Chapter 72: Darkened Face, Pale Pupils, Purple Lips
A bus stop in the Tokyo suburbs.
A van idled for a few minutes before speeding away, leaving the Kudo family of three shivering in the cold winter wind.
"That guy is completely unreliable! He got his autographs and just dumped us here like trash."
Kudo Yukiko fumed, her breath forming white clouds in the frigid air. She'd trusted her fan all the way to the end, only for him to abandon them halfway. He'd turned his back on her the moment he got what he wanted! When she got home, she was definitely going to track him down and personally revoke his fan club membership!
"It's fine. Professor Agasa will be here in fifteen minutes," Kudo Yusaku said, blowing on his cold hands before sitting down on the bench at the bus stop.
Whether that driver was genuinely a fan remained uncertain. Although his expressions and mannerisms hadn't seemed fake, Yusaku remained skeptical. Years of writing mystery novels had taught him that people could be excellent actors when properly motivated.
"By the way, is that guy really Mom's fan? Something felt off about him." Conan crossed his arms, frowning. When it came to reading people, he preferred to trust his detective's intuition over his eyes.
His sixth sense was screaming that something about that driver was suspicious.
There was no concrete evidence, but his detective instincts were rarely wrong—they'd saved his life more than once.
"Hey! Call me 'Young Mom,' not 'Old Mom'!" Yukiko protested. "If you hadn't been such a handful growing up, I wouldn't have retired from acting so early!"
Conan rolled his eyes. His mother was still so easily distracted. Shouldn't they be focusing on the driver's true identity right now instead of arguing about nicknames?
He'd memorized every detail of the driver's face. If they ever met again, he'd recognize him instantly.
Also, the driver's height was nearly identical to that lobby manager he'd encountered at the Beika Restaurant.
Suspicious. They could be the same person, but it seemed unlikely. That lobby manager was probably connected to the Black Organization. If it had been the same guy, he definitely wouldn't have let them go so easily.
"Dad, what's your take on all this?" Conan asked seriously.
Kudo Yusaku glanced down at his bandaged wounds. The bleeding had stopped after Frank patched him up in the van, but the ridiculous bow tied on the bandage looked absurd.
Yukiko's damned sense of aesthetics.
"Who knows? Maybe we just got incredibly unlucky and stumbled into someone else's gunfight."
"Dad! I'm asking about the driver's identity!"
"Didn't he say he's a fan of your young mother?" Yusaku shrugged. "Judging from his behavior, I don't think he was lying."
Natsukawa's Deception
This was the brilliance of Natsukawa's plan. The reason he'd insisted Frank handle the extraction was specifically to disrupt the reasoning abilities of the two intellectually gifted members of the Kudo family.
The highest level of deception wasn't deception at all—it was the truth.
Frank genuinely was a fan of Kudo Yukiko.
His admiration for her was absolutely sincere—there was no faking that level of fanboy enthusiasm. If Conan and Kudo Yusaku could see through that despite it being completely genuine, then frankly, there was nothing more Natsukawa could do.
Sure, there were still plenty of logical holes in the scenario. The gunfight's timing was far too coincidental, the rescue call had come suspiciously fast, and a celebrity fan appearing out of nowhere to save them was definitely mind-boggling.
If the three parties involved in tonight's gunfight could sit down and compare notes calmly, they'd discover numerous inconsistencies. Unfortunately for them, they'd never have the opportunity for such a calm discussion.
Not a big problem.
As Conan himself often said, there was no such thing as a perfect crime in this world.
Instead of striving for impossible perfection, it was better to leave deliberate loopholes that wouldn't trace back to him anyway.
Even if they did uncover something, it would be attributed to Tequila's involvement and FBI intelligence. What does any of that have to do with me, Natsukawa?
"By the way, Shin-chan, those pants look nice on you, but why are you wearing that hideous dark blue jacket? It's absolutely dreadful. Isn't that supposed to be part of a set? Where's your pink jacket?"
Kudo Yukiko had wanted to ask this for ages, but between her disguise as Edogawa Fumiyo and the subsequent gunfight, she'd finally found the opportunity.
It had been far too long since she'd gotten to dress her son properly. Seeing this fashion disaster of an outfit, Yukiko's styling instincts were awakening with a vengeance.
"Uh..."
Conan felt a chill run down his spine, traumatic memories flooding back of his mother dragging him clothes shopping when he was younger.
They'd only need to buy one outfit, but she'd insist he try on at least a hundred different combinations. And in the end, she'd always pick the very first option anyway.
It was absolutely torturous.
"Perfect! I'll take tomorrow off, and we'll go shopping for clothes. How can such a cute Shin-chan wear the same outfit every single day?"
That's your real goal, isn't it? You just want an excuse to go shopping.
Conan gritted his teeth and glared at his father desperately.
"Control your wife!"
Kudo Yusaku glanced away, whistling innocently as if he hadn't heard anything.
Not my problem. Don't drag me into this.
The Morning After
Natsukawa returned home the following morning, exhausted but satisfied.
He considered last night's operation a complete success on every front.
He'd thoroughly irritated Akai Shuichi while eliminating several FBI agents in the process. The IRS should be quite satisfied with those results.
Bourbon would definitely be secretly reporting to the Japanese Public Security Bureau, which meant the FBI's unauthorized presence in Japan was now undeniable. Even if the FBI shamelessly tried to deny everything, the embarrassment was permanent.
They might even face deportation.
As for the Black Organization, because the intelligence about Akai Shuichi's location had proven accurate, Gin would likely increase his trust in "Tequila," which would prove invaluable for further infiltrating the Organization's operations.
And then there was Conan.
Natsukawa had deliberately lingered around the Kudo cabin for an extended period while wearing his Tequila disguise. He was confident Conan had noticed him.
The boy genius probably already suspected the gunfight was connected to that Black Organization he'd been investigating.
After experiencing a genuine hail of bullets firsthand, even Conan should develop some healthy caution and understand the gravity of his situation.
The Black Organization was fundamentally different from the typical murder cases he'd been solving. These people launched military-grade firefights and deployed explosives in the heart of Tokyo without hesitation—calling them terrorists wouldn't be an exaggeration.
Natsukawa had really gone to extraordinary lengths to ensure Conan's healthy development into a mature protagonist capable of eventually dismantling the Black Organization.
He hadn't been home long when his phone rang.
It was Yor calling.
Glancing at the time—only 7:30 AM—Natsukawa frowned. Why was Yor calling so early? Had something happened to Anya?
"Miss Yor, what happened? Is Anya alright?"
Yor's voice sounded incredibly anxious, relief flooding through when Natsukawa finally answered.
"Mr. Natsukawa, I finally got through to you!"
Her tone made it clear she'd been trying to reach him repeatedly.
Because of last night's operation, Natsukawa had left his personal phone at Frank's safe house and had only retrieved it thirty minutes ago.
"Anya... Anya... something terrible happened to her," Yor's voice cracked with emotion, nearly breaking into tears—the kind of vulnerability that made anyone want to embrace and comfort her.
But now wasn't the time for such thoughts. Anya was in trouble?
What could have possibly happened? She should have been safely sleeping at Yor's apartment yesterday while he was handling the operation.
Had some incident occurred while he was away?
"Miss Yor, please don't panic. Take a deep breath and explain slowly. I'm here now—everything will be alright," Natsukawa said soothingly, though his own heart was racing with worry. How could he not be concerned about his daughter's wellbeing?
But Yor was barely coherent, so Natsukawa spent several minutes calming her down before she could finally speak more clearly.
Despite being a cold-blooded assassin capable of eliminating targets without hesitation, she could still be as emotionally vulnerable as any ordinary young woman in a crisis.
Yor blushed slightly at her own behavior, her racing heart slowly settling. Still, she sat anxiously beside the hospital bed, staring worriedly at Anya's small form.
"Last night, Anya ate the food I prepared, and then... she collapsed. I couldn't wake her up no matter what I tried."
Recalling the previous night's events, Yor couldn't suppress a shudder. The scene had absolutely terrified her.
Anya had taken exactly one bite of her cooking—just one bite, absolutely no more than that.
Her previously cheerful expression had instantly frozen. Then her entire face had dropped directly into the plate, and she couldn't be roused no matter how much Yor shook her or called her name.
Her face had turned dark, her pupils had gone pale white, and her lips had turned purple. If not for detecting a pulse and heartbeat, Yor would have genuinely believed Anya had died from food poisoning.
Thankfully, she'd only fainted.
Natsukawa breathed a sigh of relief, focusing on the key point: she'd fainted, not been kidnapped by enemies or caught in some dangerous incident.
"How is Anya doing now? Where are you? I'm coming immediately."
As he spoke, Natsukawa was already heading to his car. The GT-R's engine roared to life with a powerful growl.
"Beika General Hospital. Mr. Natsukawa, please hurry!"
Yor's tone made it sound like Natsukawa would miss seeing Anya one last time if he didn't arrive within minutes.
Yor's cooking had finally claimed its first victim.
(End of Chapter 72)
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