Chapter 23: The Dragon Slayer Eventually Becomes the Dragon
Inspector Megure's eyes widened, his thick mustache twitching as he leaned in. "Really? You already know who the culprit is?" He glanced around the blood-stained gallery before fixing his gaze back on the blonde girl. "Then who is it? And what exactly was their modus operandi?"
Natsume saw no reason to drag out the suspense. She turned her golden eyes toward the elderly man standing quietly by the perimeter. "The culprit is Director Ochiai."
A heavy silence dropped over the room. Kogoro Mouri's jaw went slack, and Inspector Megure whipped his head around to stare at the museum director. Ochiai blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his wrinkled features, yet his posture remained entirely composed. He did not sweat. He did not tremble.
"Miss Natsume," Ochiai said, his voice as calm as a placid lake. "You claim I am the murderer. Do you have any evidence to support such a heavy accusation?"
"Several glaring inconsistencies point directly to you," Natsume explained, her tone measured and precise. "First, take a look at the walls surrounding the victim. The most valuable artworks that would have been in the splash zone were moved in advance. This wasn't a random act of violence. The killer deeply cherishes these pieces and went out of their way to ensure not a single drop of blood ruined them."
She paced a few steps forward, gesturing toward the security camera footage playing on the monitor. "Second, look closely at the recording. When Boss Manaka is cornered, he grabs a piece of paper from behind the knight's back. His expression shifts to pure shock. He frantically scribbles something with a pen, throws the pen aside in frustration, and crumples the paper. I examined the pen left at the scene. The nib was fully retracted."
Natsume paused, letting the implication hang in the air. "A man fighting for his life, bleeding out in a suit of armor, does not politely click his pen shut before dying. That means the pen we found on the floor was planted after the fact."
Right on cue, a forensics officer jogged over, holding up a transparent evidence bag containing the crumpled slip of paper Manaka had thrown. The name 'Kubota' was scrawled across it in bold ink.
Before Kogoro could jump to the wrong conclusion, Natsume cut in. "The killer wrote that name beforehand. Since the pen was swapped, and the one currently sitting in evidence works perfectly fine, it stands to reason that the pen Manaka actually grabbed was out of ink."
She turned to the police inspector. "Inspector Megure, please examine the paper closely. Hold it up to the light. You should see deep, inkless indentations scratched over the name 'Kubota'. That is what Manaka actually tried to write when he realized he had been set up."
Megure held the bag up to the harsh fluorescent lights. He squinted. "By god, she's right! There are scratch marks here!"
"Manaka realized the pen was dead and threw it away in a fit of rage," Natsume continued, her gaze locking onto Ochiai. "A customized ballpoint pen like that is exclusively issued to the museum staff. Therefore, the person currently carrying a pen with no ink is the one who swapped it. The true culprit."
Standing near Kogoro's legs, Conan's glasses flashed as the final puzzle piece clicked into place. If the killer's primary goal was to frame Kubota, the only person with the authority and scheduling power to ensure Kubota lacked an alibi during the murder window was the museum director himself.
Natsume closed the distance between herself and Director Ochiai. She stopped just a foot away, extending her right hand, palm up. "Director. Would you mind letting us test your pen?"
The old man stared at her outstretched hand. The quiet composure he had maintained all evening finally cracked. His shoulders slumped, the weight of his age suddenly pressing down on him. With trembling, wrinkled fingers, he reached into his breast pocket and retrieved an identical museum-issued pen.
He didn't attempt to argue. He simply handed it over.
"This young lady is entirely correct," Ochiai murmured, his voice echoing softly in the cavernous gallery. "I orchestrated all of this to rid the world of that selfish, greedy devil, Manaka." He turned his head slowly, his eyes narrowing with disgust as they landed on the cowering Kubota. "And framing Kubota was his punishment for secretly auctioning off the artworks I raised and protected like my own children."
A soft, melancholic sigh broke the heavy atmosphere. Lisa stepped away from the group, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she approached the massive canvas of 'Divine Retribution'. She gazed up at the towering knight standing over the slain beast.
"It truly mirrors the tragedy depicted here," Lisa said softly, her emerald eyes reflecting the dark hues of the painting. "The righteous knight slays the devil, only to be bathed in its cursed blood. The dragon slayer eventually becomes the dragon."
"Indeed," Ochiai chuckled, a dry, hollow sound. "Even with all my careful preparations, a murderer like myself could not escape the piercing gaze of wisdom." He smiled freely now, the burden of his secret lifted. He looked over at the elegant librarian standing before his favorite painting. "You are right, Miss Lisa. The dragon slayer inevitably falls to the same darkness. However... I must admit I am curious."
Ochiai tilted his head slightly. "Your voice carried a deep nostalgia just now. Were you thinking of someone specific? Forgive an old man's curiosity regarding shared tragedies. You need not answer if it brings you pain."
Lisa blinked, momentarily surprised by the director's sharp intuition. A gentle, bittersweet smile graced her lips. It wasn't a secret she needed to guard fiercely.
"I was thinking of a... well, a dear friend," Lisa murmured, her voice taking on a distant, airy quality. "He, too, was corrupted after slaying a terrible demon dragon to protect his home. The poisoned blood seeped into his wounds, clouding his mind. Malicious individuals took advantage of his agony, twisting his suffering until he lashed out and committed terrible acts."
She turned back to Ochiai, her smile warming. "But fortunately, his friends refused to give up on him. They fought to reach his heart, cleansing the poison before he could truly transform into the very monster he had destroyed."
A deep sense of relief washed over Ochiai's weathered face. The tension in his jaw loosened. "That is wonderful to hear. Your friend was incredibly fortunate to have a chance at redemption." He let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. "My destination, I suppose, is a cold prison cell. But I harbor no regrets. If I were forced to live this day over again, I would still choose to strike down that devil."
And with that quiet confession, the curtain fell on the museum's final tragedy. Inspector Megure stepped forward, gently but firmly placing Ochiai in handcuffs. Before escorting the old man out, the inspector reminded Kogoro, Natsume, and the others to drop by the precinct to file their official statements when they had the time.
As the police cleared the scene, Natsume noticed Kogoro rubbing his stomach, while Conan let out a quiet, involuntary sigh of hunger. Glancing at the clock, she realized it was far too late for Ran to start cooking a full meal from scratch.
"Since my restaurant is right on your way home, why don't you all join us for dinner?" Natsume offered, her tone bright and inviting. "The kitchen on the first floor is fully stocked."
Ran waved her hands frantically, her cheeks flushing. "Oh, no, we couldn't possibly impose! You've already done so much today, Miss Natsume."
But Ran's polite refusal stood no chance against the combined rumbling stomachs of her father and Conan. Kogoro practically leaped at the offer of free food, and Conan nodded enthusiastically. Faced with her family's eagerness and Natsume's warm persistence, Ran finally relented with a defeated but grateful smile.
The night air was cool and refreshing as the group strolled down the illuminated streets of Beika. Naturally, the conversation drifted back to the dramatic events at the museum.
Kogoro shoved his hands into his suit pockets, glancing sideways at the elegant librarian. "Say, Miss Lisa... that story you told the director back there. The bit about your friend slaying a demon dragon. That was just a poetic exaggeration, right?"
Ran leaned in, her eyes wide with innocent curiosity. "Do dragons actually exist in this world?"
Trailing slightly behind them, Conan stuffed his hands into his shorts pockets, his eyes dropping into a flat, half-moon stare. 'Of course dragons don't exist. They're nothing but mythological fantasies.'He glanced up at Ran's sparkling eyes and couldn't help but smile inwardly.'Still... it's kind of cute that Ran actually entertains the idea.'
Seeing the bright, expectant look on Ran's face, Lisa placed a finger against her lips and smiled mysteriously. "It's entirely true."
"Eh?! Dragons really exist?!" Ran gasped.
Conan's foot caught on the pavement, nearly sending him face-first into a streetlight. 'Are you serious?! She has to be joking, right?!'
"Pfft... just kidding," Lisa giggled, the musical sound floating through the night air. "The friend I mentioned simply sustained a severe injury while protecting his people. While he was recovering, malicious individuals deceived him into doing terrible things. But thanks to someone who refused to give up on him, he broke free from their control and regained his freedom. Hmm... a rather lovely happy ending, wouldn't you say?"
"Mhm, it really is," Ran said, her voice softening with genuine emotion. She felt a deep warmth knowing that someone had fought for Lisa's friend, saving him from the irreversible, tragic fate that had consumed Director Ochiai.
Thwack!
Kogoro dropped his fist onto the top of Conan's head. "See? I told you dragons were just fairy tales! Honestly, kids will be kids, getting all worked up over absolute nonsense."
Conan rubbed the rising bump on his head, glaring up at the mustached detective. 'Oh, please, Uncle. Don't act high and mighty. You were clearly holding your breath just now too! Being a kid in this body means having zero human rights...'
Up ahead, Natsume matched her pace with Lisa, leaning in close so her voice wouldn't carry. "Lisa," she whispered, a knowing glint in her golden eyes. "The friend you were talking about... it was Dvalin, wasn't it?"
"Oh my," Lisa purred, her eyes curving into affectionate crescents. "Little Cutie guessed it on the first try."
"You specifically mentioned slaying a demon dragon and being poisoned by corrupted blood," Natsume replied dryly, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "It's obviously him. How could I not figure it out?"
A few paces back, Conan intentionally slowed his steps. His sharp detective instincts flared to life. He crept closer to the two women, masking his footsteps against the pavement. To avoid alerting them to a child eavesdropping, he maintained a calculated distance, straining his ears to catch their hushed exchange.
Due to the ambient noise of the street, he could only pick up fragmented whispers.
"...Dvalin..."
"...kill... dragon..."
"...Venti..."
Conan's brow furrowed behind his oversized glasses. 'Dvalin? Is that the name of the friend Miss Lisa was talking about? And killing a dragon... is that some kind of underworld code or syndicate metaphor? Who on earth is Venti? More, how does Natsume know all these specific details? Didn't she and Lisa just meet today?'
The questions piled up in his mind, forming a tangled web of contradictions and mysteries. He stared at the backs of the blonde restaurant owner and the elegant librarian. They seemed perfectly normal on the surface, yet they casually tossed around terms that sounded like codenames from a fantasy novel.
Conan adjusted his glasses, the lenses catching the glow of the streetlights. One day, he swore to himself, he would peel back the layers and uncover the true secrets hidden within these two women.
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