Chapter 47: Media That Protects Privacy
Tequila clamped the phone between his shoulder and his ear, his massive frame hunched slightly as he fumbled with the briefcase in his hands. "Does... seeing... a girl... who looks... a lot like... you... at the presentation... venue... count as... something... strange...?" he drawled casually, his thick fingers trying to jam the key into the slot. He frowned, jiggling the metal. "Strange... the key... won't go in... it seems... there's... no lock."
Without waiting for a response from the other end of the line, the towering man grunted and forced the latch.
Miles away, Cointreau listened to the intermittent, static-laced voice bleeding through the receiver. He had originally opened his mouth to issue a sharp reprimand, intending to remind the oaf that eavesdropping devices were a constant hazard in public venues. But the moment Tequila muttered about the lock, the words died in Cointreau's throat. His gaze darkened, a cold, calculating shadow sweeping over his features.
A jammed lock. A missing keyhole. Cointreau instantly deduced the fatal flaw in the briefcase. A trap. Yet, his lips remained sealed in a thin, indifferent line. He had absolutely no intention of warning his colleague.
A deafening roar shattered the speaker. The violent shockwave of the explosion crackled through the audio feed, immediately followed by the hollow, rhythmic dial tone of a dead line.
Cointreau slowly lowered the phone and severed the connection. It seemed he wouldn't need to get his own hands dirty after all. Still, he mused silently, Tequila truly was plagued by terrible luck.
Back at the MANTENDO Game Presentation venue, the air was thick with the acrid stench of sulfur and burning plastic. Plumes of dark smoke billowed from the shattered restroom corridor. Conan Edogawa stood at the edge of the police cordon, his small fists trembling at his sides. His wide eyes reflected the flickering flames of the wreckage. Frustration boiled over, twisting his features into a scowl as he slammed his fist into the tiled floor.
'Damn it!' He had been so close. He had finally caught the scent of those crows, finally grasped a tangible thread leading back to the Men in Black, and now this happened.
The wail of sirens soon pierced the chaotic murmur of the evacuated crowd. Tokyo Metropolitan Police officers flooded the venue, securing the perimeter with practiced efficiency. Standing quietly near the edge of the gathered suspects, Natsume watched the familiar, burly figure of Inspector Megure march onto the scene. But her golden eyes immediately drifted to the man walking half a step behind the veteran inspector.
He wore a sharp, dark suit, his slightly curly black hair framing a face partially obscured by a pair of sleek sunglasses. He carried an air of nonchalant arrogance, a stark contrast to the rigid posture of the uniformed officers. Natsume's breath hitched. She hadn't been hallucinating on the shinkansen after all. The man standing before her was a dead ringer for Matsuda Jinpei.
Her intense scrutiny must have carried a physical weight. The curly-haired officer suddenly stopped. He tilted his head, the dark lenses of his sunglasses shifting directly toward Natsume. A flicker of recognition, or perhaps just sharp curiosity, crossed his face. He pivoted on his heel, taking a deliberate step in her direction.
"Matsuda, where do you think you're wandering off to?" Inspector Megure's gruff voice barked over the noise. "We need to secure the blast radius and check the scene."
The man paused. He cast one last, lingering look at Natsume, his expression unreadable behind the tinted glass, before slipping his hands into his pockets and trailing after the inspector.
Natsume's heart hammered against her ribs. Inspector Megure had just confirmed it. It really was Matsuda Jinpei!
Her mind raced, desperately trying to untangle the impossible logic of his existence. How could he be here? According to the established timeline of this world, Matsuda Jinpei was supposed to have sacrificed himself in a Ferris wheel bombing three years before the main plot even began. Even if her arrival in this world had triggered a Butterfly Effect, it shouldn't possess the power to retroactively alter past tragedies., the way he had looked at her just now, he didn't just notice her staring. He looked as though he recognized her.
A sharp throb pulsed at her temples. The sheer impossibility of the situation threatened to give her a massive headache.
She pressed two fingers to her forehead, forcing herself to exhale slowly. Panic and confusion would serve no purpose here. Since she couldn't figure out the reason behind the resurrected bomb disposal expert, she decided to put it aside and solve today's case first. If Matsuda Jinpei's survival was somehow tied to her presence in this world, and if he truly knew who she was, he would inevitably seek her out. All she had to do was wait.
Shifting her attention back to the ruined corridor, Natsume observed the forensics team bagging the final pieces of charred debris. Inspector Megure was currently questioning the primary suspects from the development division. Sifting through her own memory of the event and piecing it together with the subtle, frantic hints Conan had been dropping around the crime scene, the entire puzzle clicked into place. She didn't wait any longer. Smoothing out her expression into one of calm confidence, Natsume stepped past the yellow tape and approached Inspector Megure directly to reveal the truth of the case.
As her deduction echoed through the quieted hall, the atmosphere shifted drastically. The police and bystanders alike realized the terrifying truth: the perpetrator of today's case was not a random bomber, but an assassin who intended to kill a specific person.
The killer was Takeshita Hironobu, a seemingly mild-mannered employee of MANTENDO's game development division. His motive was steeped in tragedy and vengeance, a desperate retaliation for his ex-girlfriend, who had been driven to suicide by the callous actions of his colleague, Nakajima Hideaki.
Takeshita's plan had been ruthlessly simple. He had wired a lethal explosive into his own briefcase and checked it into the cloakroom alongside Nakajima's identical bag. By secretly swapping their numbered claim tags, he ensured that Nakajima would walk away with the bomb.
What Takeshita could never have anticipated was the illicit transaction occurring in the shadows. Nakajima had been scheduled to trade corporate secrets with someone else. During their brief encounter, Nakajima and the other party had exchanged claim tags. It was this unknown man who had retrieved the rigged briefcase. The moment he retreated to the privacy of the restroom stall and forced the lock to inspect the merchandise, he was killed in the explosion.
Standing in the shadow of a nearby pillar, Conan's eyes widened behind his oversized glasses. Natsume's flawless deduction struck him like a bolt of lightning. The giant man in black hadn't been silenced by his own organization; he had been killed by a sheer, catastrophic stroke of bad luck!
This meant the thread connecting him to the Men in Black hadn't been severed. Nakajima Hideaki, the man who had orchestrated the trade with Tequila, was still standing right there. He still knew some information.
Driven by sheer desperation, Conan didn't hesitate. He flipped open the crosshairs on his wristwatch tranquilizer, aimed carefully at Kogoro Mouri's neck, and fired. The sleeping dart found its mark perfectly, knocking the detective out cold. Just as Inspector Megure was ordering his men to escort the weeping perpetrator and a pale Nakajima back to the police station for a statement, Kogoro's voice rang out across the room.
"Wait a moment, Inspector. I still have some questions for Mr. Nakajima." Conan crouched hidden behind the chair, his tone dropping into a deadly serious register. "Tell me, Nakajima... what was the identity of that tall man in black who traded with you?"
The interrogation yielded frustratingly little. Nakajima didn't know much either, only revealing that the designated meeting place for their transaction was a bar called "Cocktail" on the top floor of the Daikoku Building in Beika Town.
The moment the address left Nakajima's lips, Conan could no longer suppress his urgency to find the Men in Black. Ignoring the confused shouts of the police officers, the small boy rushed out of the presentation venue, his sneakers pounding against the pavement as he hurried toward the Cocktail Bar.
Natsume watched Conan Edogawa's retreating figure with a deep sense of helplessness. She knew exactly how this reckless pursuit would end. The moment those people learned Tequila had died in a public explosion, they would surely guess the trading location had been exposed. Enough time had passed for them to clean up the evidence; there would definitely be no clues left now.
Yet, she couldn't stop Conan Edogawa. Not being able to explain her foreknowledge was one thing, but more, Conan was starving for leads right now. He wouldn't give up unless he saw the bitter reality with his own eyes.
Blocks away, Conan ran breathlessly to the Daikoku Building, his heart racing. 'I've finally found those people,'he thought, a fierce fire burning in his chest.'I've finally reached this point!'
He rushed into the elevator, jabbing the button for the top floor, and watched the digital display ascend slowly.
But before he could reach the top floor, a catastrophic roar tore through the building. The elevator shaft shuddered violently as a massive explosion detonated upstairs.
'Damn it!' Conan Edogawa instantly had a sickeningly bad feeling.
When the elevator doors finally chimed open, a wave of blistering heat and thick smoke rolled into the cabin. He desperately wanted to rush to the scene to find even a single clue, but fortunately, he was quickly stopped by the panicked adults evacuating the lower floors, who dragged him back from the deadly blaze.
Later, according to the police investigation, the amount of explosives these people used was astonishing. It was a chilling display of the syndicate's terrifying thoroughness. The bar had completely vanished, and the structural damage was so severe that it was impossible to even confirm if anyone had been inside. All the authorities knew was that these people had traded a highly classified list of world-famous computer engineers with Mr. Nakajima.
The next morning, Natsume saw the news of the Cocktail Bar explosion in the newspaper. Since she had already expected the fiery cover-up from the start, she didn't pay much attention to the sensationalized headlines.
However, what she found strange was that even though she had publicly and decisively solved the bombing case at the MANTENDO game presentation, there was almost no information about her online. At most, a few obscure newspapers mentioned that the case had been solved by a rookie female detective, but they didn't mention her name, let alone print her photo.
Although Natsume didn't particularly want to be famous, it was highly abnormal for her information to be completely unreleased regarding such a sensational incident as a public bombing. Had the notoriously invasive Tokyo media suddenly grown a collective conscience and realized they shouldn't freely disclose personal privacy?
'Forget it,' she decided, setting the newspaper aside. Without any concrete clues, overthinking it was pointless.
The boat will naturally straighten when it reaches the bridge; the current of fate would eventually guide her to the answers. The truth would eventually come to light.
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