Kazawa squatted down, looking at Jiang Yuan Shinan's sleeping face that still carried a faint smile. He had originally planned to pat him to confirm, but after thinking about it, felt it was a bit gross, so he used the barrel of his gun to jab him instead.
His face was twisted, yet he didn't move at all.
"Stop poking, Kazawa," came Xingchuan Hui's voice through the earpiece. "Recording's stopped. That's enough."
"Ah, filming's done? That's good." Kazawa let out a breath, dropping the forced rasp in his voice, and took off his mask and top hat. "This costume really doesn't breathe. Seems like Sayama Akiko didn't get a very big costume budget."
"Aren't you enjoying yourself?" Miyano Akemi chuckled through the comm. "Alright, wrap it up. We're sending the video to Sayama Akiko now."
"Got it, on my way."
Kazawa walked over to the drawer, took the camera off, looked around, and then reached under the prop bar to pull out an empty suitcase.
Jiang Yuan Shinan was tall, but fortunately thin. After folding and stuffing the man in piece by piece, he finally managed to curl him into the case and zip it shut.
A living body weighing over 100 pounds placed a lot of strain on the suitcase. Kazawa adjusted the angle several times until it looked normal again, without any obvious bulges.
There was no other option. Although he had plenty of methods to move an unconscious Ehara Tokio, he still needed to hand him over to Gin and the others—so he had to choose a delivery method that wouldn't raise suspicion.
If Goro Akechi were seen walking to the meeting place with a living man thrown over his shoulder…
Then Gin would definitely think he was a traitor leading the cops to bust him.
Kazawa circled the suitcase twice, quite satisfied.
After thinking for a moment, he decided to put the stifling mask back on, maintaining the image of the Dark Night Baron. He dragged the suitcase over to the balcony, which had a wide view.
The Izu Princess Hotel was designed with a staggered layout starting on the 20th floor. The rooms from the 20th to 24th floors extended slightly outward. From the right edge of Room 2101's balcony—where Ehara Tokio was staying—he could clearly see the balcony of Room 1901 below.
Kazawa looked down from the railing.
On the 19th floor balcony, the pretty-faced Sayama Akiko was staring up at him, wide-eyed, as he stood on the balcony holding a suitcase.
She had probably just received the video Mingmei and the others sent. Her eyes were full of a complicated mixture of hope and fear. The crosswind whipped her short, neat hair into a fluttering mess.
The black robe on Kazawa was also blown by the strong wind, forming great sweeping arcs.
He raised his hand and tipped his top hat toward her in greeting.
Sayama Akiko gripped the stone railing tightly with both hands. The rough surface scratched her fingertips painfully, but all she could hear was the wind screaming past and the thunder of her own heartbeat.
Then, under her disbelieving gaze, the Dark Night Baron—wearing black and dragging a large suitcase—climbed up onto the 21st-floor balcony railing like a traveler about to set off.
From the video, Akiko Sayama knew the man in that suitcase was her enemy, Ehara Tokio—whether he was dead or alive, she didn't know.
The Dark Night Baron turned his back to her and gave a slight bow, like an actor taking a curtain call.
Then he fell backwards, suitcase and all, plunging from the 21st floor.
Sayama Akiko leaned against the railing, stunned, watching as the figure and suitcase vanished in midair.
Outside the building, there was only the rustling wind and the open sky full of stars.
The "Night Baron" had vanished.
Like a real phantom thief.
———
Kogoro Mouri was sprawled out on the bed, snoring softly.
Mao Lilan lay on another large bed, smiling faintly, having already fallen into a deep sleep.
Conan, curled up on the big sofa bed, kept tossing and turning, unable to drift off.
Today, he had met all the participants, exchanged important information with Kazawa, enjoyed the beach, savored a delicious meal… Everything had gone well.
It was an uneventful night—too peaceful.
That peace made him uneasy. He had a creeping sense that it wasn't supposed to be this quiet.
Why was the organization looking for "tainted" programmers?
The "Night Baron" virus was a powerful tool that destroyed all data on the target computer. Once infected, the device lost all information and became nearly unrecoverable. Its mechanism remained unknown. There was no known way to stop it.
Just like the phantom thief in his father's novels, it appeared out of nowhere, killed without being seen.
But what was the connection between these people and the "Night Baron"?
All kinds of puzzles swirled in his mind. He pulled his blanket up, feeling that beyond the wind outside, the night carried a faint sound—
Like a whimper. Sadness… or maybe relief.
He lay there for a long time, but eventually drifted off.
That night, he slept very lightly. He could hear the movement of the other two in the room. And yet, he had a dream.
In the dream, the Dark Night Baron stood atop the hotel's highest point, black cloak fluttering, top hat tall, arms open wide toward the sky.
Behind him, the clear blue sky twisted and writhed. It was as if countless veins of flesh and groans of suffering churned behind a thin membrane. Everything warped like purgatory.
It was like the sky was being torn open by that nightmarish figure. The world's soul and skin ripped apart with every swing of his arm, like a conductor orchestrating the apocalypse.
He peeled away the outer skin of the world, revealing the blood vessels and muscles beneath.
Amid the wailing and buzzing from that cosmic wound, the smiling man let out a low, raspy laugh.
Then a white-haired figure slowly approached the Dark Night Baron from behind.
A long red scarf was wrapped around his neck, flapping in the wind and stretching skyward, as if absorbing nutrients from the wound.
The boy's eyes were blindfolded in black, but he walked closer and closer.
He reached out.
And pushed.
The Dark Night Baron stopped laughing. Like a broken puppet, he fell.
He crashed onto the statue of a knight in the hotel's open-air restaurant. The sword in the knight's hand stabbed straight through his chest.
Black sludge gushed from the wound. The pale smiling mask froze like a corpse's face.
Above, the torn sky slowly mended. The stars and moon rose into the night.
As twilight fell, the Joker's red scarf twisted into a pair of crimson wings and gently wrapped around him.
Like a mother's embrace.
The red figure stood in the center of the full moon—shining like a golden cat's eye, with a red vertical pupil in the middle.
That vertical pupil looked straight at him.
Conan jerked awake.
"Conan!" Mao Lilan, who had come to wake him, was startled by the boy's sudden twitch and jump. "What's wrong?"
Conan held his head, disoriented. The dream still flickered in his mind, strange and broken.
A dream that felt eerie… but also strangely moving.
He looked out the window.
A pale moon still hung faintly in the sky. From the coastline, soft orange morning light was rising, casting a warm hue over the blue Izu waters.
It was still early. A cloudless morning.
"…What a strange dream," Conan murmured, scratching the back of his neck in confusion.