This case didn't involve any clever tricks or deep backstory. The biggest impact — literally — was how a whole truck smashed into a shop. That kind of force really packed a punch. I don't even know if the unlucky shop owner got any compensation.
"What are you looking at?" Conan asked, noticing Kazawa's eyes locked in one direction. He turned and saw the bathroom door tightly shut.
"That guy's acting weird," Kazawa said casually. "How do I put it... feels like he's got killing intent?"
Conan looked at him suspiciously, surprised he wasn't joking. "...Are you serious? I mean, he does look angry, but killing intent?"
"Did I forget to mention?" Kazawa smiled. "My parents are scholars in clinical medicine and psychology."
That caught Conan's interest. He thought carefully about the middle-aged man's behavior. "So you're judging this based on psychology?"
"Not exactly," Kazawa said. "More like — I've experienced that edge myself. That moment where you think, 'I want to kill him.' He gives off a similar vibe." He then added more lightly, "Also, he's been in the bathroom way too long."
Did Kazawa just say something dangerous? That morning, Conan had worried this new friend might end up in the police station if he wasn't careful. That concern crept back into his mind.
About ten minutes later, the middle-aged man finally came out of the bathroom and returned to his seat.
Thanks to Kazawa's heads-up — whether Conan believed him or not — he kept an eye on the man and noticed something strange.
"He was licking his fingers," Kazawa noted.
"And he switched hands while drawing," Conan added.
They exchanged a glance and nodded.
Maybe their mental wavelengths matched, or maybe they were just equally suspicious, but both kept their eyes on the man's table.
"President Ohara, are you kidding me?" Aihara pushed the stack of papers forward roughly. "You think just because I'm quitting, you can squeeze me dry one last time? You want all this done by tomorrow?"
"Aihara, it's an urgent order. You knew that when you accepted it!" Ohara snapped, pushing the papers back. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette, annoyed.
Looking past Aihara at a bus passing by, he patted himself down and muttered, "My lighter's gone. I'll go find it." With that, he got up and headed for the bathroom again.
Aihara muttered irritably while flipping through the papers.
Conan was just about to follow Ohara, curious what he might do, when Kazawa suddenly stood up.
"What's wrong?" Conan asked, rising too.
"The truck. That truck!" Kazawa blurted out, then rushed out the shop door like an arrow.
"Truck?" Conan repeated, confused.
No time to think. He chased after Kazawa and saw him sprinting toward the slope. At the top of it, a box truck was sliding downhill — gaining speed — heading straight for them.
Kazawa's target was obviously the truck. Conan quickly realized what was happening.
It wasn't backing up — it had slipped down the slope.
And its trajectory? Right toward the little shop at the curve!
Conan's eyes widened. He started running too.
Kazawa had already caught up to the truck, kicked off the ground, grabbed the side mirror, and climbed to the driver's door.
He peered into the empty cabin, raised his fist, and smashed the window.
Conan watched in shock as Kazawa shattered the glass, reached in to unlock the door, and climbed inside with fluid motion.
The truck had accelerated to road speed. Thankfully, the keys were still in the ignition. Kazawa started the engine and slammed on the brakes.
Even with those smooth moves, the truck was less than 100 meters from the shop. Kazawa stomped the brake, leaving long skid marks on the asphalt. Amid the screams of passersby, the truck came to a halt — just over two meters from the shop entrance.
"Kazawa!" Conan, who had run out and then turned back in panic, jumped onto the open truck door. His heart was pounding. "Are you okay?!"
"I'm fine, I'm fine." Kazawa, gasping after sprinting and performing that stunt, leaned back in the seat. "I did it. I really did it…"
He always believed that as long as it was for a good cause, the logic of the "Detective Conan world" allowed any kind of over-the-top action scene — as if blessed by divine intervention.
Inside the shop, Aihara, who had been grumbling a second ago, turned and saw the box truck just two meters from the window. He broke into a cold sweat and jumped out of his seat in panic.
Kazawa jumped down from the truck, looked at the mess — but thankfully no injuries — and sighed as he saw the shattered window: "Guess I'll have to pay for that…"
A few bystanders started reacting — some shouting, some even applauding.
"That's your focus?" Conan lightly tapped him. "Look at your hand — you're bleeding!"
Locals had already called the police. Kazawa pulled out a bandage from his bag and wrapped his bleeding wrist with practiced skill, surprising Conan.
Soon, the police arrived.
Thanks to Kazawa's quick thinking, the incident hadn't turned fatal. It was handled by regular officers, not the special investigations team.
After a quick explanation of the strange truck situation, the driver — shaken but grateful — thanked Kazawa repeatedly and insisted no compensation was necessary.
Back inside the shop, their books were still sitting at the table.
Aihara grabbed Kazawa's hand gratefully. "Thank you so much. That was insanely dangerous. I can't believe how unlucky…"
Kazawa exchanged a look with Ohara, who had returned from the bathroom, pale-faced.
"Surviving something like that is... kind of lucky too, isn't it?" he said meaningfully.
Ohara glanced at the truck and bit his lip.
"Be careful next time, Ohara-san," Kazawa said, slipping from Aihara's grip and patting the man's shoulder. "You almost got caught up in that too."
"Was that accident caused by that guy?" Conan asked about half an hour later, as they left the shop after giving their statements.
"Most likely," Kazawa replied, hands in his pockets, his bag swinging behind him. "The truck driver said he normally wouldn't park in such a dangerous spot, but the usual unloading area was blocked by a car — that guy's car. He parked on the slope, said he locked the handbrake and the wheels. But when I climbed in — the brake wasn't on."
No casualties and no major damage — the case was closed as a simple operational error. The only real victim might be the truck driver's insurance company.
Still, Kazawa couldn't help speculating. "How'd he do it? Even if he reached in from the window to release the brake, there wouldn't be enough time."
"He must've used some kind of delay mechanism," Conan said. "The timing had to be controlled."
"Yeah, otherwise he might've been caught in it too."
"What kind of mechanism though?"
"A cable?"
"No way — too visible."
"Ice under the wheels?"
"Would've left water marks."
"Maybe a device to pull the brake?"
"You didn't see anything when you climbed in?"
"Nope."
"Think he'll try again?"
"Doubt it. Felt more like impulsive killing intent. If he failed, he wouldn't risk a second attempt."
The two of them kept tossing ideas back and forth as they strolled along the street.
Kazawa glanced down at the blood seeping through his bandage.
...So he really was a good person.
From a nearby alley corner, Akai Shuichi adjusted his mask, quietly watching Kazawa walk away before turning and entering Poirot Café.
Kazawa Akira had not only grown up healthy and strong, but had become an exceptional young man — one you could be proud of.
Farther away, in a dark alley, Ohara Kazuo stomped back to the office, furious after another failed attempt.
Next week, Aihara would leave the company. And after this, he probably wouldn't dare return to the shop where he almost died.
The plan to kill had failed — permanently.
Frustrated or relieved, he sighed.
He reached into his coat for a cigarette — and instead felt a sharp-edged piece of paper.
"What's this…?" Ohara frowned and pulled it out.
A red card, business-card sized, with a short note made of newspaper cutouts:
"Your crimes and sins are fully known.
Do not be complacent just because your evil plan failed."