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Chapter 231: The Joke and the Great Detective's Breakdown
Choose Ran?
Then Haibara would die. The Professor would die. That partner who always mocked him yet supported him in his most critical moments would be burned alive.
Choose Haibara?
Then Ran...
Ran would be taken away. She would be injected with that terrifying drug and twisted into a monster.
No!
Absolutely not!
"Six."
"Five."
Time was slipping away far too fast.
Conan felt as though his heart were about to explode. Cold sweat soaked his shirt, plastering the fabric uncomfortably against his back.
"Is there... is there a third option..."
He raised his head. Those eyes, usually brimming with confidence, were now bloodshot and filled with desperate pleading.
"Let them go... I'll do anything you want... I can join the Organization! I can help you research the drug! My mind would be useful to you!"
To save them, he abandoned his dignity as a detective. He abandoned his bottom line.
Anything to stop this damned countdown.
Blake looked down at the crumbling boy at his feet, a strange glint flashing in his eyes.
"Join the Organization? That sounds like a decent proposal."
A spark of hope ignited in Conan's eyes.
"However—"
Blake's tone shifted, the smile at the corner of his mouth turning cruel.
"I refuse."
"Four."
The hope was extinguished.
Conan felt as if he had been shoved off a cliff, plummeting into a bottomless abyss.
"Three."
Blake's finger was already pressing the dial button.
The screen lit up. It was a number with no contact name.
"Two."
"NO!!!!"
Conan let out a roar of despair. He sprang up from the ground, lunging at Blake with reckless abandon.
Even if he had to bite, even if he had to use his head as a battering ram, he had to stop that finger from pressing the call button!
Thud!
Blake simply lifted his leg.
His knee drove heavily into Conan's abdomen.
The immense force sent Conan flying backward. He slammed hard against the edge of the sink before crashing to the floor.
The agonizing pain curled his body into a shrimp-like ball. He couldn't even scream; he could only open his mouth wide, gasping laboriously for air.
"How unsightly, Great Detective."
Blake stood rooted in place, looking down at him from above.
"One."
It was over.
It was all over.
Conan lay prone on the cold tiles, his vision blurring as uncontrollable tears welled up.
He had failed Ran.
He had failed Haibara.
He couldn't save anyone.
He was just an arrogant high schooler who thought a little cleverness was enough to challenge a colossal dark empire.
And now, the retribution had arrived.
"Zero."
Blake pressed the dial button.
Beep— Beep—
The sound of the call connecting was amplified infinitely in the dead silence of the bathroom.
Conan squeezed his eyes shut in despair.
He waited for the sound of an explosion on the other end, or for Blake to give the order to execute them.
However.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds passed.
The expected command never came.
Instead, what filled the air was a sudden, ear-piercing burst of laughter.
"Pfft... Hahahahahaha!"
Conan's eyes snapped open.
The silver-haired man, who had been as cold as a demon just moments ago, was now clutching his phone, laughing so hard he was doubling over. He even had to reach out and brace himself against the doorframe to stay standing.
"Hahahaha! I can't breathe, this is killing me!"
Blake pointed at Conan on the floor, laughing until tears streamed down his face.
"You should have seen the look on your face! It was absolutely priceless! A masterpiece! Hahahaha!"
"Oh man, this trip to Beika Town wasn't in vain. Too good. That was just too good!"
The air solidified.
Conan lay on the floor, momentarily forgetting the severe pain in his abdomen.
He stared blankly at the man who was laughing with zero regard for his image. His mind went blank, completely unable to process the information before him.
What... what was happening?
Blake finally laughed enough. He took a few deep breaths and wiped the mirthful tears from the corners of his eyes.
He turned his phone screen around, facing it toward Conan.
The screen showed a call in progress.
But there was no Black Organization hitman. There was no Gin.
From the receiver came a vibrant female voice recording:
"The current Tokyo time is 8:00 PM. The weather is clear, current temperature..."
That was—
The weather forecast hotline.
Conan's mouth fell open. A rattling sound emerged from his throat, like a rusty gear jamming.
"Weather... Weather forecast?"
"Yep. Weather forecast."
Blake casually hung up the phone and shoved it back into his pocket. The sinister terror on his face had vanished without a trace, replaced by the sheer delight of a successful prank.
"Who else did you think I was calling? Gin? Don't be ridiculous. Why would I have the number of a terrorist like that?"
He walked over to Conan, squatted down, and reached out to pull him up.
Conan instinctively flinched backward, his eyes full of wariness and confusion.
"You... Who exactly are you?"
"Me?"
Blake shrugged, his tone as relaxed as if he were making small talk.
"My name is Blake. Just a passing... well, let's call me a 'fan' of yours."
"Fan?!"
Conan felt his worldview collapsing.
"Then everything you said earlier... the experimental subjects... burning Haibara to death..."
"Made it up."
Blake spread his hands with righteous confidence.
"If I didn't make it sound realistic, how could I trick the famous Kudo Shinichi?"
"As for that drug..."
Blake pulled the crystal bottle Conan had assumed was poison out of his pocket, uncorked it, and took a swig.
"Tastes pretty good. It's herbal juice with mint and honey. Want a sip?"
Conan turned to stone.
Fake?
It was all fake?
No Organization? No experiments? No kidnapping?
That life-and-death choice that had driven him to the brink of suicide was just a... prank?
An indescribable fury instantly erupted from Conan's chest.
This felt worse than being killed!
He had knelt, begged, and wept like a clown!
"You bastard!!!"
Conan leaped up, not caring about the power gap, and swung his fist as he charged at Blake.
"Do you have any idea how terrified I was?! Is that something you can just joke about?!"
Blake effortlessly extended a hand and pressed it against Conan's head, keeping the boy's flailing short arms helplessly out of range.
"Calm down, Great Detective."
Blake wore a playful grin.
"You can't blame me for this. Who asked you to stick a wiretap on me the moment we met? This is called returning the favor."
"Besides..."
"Didn't your parents play a similar trick on you back in the day to teach you about danger?"
Blake suddenly mentioned that incident.
Conan froze.
That was shortly after he had shrunk. Kudo Yusaku and Kudo Yukiko had disguised themselves as the Night Baron and the Fat Lady, scaring him half to death.
"You seem to know a lot," Conan said coldly. "You even know about private matters like that."
"I told you, I'm your fan. Knowing a little trivia is normal."
Blake waved his hand, not wanting to dwell on the subject.
"Anyway, regarding today's test results... I'm very satisfied."
"Bastard! I'm going to kill you!"
In the restroom, Conan was like an enraged lion cub. Ignoring the pain in his stomach, he launched himself from the floor again.
He swung those harmless fists, aiming specifically for Blake's thigh.
It was too cruel.
Simply too cruel!
For a moment there, he had truly walked through the gates of hell.
The despair of watching his loved ones about to die while he was powerless to help had nearly destroyed his sanity.
And now he was being told it was just a joke?
Just because of a damn wiretap?
Slap.
Blake didn't even look down. He casually extended his left hand and pinned Conan's head again.
No matter how Conan kicked and punched, that arm's length was like a celestial moat, preventing him from touching even a hair on Blake's body.
"Don't get so excited."
Blake held the crystal bottle in his right hand, took another swig, and smacked his lips in satisfaction.
"It really does taste good. Want a sip to calm your nerves?"
"Who wants your stupid juice!"
Conan stopped struggling, panting heavily. He glared death at Blake, his eyes still red.
"Do you know that just now, I..."
"I know."
Blake interrupted him. The smile on his face faded slightly, replaced by a calm indifference.
"You were terrified. You were in despair. You felt like a useless piece of trash."
He squatted down, bringing his eyes level with Conan's.
"But that is exactly what I wanted to tell you, Great Detective."
"When you plant a wiretap on someone you don't know, you should be prepared to face the consequences."
"Not everyone is like those idiot criminals you usually deal with who follow your script."
Conan grit his teeth, his fists clenched tight.
Although he didn't want to admit it, Blake was right.
He was the one who crossed the line first.
He had relied on his child body to recklessly pry into someone else's privacy.
"Besides, consider this desensitization therapy."
Blake reached out and flicked Conan's forehead.
"If you can't even handle this level of psychological pressure, what do you plan to do when you really face Gin? Kneel and beg for mercy?"
═════ To Be Continued ═════
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