Chapter 16: Shiho Miyano Under House Arrest
I won't even mention the ridiculous number of undercover agents. Any country with an intelligence division can infiltrate one.
In the manga, out of maybe two or three dozen Black Organization members that showed up, at least seven or eight were revealed to be spies. Sometimes I seriously wonder if the Black Organization wasn't created by various nations' intelligence agencies just to scam funding.
Besides the moles, plenty of members defected or died. Most of the rest? Freeloaders. Honestly, it feels like Gin is the only one actually doing his job.
Vermouth is busy raising a kid. Bourbon is a full-time workaholic running four different jobs at once. Korn and Chianti? Absolute legends—not for killing anyone, but for missing every target they've ever aimed at. They spend more time scrolling Twitter while setting up sniper rifles than actually pulling the trigger. And when they do miss? They just blame Gin for distracting them.
Then there's Rum, the great second-in-command. Mysterious, unseen, whispered about like some shadowy boogeyman. Supposedly rivals the boss for power. In reality? He's a clown.
He once said, "I only made one mistake seventeen years ago."
When that case was finally revealed, I almost choked. The comedy of errors went like this:
"Someone noticed us, retreat."
"Wait, no, go back, we forgot something."
"The police are coming, run."
"That guy looks suspicious, chase him."
"Too many witnesses, retreat again."
A whole sequence of pointless running in circles. What should've been a simple case became the Organization's biggest embarrassment in history.
Seventeen years later, he finally caught up with his target—only to get completely outplayed and nearly counter-killed. He had to run for his life again. And when he found out his opponent had become a schoolteacher? He abandoned the plan entirely because there were "too many people at the school."
Gin blows up trains, skyscrapers, Tokyo Tower, even amusement park Ferris wheels. Meanwhile Rum can't deal with a single schoolteacher. If I were Gin, I'd scream: "How is this organization supposed to succeed when I'm working with insects like you!?"
When Rum finally gets caught, he should publish two books:
"I Am Too Cautious"
"The Art of Delay"
I'm ranting too much. Any more and I'll become a Conan fan blogger. Everyone, please leave some cheerful comments in the diary, okay?
Anyway, I feel relaxed now. Planning to go hiking and camping in a few days. Maybe I'll even bump into someone familiar.
Also, isn't the Love Live competition coming soon? As an old Love Liver, I'm ready to go cheer in person. If any Otonokizaka students are reading this, sign my comment—consider me your first fan.
And you, Bocchi—if you're here—practice your signature too. Don't tell me you're so anxious you can't even write a diary comment.]
---
In an unknown pharmaceutical factory in Tokyo, the hum of machines and faint chemical odors filled the air.
Shiho Miyano sat in front of her computer, eyes empty. After a long pause, she stood, picked up two bottles labeled iron oxide and hydrogen acid, poured them into a cup, and mixed with boiling water. A rich coffee aroma drifted up, masking the sterile tang of chemicals.
She blew gently on the steaming cup, cast a glance at the surveillance camera in the corner, then carried it back to her seat. A black diary shimmered into existence in her hand.
Right in front of the camera, she opened it. On the feed, it would look like she was still staring at her screen. She had tested this loophole many times.
To receive this mysterious diary while effectively under house arrest, and to have her comment chosen on the first day of the new permissions—she didn't know whether to call herself cursed or lucky.
Will he mention the Organization today? Will he… mention me?
Her pulse quickened as she read Renji Miyauchi's latest entry.
Gin. Vermouth. Bourbon. Korn. Chianti. Rum. Every name she knew, twisted into bizarre caricatures. Gin described like some maniac bomber who wouldn't hesitate to blow up landmarks across Tokyo. Vermouth—raising a child? Bourbon, the "Workaholic God of War"? Chianti and Korn missing shots because they were scrolling Twitter?
And Rum… reduced to a stumbling fool.
Shiho's lips parted in shock, then slowly curved into a strange smile. The details were absurd, almost comedic, but what chilled her was that Renji's knowledge of names and roles was real.
If even half of this is true, how does the Organization still function?
She shook her head sharply. No—she couldn't let herself believe his cynicism. Whatever outsiders saw, she knew the truth: the Organization was vast, with hundreds of operatives worldwide. This building alone held hundreds. Gin's unit was just one piece.
Still… Rum as a clown was hard to shake.
After a moment's thought, Shiho wrote her own diary comment—reminding others not to underestimate the Organization. The odds of being selected twice in a row were tiny, but she couldn't risk people being lulled into false security.
Once finished, she drained her cooled coffee and turned to a far more dangerous task: gradually transferring her APTX4869 research data into the diary. If the Organization ever lost patience with her, this hidden backup might be her only chance.
Ripple Breathing gave her hope. Maybe, with time, she could use it to escape. But revealing it now would only accelerate her death. She wasn't the heroine of this story. Conan already had one.
She had to prepare for both the best and the worst.
---
Meanwhile, the diary fan club group chat buzzed with activity.
Hoshino Ai was the first to speak, fresh from a long day of training.
Ai: "The Mysterious Person seems hyped for Love Live. I want to join too, but it's a school idol project… nothing to do with me. Ugh! Seeing him cheer for someone else's concert feels unfair! Kasumi Utako-sensei, why don't you debut as a school idol? I'll help!"
Kasumigaoka Utaha sighed at her screen.
Kasumi Utako: "My book signing is in two weeks. Becoming a school idol is not happening."
Ai pouted in real life, then typed furiously.
Ai: "Fine, then I'll ask the other members of B Komachi. They're still in school, so maybe they qualify! And if my comment gets picked today, more people will reach out to me directly!"
Classical Literature Club: "…I think the probability is low."
Ai: "You won't know unless you try! What if it works?"
She boldly posted her self-introduction and invitation into the diary comments. An hour later, the refreshed "featured comment" wasn't hers. Ai slumped in disappointment.
---
But today's chosen comment stunned everyone.
For once, the commenter did not remain anonymous. A name appeared openly:
[Katsura Kotonoha:
I am Katsura Kotonoha from Sakakino City. Thank you, Mr. Mysterious Person, for sharing Ripple Breathing.
I have always loved kendo, but due to my weak body, I could only practice iaijutsu alone. Now, with Ripple Breathing strengthening me, I can finally attempt other sword arts.
If you can read this, I have a request. My family is strict, and I spent most of my childhood studying. I never had time to make friends. When I begin at Sakakino Academy… will I find companions I can truly confide in?]
Renji Miyauchi rubbed the back of his neck.
Katsura Kotonoha…
A heroine from School Days. On the surface, the perfect Yamato Nadeshiko—gentle, elegant, refined. But if pushed too far? A yandere wielding iaijutsu like a blade of vengeance.
He remembered the anime clearly: Makoto's endless indecision, Saionji Sekai's betrayal, and the rooftop duel that ended in blood. Kotonoha, her eyes empty, cradling Makoto's severed head. A chilling classic.
And that wasn't even her worst route. In later games, Itou Makoto went full scumbag, seducing every girl in sight—even Kotonoha's mother and younger sister.
Renji shuddered. Yeah, definitely not writing that in the diary. Otherwise, she'd blacken instantly.
"Friends, huh…" he muttered. "Sekai's probably out. That girl's a snake. But maybe—just maybe—I can give Kotonoha a chance at something better this time."
He tapped his pen against the page, already pondering tomorrow's entry. Makoto, Sekai, even Itaru—none of them were escaping his notes.