"Constantly imagining murder methods and the state of the victim's death… heh, that explains it."
Inside a dimly lit bar, Gin and Vodka had nothing better to do. They leaned toward the counter, watching the program on the TV — All Japan Detective Agency Unit.
Gin snorted as Haruki spoke on-screen with practiced eloquence. Vodka grinned, amusement flickering in his eyes. "This kid's really popular, hehe. If those fans knew he killed someone, I don't know what they'd do."
"Don't get sidetracked, Vodka." Gin's voice was flat, neither warm nor cold. "He didn't kill anyone."
"…You're right."
No matter how you looked at Haruki's two recent actions, they could be explained away as accidents. The victim's blood hadn't even splattered on him. Gin couldn't catch the kid's handle, yet his interest had only grown. He was...a promising talent.
The anticipation curling in Gin's chest made him smile without humor. He'd find another opportunity to test Haruki's abilities later. For now, the kid was a bit too conspicuous, so Gin postponed his plans.
"By the way, Big Brother, about those smuggled gun documents…"
"Nothing to worry about. As planned, we'll make the exchange later at Toro Tropical Land Park."
"Okay. I called him—he's preparing the money. He should understand." They spoke casually as they finalized the day's action: extortion. The Organization had secretly photographed evidence of a company smuggling firearms. Gin and Vodka would use the negatives to extort one hundred million yen and push that company off their land to make way for a new laboratory.
"The woman in this commercial is quite good-looking." Vodka glanced at a beverage ad on the screen and commented, but Gin barely glanced away from Haruki on the set.
In the Nichimai TV Station studio, the director's team announced a commercial break. Assistant host Nagai Ayako visibly relaxed. Matsuo Takashi, however, pressed a hand to his abdomen with a wince.
"It really hurts…" he murmured.
"Is something wrong, Mr. Matsuo?"
"Sorry. My stomach's been off since this morning." He forced an apologetic smile at Haruki, then asked a nearby staffer, "By the way, where's Suwa right now?"
"Mixing room, fourth floor. He's monitoring the program."
The staffer's reply made Matsuo's lips curl upward imperceptibly. Everything was going according to plan. He imagined the moment and felt the cold thrill that had been growing inside him.
I'll kill him later.
Matsuo's hatred was a small, private fire. All Japan Detective Agency Unit had been his creation alongside director Suwa Michihiko; he'd poured effort and emotion into building its success. Now Suwa was growing restless, convinced Matsuo had reached his limit. Suwa planned to oust him, replace him with a popular, attractive star, and pivot the show toward more adult content to boost ratings. He'd even told Matsuo this would be his last episode—using Haruki's appearance to generate a final spike before the transformation.
Matsuo could not accept it. But as host he couldn't openly defy the director. So the resentment curdled into something darker.
When the cameras rolled again, Matsuo straightened and smoothed his expression.
"Welcome back to All Japan Detective Agency Unit. I'm your host, Matsuo Takashi."
"Let's return to the topic we were discussing."
"Haruki-sensei, as a mystery novelist, what do you think is the easiest method or type of crime to solve?"
"Under equal conditions," Haruki said thoughtfully, "a shooting is the easiest."
"A shooting?"
"Yes. Compared to concealed mechanisms or exotic weapons, the traces a shooting leaves are the most direct and the hardest to hide. Bullets, trajectories, the wounds — those are intuitive clues for the police. The method itself is straightforward, which saves a lot of investigative time."
"I see…"
Matsuo felt a flicker of panic at Haruki's answer, but he smothered it. He'd planned his scenario for a long time and convinced himself he couldn't be easily seen through. After all, this was just a novelist talking hypothetically, not a famous detective. He forced a smile and continued the show, while the shadow in his chest tightened.
It was Nagai Ayako who suddenly began praising Matsuo Takashi at that moment.
"Speaking of shooting — Mr. Matsuo, as a shooting enthusiast, your marksmanship is incredibly impressive! They say your skill could even rival that of a professional marksman!"
Matsuo's pupils constricted instantly. He hadn't expected her to mention that on-air. For a split second, his expression froze before he forced a humble laugh and waved his hands.
"No, no, that's an exaggeration. I did practice abroad for a while, but comparing me to a professional is far too much."
"Eh~ Mr. Matsuo is usually so proud, but on stage, he becomes modest instead," Nagai teased with a playful tone.
Matsuo chuckled and stood up slightly, pinching his index finger and thumb together to form a tiny gap. "Well, maybe I'm just this much below professional level," he said with mock pride, chest puffed out and chin high.
The exaggerated contrast drew laughter from both the studio staff and the audience watching from home.
Moments later, the program transitioned smoothly to the next segment — the audience-favorite game.
"And now," Nagai announced with a bright smile, "the highly anticipated 'You're the Culprit!' segment is about to begin!"
"Next, we'll play a four-minute VCR," Matsuo continued, his tone perfectly professional. "After watching, please guess who the real culprit is."
As soon as the two hosts finished speaking, the control room switched the feed to the prerecorded short film. The three people on stage were finally able to relax for a few minutes.
Backstage, Nagai Ayako led Haruki — today's celebrity guest — to the monitor to watch the VCR together.
It was a four-minute crime short, filmed in classic Detective Conan fashion. The video depicted the killer's movements, the murder weapon, scattered evidence, and four possible suspects labeled A through D.
When the clip was nearly over, Nagai commented with genuine admiration, "It's really well made. The production team put a lot of work into this one."
Haruki didn't respond immediately. His sharp gaze stayed fixed on the screen, analyzing details. Then, softly, he asked, "What about Mr. Matsuo?"
"Huh? Mr. Matsuo?" Nagai blinked and looked around.
Right on cue, Matsuo Takashi appeared, running toward them. Fine sweat beaded across his forehead; he was slightly out of breath, one hand pressed against his stomach.
"I'm here," he said between short breaths. "Sorry, my stomach's been upset since this morning… But I'm fine now. The VCR's almost done, right? Let's hurry back and resume recording."
Haruki watched him silently for a moment. The way Matsuo's hand lingered over his abdomen didn't quite match the forced smile on his face. Something about it — the timing, the sweat, the strain — seemed off.
He said nothing, but in his mind, a single word flickered.
Suspicious.
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