Chapter 1: The Tax-Evading Syndicate
Five years.
It had been five years since Natsukawa found himself in this world—a world where sleeping detectives solved impossible cases and a criminal syndicate dressed in black pulled strings from the shadows.
He stared at the intelligence report in his hands, the paper crisp between his fingers.
[The Sleeping Kogoro: Kogoro Mouri, Japan's second most famous detective after the vanished Shinichi Kudo.]
Natsukawa had specifically requested this report. Five years ago, after that chance encounter with Gin during a mission in Yokohama, he'd instructed his partner to monitor Kogoro Mouri's activities in Japan. Now, finally, the confirmation had arrived.
The story had begun.
Actually, it had been unfolding for some time now.
He'd just wrapped up an infiltration job in Berlin when his partner Frank delivered the news.
"Natsukawa, why the obsession with this washed-up detective?" Frank adjusted his black-rimmed glasses, his curly hair slightly disheveled. "Got a grudge? I could arrange something. The Thorn Princess has been operating in Japan recently—if you need her services."
Frank was a compact man, barely five-foot-five, with the nervous energy of someone who survived by his wits. He'd been working with the original owner of this body before Natsukawa's... arrival... and their partnership had only strengthened since.
Frank was partly responsible for Natsukawa's reputation as one of the underworld's premier intelligence operatives.
As an information broker, Frank was top-tier. He could procure anything—mission dossiers, black market weapons, falsified documents. Most of Natsukawa's contracts came through Frank's network.
The reason both the original soul and Natsukawa trusted him ran deeper than business. They'd grown up in the same orphanage in Hamburg. As kids, Natsukawa had protected the smaller, awkward Frank from bullies. When they'd both ended up in the intelligence underworld as adults, they'd naturally gravitated together. Different skills, complementary talents.
Not blood brothers, but something closer.
Frank made a slashing gesture across his throat, the meaning crystal clear.
"No need." Natsukawa shook his head. This was the world of Detective Conan—a world that ran on narrative logic more than realistic causality. Kogoro Mouri was essentially Conan's mouthpiece, integral to the plot's structure. Any attempt to eliminate him would likely fail through increasingly improbable circumstances.
Besides, he had no reason to. No grudge, no conflict. Honestly, he found the man entertaining.
"I'm taking a year off. Going to Japan, actually. Time to experience life as an ordinary person."
"What?" Frank's eyes went wide behind his glasses. His stainless steel tumbler clattered to the desk. "Have you lost your mind? You've just become the most sought-after operative in the game—you're at your peak! Why retire now?"
The glass rolled across the desk, mercifully unbroken.
Japan had been in Natsukawa's plans for a long time, though he'd never mentioned it to Frank. Five years ago, that meeting with Gin had crystallized his intentions. He'd been monitoring Japan ever since, waiting for this exact moment.
Being dropped into the world of Detective Conan without experiencing it firsthand? That would be a waste.
"Come with me." Natsukawa walked over and clapped Frank on the shoulder. "We've been running nonstop since we started. Time for a break. Besides..." He grinned. "Japanese women are supposed to be incredibly graceful. Maybe you'll finally find someone who appreciates you."
Frank's neck flushed red. His back straightened reflexively.
Natsukawa had struck a nerve—the exact one he'd intended.
Despite making a fortune in the information trade, Frank had one glaring weakness: his complete inability to maintain a relationship. He wanted something genuine, but every woman he'd met in their line of work only saw his bank account. The Western social circles they moved in were mercenary at best.
"There are women like Yukiko Kudo all over Tokyo, you know."
Frank was a massive fan of the actress-turned-housewife. Mentioning her was the most effective strategy.
Just as predicted, Frank's resistance crumbled. "Alright. One year. But—"
"But what?"
"I... may have already accepted another contract for you." Frank's voice got quieter. "I'm afraid..."
A manila folder hit the desk.
Natsukawa didn't even glance at it. "Just one mission. Refuse it."
"It's from the IRS." Frank winced. "I don't think refusing is an option."
The IRS—the Internal Revenue Service. A government agency more terrifying than the FBI, CIA, or any alphabet soup organization.
In America, there was a saying: Never, ever cross the IRS.
In that country, only two things were inevitable: death and taxes. Even illegal income had to be reported. Drug money? Taxable. Human trafficking? Taxable. If you didn't pay, the IRS would show up with armed helicopters and armored vehicles.
The notorious mobster Al Capone had left behind two famous lessons before his imprisonment, treated as gospel by every criminal organization in America:
Heavy machine guns beat submachine guns every time.Pay your goddamn taxes to the IRS. On time.
"You didn't already take their deposit, did you?"
Frank nodded, unable to meet his eyes.
Natsukawa's eye twitched. In the underworld, accepting a deposit meant accepting the contract. There were only two outcomes: complete the mission, or die trying.
Once accepted, there was no backing out. The intelligence had been received, the wheels set in motion.
Sure, some operatives killed their clients to void contracts. But when the client was dead, the debt died with them.
Except this client was the IRS—a United States government agency. As long as the country existed, there would be an endless supply of agents ready to collect.
"Fine." Natsukawa exhaled slowly. "I've accepted it. Let's just get it done quickly. Mouri only recently became famous—the main story's still in its early stages. A small delay won't matter."
He opened the folder and began reading.
A distillery. The IRS was investigating a distillery.
The file was surprisingly brief: A mysterious criminal organization operating in the underworld, members codenamed after alcoholic beverages, had conducted numerous illegal transactions on American soil. None of which had been reported for tax purposes.
The IRS had sent an undercover agent to infiltrate the organization and document their financial activities.
The results had been... mixed.
The agent had been discovered. His body was found in pieces across three separate dumpsters in Newark. But before his death, he'd transmitted crucial intelligence back to the IRS: this shadowy organization had conducted illegal transactions worth tens of billions of dollars in the United States alone.
All untaxed.
The IRS didn't care about the illegal activities themselves. Murder, smuggling, international conspiracy—none of that was their jurisdiction. But billions in evaded taxes? That was a declaration of war.
However, without knowing the organization's headquarters or the identities of its leadership, the IRS's enforcement division was paralyzed.
Which was why they'd hired "Twilight"—currently the most highly-rated intelligence operative in the criminal underworld—through Frank's network.
The mission parameters were straightforward:
First: Identify the organization's leader and notify them of their outstanding tax obligations.
Second: Locate the organization's financial records, document their global operations, and forward all information to the IRS.
After reading the requirements, Natsukawa released a long breath. He hadn't expected to get tangled up with the Black Organization again, but at least his Japan plans could proceed on schedule.
The mission wasn't simple. The first step—identifying the boss—was particularly tricky.
From what Natsukawa knew, the Organization's leader should be Karasuma Renya. But the man was officially dead and hadn't revealed himself even after a thousand episodes of the source material. Still, this wasn't necessarily a problem. Following the narrative principle that good always triumphs over evil, Conan would eventually unmask him. Natsukawa could simply report him to the IRS when that happened.
The second objective was both easier and harder.
The difficulty lay in the Organization's opaque financial structure. Even after watching countless episodes, Natsukawa still didn't know who managed their money. Was it Rum? Some other mysterious figure yet to appear?
However, Pisco was a potential lead. His public identity—Masuyama Kenzo, chairman of a major automotive corporation—suggested significant financial resources. If the chairman was a member of the Black Organization, then his company was certainly one of their assets. Using him to satisfy the IRS might work.
As for other holdings, Natsukawa couldn't recall specifics. But an organization researching immortality drugs had to own numerous pharmaceutical companies. And it couldn't only be Masuyama's automotive firm.
Gin—the man who'd once strafed Tokyo Tower with an attack helicopter—clearly had access to serious military hardware. The Organization had to have connections to arms manufacturers.
Japan didn't have many defense contractors, but Kawasaki Heavy Industries and Mitsubishi were highly suspicious. Both were giants in Japan's military-industrial complex. The Suzuki Corporation was possible too, though after a thousand episodes, there seemed to be no connection to the Organization.
In the United States, the Organization's presence was less visible. But the IRS's investigation showed they were extremely active there—just maintaining a lower profile. Understandable. America was a country where homeowners could legally shoot intruders.
The population was significantly more armed and dangerous.
After analyzing the situation, Natsukawa's mood improved. His plans wouldn't be disrupted. He could live out his spy-thriller fantasy in the Detective Conan world for a while.
He didn't need to actively hunt the Black Organization. He just needed to wait patiently, and Conan would naturally expose Karasuma Renya. This IRS contract was practically free money. Whether Karasuma lived or died, whether Japan or the US handled the prosecution—none of that mattered. He just needed to provide information to the IRS.
The IRS wouldn't care about the rest. Whether the Organization continued to exist was irrelevant. Their only concern was recovering evaded taxes when assets were seized. And if they couldn't collect the money directly, finding evidence of collusion between the Organization and American corporate interests would suffice. They'd throw that evidence at Capitol Hill, and someone would end up paying.
He thought for a moment, then turned to Frank.
"I want to adopt a child. Six years old."
Frank stared at him in confusion. Natsukawa's requests were getting increasingly bizarre. First he wanted intelligence on some washed-up detective. Then he wanted to vacation in Japan. Now he wanted to adopt a first-grader. What was he planning?
Was he actually planning to settle in Japan? Why did he need a kid for a vacation?
And what about the mission?
This was the IRS—could he show them at least some professional respect?
"Don't worry about it. Just handle it." Natsukawa waved him off. "Besides, the IRS contract doesn't conflict with the Japan trip."
Natsukawa's logic was actually quite simple. The Conan storyline had already begun, which meant the protagonist had definitely enrolled at Teitan Elementary School. Adopting a first-grader would allow infiltration of the Detective Boys—making it much easier to participate in the narrative later.
Access to the main cast. Access to the cases. Access to the story.
Perfect.
[End of Chapter 1]
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