Something's not right...
That detective... there's something very wrong with him.
Ed Michael stormed out of the cocktail party and hurried back to his hotel, but Hayashi Yoshiki face lingered in his mind like an afterimage on scorched film.
(You really discovered it.)
That was what Hayashi Yoshiki's lips had silently mouthed.
It was a bluff, Ed told himself.
Of course it was. A psychological feint. Empty intimidation.
But—
Then why did it feel so real?
Ed Michael was no stranger to confrontation. He had been threatened, shoved, even spat on. He'd made enemies of actors, musicians, CEOs, and politicians. He had thick skin, and thicker armor.
Yet, Hayashi Yoshiki's expression unnerved him like nothing else ever had.
That smile—too perfect.
Too practiced.
It was a mask, molded with disturbing precision, and it unsettled Ed far more than any curse or outburst could have.
This guy... is not normal.
He sat down at his desk and flipped open his laptop. Fingers flying across the keyboard, he began to dig. He typed:
"Hayashi Yoshiki scandal – controversy – psychiatrist – death – mystery"
Search results flooded in.
The savior of the police. The prince of mystery fiction.
Awards, praise, book signings, TV interviews—fans gushed about him like he was the second coming of Sherlock Holmes.
Makes me sick, Ed sneered.
He dug deeper, looking for anything dark beneath the surface. Most negative stories had long since vanished—but one name came up again and again:
Beniko Suo.
A few months back, Mahogany Entertainment had run a smear campaign targeting Hayashi Yoshiki.
Interesting.
The stories were weak—clearly clickbait. Nothing concrete, all quickly drowned by fan outrage.
But then—
He searched Beniko Suo's name.
And froze.
[Former philanthropist and parolee Beniko Suo found dead in brutal homicide][Murder-suicide shocks entertainment industry][Secretary Inaba Kazuyo kills Hongzi, then herself—police say motive unknown]
Dead...?
Ed stared at the screen.
Ten days.
That was the gap between Hongzi's final defamatory article about Hayashi Yoshiki and her death.
And afterward, silence.
Not one new accusation. Not one whisper of controversy.
Coincidence...?
A chill crept down his neck. His mouth felt dry.
Forget it, he told himself. Focus on Ray Curtis.
Ray was his real story. The drugs, the lawsuits, the tragic suicide of his wife—this was the kind of tale tabloids devoured.
And if the rumors were true… if Ray really had turned to drugs after the scandal?
That was a bombshell.
Grabbing his car keys, Ed made for the exit.
He needed fresh air.
Later that night.
The cocktail party wound down before ten o'clock. Guests were beginning to scatter.
Hayashi Yoshiki walked alongside Kogoro Mouri, Ran, and Conan, smiling at the boy who bounced at his side.
"You look really happy today, Conan."
"Yeah! I actually got to meet Ray Curtis and talk to him!"
"He's just a kid," Ran chuckled. "But honestly, Dad looked just as excited."
"He even got another autograph." Hayashi Yoshiki glanced back and smirked.
They watched as Mouri emerged from the crowd, grinning ear to ear, clutching a signed card to his chest.
"Dad, you already have a bunch of Miss Yoko's autographs," Ran teased.
"That's not the point," Mouri huffed. "Each one is unique! A different moment, a different emotion... it's art."
He tucked the autograph into his coat like a precious gem, then gave Hayashi Yoshiki a strange look.
"Still, Ah Shu… your earlier joke was kinda mean."
Hayashi Yoshiki only smiled.
He turned back to look toward Yoko Okino, still smiling and greeting fans under her agent's watchful eye.
She's busy tonight. Can't move freely. That's fine.
He had other plans.
"Have you booked your hotel, Uncle?"
"Yeah, it's in the eastern district."
"Mine's in Umeda."
"Ah, too bad—we're not on the same route."
"It's alright. Just let me know when you're heading back to Mihua. I'll book the train with you."
"Okay, Yoshiki-nii!" Ran waved. "Goodnight!"
"Goodnight."
They parted ways with warm farewells.
Hayashi Yoshiki hailed a taxi, gave the driver an address, and settled into the back seat.
He rolled up his sleeve, glanced at his watch.
21:48.
Right on time.
The car hummed along the roads of Umeda, Osaka's beating heart—bright, modern, pulsing with life.
Hayashi Yoshiki rode in silence, pulling a slim novel from his coat. In the soft light of passing traffic, he read calmly, as if nothing weighed on his mind.
From time to time, he peeked at his watch.
22:06.
The taxi pulled up near a luxury hotel, lights shimmering off its glass facade.
"One moment—I'll get my wallet."
He took his time counting out bills.
The driver smiled. Hayashi Yoshiki handed over a generous tip and declined the change with a nod.
"Thanks for the ride."
He stepped out, closed the door gently, and waved as the cab pulled away.
His shoes clicked softly against the pavement as he turned.
That's when he heard it.
BEEP—BEEP—!!
A sharp honk cut through the air.
Headlights flared.
A speeding vehicle charged forward from the far end of the street, its high beams blinding in the dark.
It was headed straight for him.
Hayashi Yoshiki squinted, the harsh white light swallowing his silhouette.
And the car did not slow down.
It accelerated.
—