaze. Suddenly, the cigarette perched between his lips slipped from his grasp, tumbling to the floorboards.
Wakamatsu's expression contorted as the horrific implication solidified. "N-Naomichi… h-how could you… how could you possibly perform such an act?! "
Inspector Megure and Kogoro both whirled upon the gloomy youth with predatory focus.
Megure's voice rose to a thundering pitch. "Well?! The truth shall inevitably be excavated once we subject that butt to a chemical analysis!"
Naomichi had reached the absolute nadir of his endurance. His teeth ground together with an audible rasp; his fists clenched until the knuckles turned a ghostly white, his frustration hemorrhaging as the reality of his failure crashed over him.
"AH—… IT IS THE TRUTH!! I AM THE ONE RESPONSIBLE!!" he suddenly bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls. "I poisoned that insufferable, arrogant piece of filth! I have harbored a vitriolic hatred for him for an eternity!! Katsuhiko took every opportunity to render me a laughingstock… and he even possessed the audacity to wound my Kaori!!"
His voice cracked, saturated with a visceral agony, every syllable hemorrhaging in a torrent of wrath and despair as he surrendered his confession in a single, ragged breath.
Kaori went rigid, her eyes expanding in a mask of pure shock upon hearing the admission from Naomichi's lips.
The others, cognizant of the bitter history of Naomichi's tribulations, lapsed into a heavy, mournful silence—observing the collapse of a man without further intervention, their visages burdened with a somber, tragic understanding.
Naomichi persisted, his phonation descending into a gravelly, tremulous register.
"S-so I secreted the toxin… within the cigarette filter… to orchestrate his demise!"
But in that pivotal heartbeat—
Conan Edogawa snapped to attention, his senses suddenly acute.
"Filter…?" Conan echoed, his pupils contracting to pinpoints as he scrutinized the tobacco encased in the evidence pouch.
"No! He is not the perpetrator!" Conan suddenly bellowed, gritting his teeth. "He is not the assassin!"
The cold weight of reality struck him with the force of a tidal wave.
The poison had been meticulously sequestered in the filter… but Katsuhiko had unceremoniously discarded the filter before igniting the cigarette.
Before Conan could articulate further, a diminutive voice fractured the oppressive tension.
"Mama…! My tooth is aching…"
Conan swiveled sharply. From the periphery, the rhythmic cadence of cascading water resonated. He cast his gaze toward the culinary quarters—and there he beheld Mrs. Minagawa, methodically scrubbing dishes at the basin, while Susumu clutched her silken kimono, tugging at the fabric while weeping in agony.
Conan's gaze sharpened to a surgical edge.
She is washing the coffee vessels… at a juncture such as this?
Then, the epiphany struck.
His countenance shifted as the realization solidified. A faint, knowing smile traced his lips.
"…Sōka… that is the architecture… I comprehend it now."
At that identical moment, he observed Inspector Juzo Megure already cinching the manacles around Naomichi's wrists.
Conan did not hesitate. He hoisted his wrist—revealing a sleek, silver timepiece.
Using his right hand, he depressed the adjustment mechanism. The crystalline shroud of the watch elevated, unveiling its clandestine clockwork. This was no mundane chronometer—it was a sophisticated tranquilizer apparatus forged by the hands of Hiroshi Agasa. With it, Conan could render any individual within proximity into instantaneous slumber.
Without squandering a heartbeat, Conan aimed the timepiece toward Kogoro Mouri.
The moment he triggered the release—
♤♤♤Fooosh…♤♤♤
AM N. NOT.(っ－＿－)っ♤♤DRAFT♤♤