(Double Chap)
*10 BONUS chaps(5 doubles) coming up as last weeks bonus. Thanks for the support!*
BONUS CHAPTER 1-2
Conan was indeed not, in fact, flattened by the bag containing Haibara Ai.
He hesitated briefly, then—under the oppressive gaze of Ms. Anonymous—nodded as if he agreed, and quickly scurried off with the bag, using the chaos to slip away.
After successfully sneaking out of the hotel, he spotted the Professor's little Beetle by the snow-covered roadside. Under Professor Agasa's puzzled gaze, Conan tossed the bag into the back seat and unzipped it.
Haibara Ai climbed out. Conan turned, about to get back out of the car and head straight back to the Beika City Hotel.
Sure, Anonymous had just warned that anyone who returned before dawn would be killed—but Conan couldn't help the itch to get involved again. If he could catch one or two Black Organization members before they were eliminated, the police might get valuable intel.
That alone was worth it. In short: Kudo Shinichi, back on top, baby.
But before his fantasy could go from internal monologue to reality, just as he pushed the car door halfway open, a cold jolt shot down his leg.
It felt like a needle prick.
...Actually, scratch that. There was no "like" about it.
Conan spun around in shock—just in time to see Haibara Ai holding a syringe with an apologetic but unflinching expression. The needle was embedded firmly in his leg.
The special medicine quickly emptied into his bloodstream.
Conan barely got out a stunned "You...!" before slumping into the seat.
The last coherent thought he had was: This needle looks familiar. Wait—did Xiaobai disguise itself as Haibara Ai?! That's right, I remember now... the Anonymous group has a member who can do disguises. They even posed as an English teacher and kidnapped Jiangxia! So what the hell is this secret organization planning tonight?!
Before the question marks could form a conspiracy theory board in his mind, Conan fell into a deep, involuntary sleep.
Professor Agasa reacted a bit slower.
By the time he turned his slightly round figure around in the driver's seat, Conan was already knocked out cold.
Haibara Ai set the empty syringe down, crawled over, and calmly re-closed the car door Conan had tried to open.
Then, her cool blue eyes turned to the Professor. She said, very naturally, "Let's go home. We shouldn't get involved in this anymore."
"Oh… okay." Still dazed, Professor Agasa started the car and drove off without further questioning.
Unlike Conan, the Professor was very good at following instructions. He usually deferred to Conan when it came to cases—now that Conan was out of commission, it was instinctive to follow Haibara Ai instead.
After driving a few meters, the Professor gradually realized: being able to leave meant the danger had passed.
He relaxed a little and shifted his attention elsewhere.
Thinking of the syringe, he suddenly lit up. "Hey, isn't that the drug I was developing? Jiangxia had someone promote it for me on TV a while back. After that, it started selling really well as a self-defense item. The ad campaign was a hit—my research funds even increased."
Haibara Ai glanced silently at the empty casing, then casually tossed it aside.
Conan might have taken Anonymous's threat lightly.
But Haibara Ai couldn't forget the way Anonymous had said "Pisco won't live past tonight"—the tone, the calm certainty, the quiet pleasure in her eyes. It wasn't so much a death threat as it was squashing a bug.
So when Anonymous said, "If you go back into that hotel before dawn, I'll kill you," it had to be taken seriously.
Haibara Ai gave a tiny nod to herself.
Yes. That must be true. Anonymous did feel gentler than the Black Organization, but ultimately, they were still a shadowy group powerful enough to challenge—and in some cases crush—the Black Organization.
...And now she was technically a member. Even if only a peripheral one.
As she pondered this, Haibara Ai pulled a pillow from the back seat and hugged it close. Wrapped in her oversized clothes and the pillow, she felt like she was floating through a dream.
Captured by the Black Organization… rescued by Anonymous… and suddenly inducted into a whole new organization.
Oh, right—didn't official members of Anonymous need tattoos?
Could you choose the location yourself? Or did the boss assign it?
...Surely nobody would voluntarily get one on their face, right? Maybe Ms. Anonymous had been oppressed by a particularly cruel supervisor…
Wait—if she ever got promoted to a full member, would she have to meet that terrifying boss too?
Haibara Ai nervously touched the corner of her eye.
—
Back at the Beika City Hotel.
After Haibara Ai and Conan left, Jiangxia dismissed the Anonymous puppet, letting Miyano Akemi's ghost tail Haibara to keep an eye on things. His own consciousness returned to his main body.
That line, "If you come back, I'll kill you," hadn't actually been meant for Conan.
Conan was the kind of person who would barge in headfirst if he heard someone was in danger, regardless of threats. The more danger, the more heroic he got.
But Haibara Ai was different. She wouldn't pretend she hadn't heard.
Jiangxia remembered the anesthetic she'd been given and figured: by now, Conan should be unconscious.
Sure enough, a moment later, Miyano Akemi reported back:
—Haibara Ai had completed her first Anonymous assignment. She injected Conan with a full tube of tranquilizer and had even persuaded Professor Agasa to take them home.
Which meant that for the rest of tonight, the troublesome Kudo-kun would be out of action.
With that off his plate, Jiangxia was free to observe Pisco's grand unboxing—and maybe get a good look at Gin's killing intent while he was at it.
—
In the police's makeshift command room, Jiangxia withdrew his gaze from the window and glanced around.
The moment Gin and Vodka entered the hotel, Conan had used his Shinichi Kudo voice to call Inspector Megure, urgently insisting they be intercepted.
Although Megure was totally confused, he could hear the severity in Kudo's tone. He personally led a squad to stop them.
They failed, of course.
Not only did they not catch Gin, but splitting up their manpower caused chaos in the interrogation area. Eventually, the officers' delaying tactics wore thin, and they had to concede: those with purple commemorative handkerchiefs were allowed to leave.
Pisco's heart gave a small jolt when he heard them mention handkerchiefs.
As the officer walked toward him, Pisco calmly reached into his pocket, planning to fumble around and claim he'd lost it.
But the moment his fingers touched fabric, he paused.
It was silk. Smooth, unfamiliar.
Pisco froze.
Then, after a second's hesitation, he slowly pulled out a purple handkerchief.
He stared at it, his expression changing.
...He clearly remembered using his handkerchief to cover the muzzle of a gun—it had been blown away. So how the hell had this one gotten into his pocket?
—
The officer didn't catch the shift in Pisco's expression. After giving the purple handkerchief a brief once-over and confirming it was legitimate, he waved Pisco on.
Pisco stepped into the hallway but didn't leave immediately.
Instead, he paused, his sharp gaze sweeping over the room's remaining guests—eyes narrowed, calculating.
Even now, facing suspicion, the celebrities still clung to social decorum. Many had shaken hands, brushed past, or exchanged polite words with him... In other words, quite a few people had the opportunity to slip something into his pocket.
Then a specific memory flashed through his mind:
Jiangxia had beaten him up earlier. And afterward, the little brat had tugged him upright and brushed the footprints off his coat, under the guise of "cleaning up the evidence."
That guy definitely had the opportunity to stuff something in his pocket.
Could it be...
Pisco's eyes sharpened as they snapped toward Jiangxia.
Just then, Jiangxia was speaking with an officer. Casually, he reached into his own pocket, pulled out a purple commemorative handkerchief, and handed it over for inspection.
Pisco silently looked away.
...Right. That ruled him out.
If Jiangxia's handkerchief was still on him, then the one in Pisco's pocket must have been placed there by someone else—an accomplice, helping him out. Someone who had their own handkerchief to spare.
Pisco's mood turned complicated.
It actually made sense—whoever this hidden organization member was, they clearly knew him, even if he didn't know them. And no true comrade would beat him up during an undercover mission, right?
...This was fine too. If it wasn't a fellow cadre, it'd be easier to silence them later.
With that thought, Pisco gave a quiet snort and no longer lingered.
He turned, heading briskly down the hallway toward the wine cellar.
Sure, sticking around might give him a chance to identify which of these slackers had decided to help—but that wasn't the top priority right now.
First, he had to confirm Sherry's status and get her out of here. He'd left in a hurry earlier, confident she wouldn't wake up too quickly, and hadn't even bothered to tie her up. Now he could only pray she hadn't panicked and committed suicide in his absence.
That would be a real mess. Not only would the organization lose valuable intel, but he would lose a fat chunk of Merits.
Pisco gritted his teeth, offering up a silent prayer to the cold gods of organizational efficiency.
As for the mystery teammate—once he filed his mission report, their slack would catch up with them.
What he didn't notice was the figure silently following behind.
Jiangxia was walking a few steps back, casually keeping pace.
He, too, had cleared the handkerchief check and exited the room unnoticed—no one here knew him, after all.
And all this had been part of Jiangxia's plan from the beginning.
Even before the memorial service, he had intended to acquire an extra purple handkerchief.
Partly to help Pisco—after all, if Pisco got detained or interrogated by police, the "blind box" couldn't be opened. And it's not like the police would randomly shoot a suspicious old man for fun.
But Jiangxia also needed to preserve his own red-side ghost-farming operation. He had no intention of blowing his cover as Ouzo just yet. If any overzealous thinkers started connecting the dots, that could get annoying fast.
Hence: the handkerchief.
Earlier, while one of his puppets scouted out a bulletproof vest to prevent Gin from impulsively turning the fireplace into a chimney-shaped crime scene, Jiangxia had puppeted Xiaobai to the hotel lobby—accompanied by his ghost parents.
While the aunties at the front desk were handing out commemorative handkerchiefs, Jiangxia used his puppets to quietly swipe two.
He gave one to Pisco. The other was for himself.
Plan: executed. √
—
Pisco descended the stairs swiftly and reached the corridor that led to the wine cellar.
From a distance, he saw the wine cellar door slightly ajar—and his heart sank by half a degree.
As he drew closer and spotted the gaping bullet hole in the door lock, his brow furrowed.
...That style of door-opening looked very Gin.
Then again, maybe not. Maybe after escaping the organization, Sherry had partnered up with someone hot-tempered and lazy, someone who had a gun and didn't feel like fiddling with a lockpick.
Either way, this wasn't great.
Pisco's face darkened. He drew his gun, slid a round into the chamber, and cautiously pushed the door open.
He'd taken only two steps inside when he heard a soft creak behind him.
Pisco whipped around.
Standing in the doorway—just as silent and sudden as a ghost—was Gin.
Snowflakes clung to Gin's trench coat and hat, and water dripped from his shoulders. He looked like he'd just walked through a blizzard. Cold, wet, and extremely unhappy.
The kind of unhappy that involved a gun already raised and pressed to Pisco's forehead.
The muzzle was cold. Physically cold.
The expression on Gin's face was even colder—an ice-cold smile with a side of "I'm deciding whether to kill you now or later."
He didn't even mention Sherry.
Instead, he growled, "Why didn't you kill that reporter and destroy the negatives?"
"...Huh?" Pisco blinked, stunned. "Reporter? Negatives? What're you talking about?"
Gin's killing intent ratcheted up. Clearly, this wasn't the reaction he wanted.
A mocking grin stretched across his face.
"Haven't you heard? Apparently, tomorrow's front page headline is going to be a photo of you pointing a gun at the ceiling during Director Sakamaki's memorial service."
Pisco's heart stopped cold.
He remembered.
The camera flash. The blinding light in the dark banquet hall—right before he'd fired at the chandelier.
It all came crashing back.
—
*Goal #1: Top 200 fanfics published within the last 31 - 90 days by POWER STONES.
Progress: 8/60(approx) for 10 BONUS CHAPTERS
Goal #2: One BONUS CHAPTER per review for the first 10 REVIEWS.
Progress:3/10*