Although the tarot cards he had been given felt suspiciously predetermined, and the ability was bizarre too, Tangze's plan had been a resounding success no matter how he looked at it.
Without lingering outside any longer, he packed two servings of chiffon cake for Conan as a token apology for having led him into his trap, then took the little detective back to the Mori Detective Agency.
School had let out at four, and the murder case at the art museum had delayed them until past five. If he did not get the elementary schooler home soon, people would say he was leading children astray.
"Tangze, can I call you that?" Although the past two hours had been full of twists and turns, and having his disguises casually shattered had dealt Conan quite a blow, walking beside Tangze now, he felt that having a peer who knew the truth about him was not such a bad thing.
For some reason, the past few days had felt unusually long, but it had not actually been that long since he had been attacked by men in black at the amusement park and turned into a child.
One unexpected situation after another had come up. He had to adjust to his changed identity and find ways to hide it from Ran and Uncle Mori. He really was not good at lying. Just as Tangze had said, his acting was terrible, yet he had no choice but to keep making up lies. The pressure had doubled, but he had nowhere to vent it.
Being able to speak as his real self like this made Conan feel relaxed.
"Of course, Conan." Tangze humored his newly acquired powerhouse—no, his collaborator.
"Aren't you curious why I became smaller? You haven't asked me."
"There's no need to ask to know it's a very troublesome situation. I can barely protect myself right now, so I'd better not get curious about things I can't help with. That would only cause trouble for others." That was what Tangze said, but what he thought was, There's no need to ask. Once the know-it-all detective starts investigating Tang Ze Zhao's case, he'll naturally find traces of the Black Organization. Not a single thing that needs saying will escape him. "More than that, I'm curious why you went to live with Mori. Suzuki said you two were childhood friends, so she and her father must know what you looked like as a child. She knows you well too. Is that really okay?"
Conan adjusted his glasses and recalled the plan Professor Agasa had suggested. With little confidence, he said, "Well... someone suggested that I make Uncle Mori into a Great Detective. Once he becomes famous enough, I can use his connections to find the people who tried to kill me..."
Under Tangze's silent, sympathetic gaze, Conan's voice grew quieter and quieter.
"Is that plan no good?" Conan asked softly.
Tangze answered with high emotional intelligence, "It's imaginative. The kind of story people would pay to hear."
After being subtly mocked like that, Conan finally got a real sense that Tangze was from Kyoto. He scratched at his temple awkwardly. "It's still feasible, right? Like today... Ah, today was a mistake, but I've successfully helped Uncle Mori solve several cases already. He's starting to gain some fame."
Tangze touched his right arm, still shaken. "If you insist on trying this method, I have no standing to object. But next time, if you want me to cooperate, just tell me directly. I don't want to get hit with a tranquilizer dart out of nowhere."
"Ahahaha..." After a few dry laughs, Conan decided that whatever Tangze was thinking right now was definitely not polite, so he changed the subject. "It's a good thing for you if Uncle Mori becomes a Great Detective too, isn't it? Your case needs channels to investigate it as well."
"That's hard to say." Tangze tactfully made his stance clear. "If there's any advantage, it's that I won't have to show my face. My identity is awkward. If I involve myself in the case by drawing attention, the mastermind won't let it slide. Being high-profile is dangerous for me, and I'm still a juvenile offender. If that gets exposed, the media will hound me relentlessly..."
Conan remembered how Tangze had leaned close to Inspector Megure at the art museum and asked him not to mention it publicly. He nodded in understanding.
The setting sun dyed the clouds crimson, and the lingering glow of dusk fell over the two of them. It reminded Conan of the day Ran had taken his hand and led him toward her home.
What had he been feeling then?
"Don't be too pessimistic, Tangze." Conan raised his hand, only able to reach Tangze's elbow, but he still patted him reassuringly. "As long as you're alive, there's hope. No matter how bad things get, don't give up."
Tangze looked down at the child trying so hard to express a sense of shared hardship, then patted his shoulder in response.
What Tangze was actually thinking was, Walk faster. Get him home already. This brat has absolutely no sense of secrecy. Who knows when Shuichi Akai or Tooru Amuro might spawn behind him again? Protect that fragile disguise of yours, Conan.
The two of them, completely missing each other's wavelength, walked through the orange-red sunset as though they were having a wonderful conversation. The atmosphere was harmonious.
When Tangze got home late that evening and walked into the café, his guardian grabbed him before he had even set down his bag and turned him around to check whether he was injured.
"Mr. Amuro..." Tangze did not know whether to laugh or cry. He raised both hands in surrender. "I just went to the art museum with a classmate after school. I wasn't going to run into an attack."
After confirming that Tangze had not acquired any new injuries, Tooru Amuro released the high schooler he had thoroughly inspected and returned behind the counter. "And then you ran into a murder case?"
Tangze spread his hands innocently. "Yes. We were the first to discover the scene, so the police kept us to assist with the investigation. That's why I came back late. I really didn't run into any other trouble."
Thinking about it made Tooru Amuro's headache worse. "You weren't thinking that detectives like Mr. Mori are cool, and that you wanted to try being a detective for fun too, were you?"
As an intelligence officer with information channels stretching in every direction, Tooru Amuro naturally knew the role Tangze had truly played in this case. The police had almost been fooled by the murderer's misdirection and were about to arrest the scapegoat who had been framed. Once the real culprit left the scene, he could dispose of the pen hidden on his person, and it would become very difficult to find evidence again and identify him.
As Furuya Rei, seeing Tangze, who had suffered deeply from false accusations, choose to clear someone else's wrongful charge and become the person who pulled another up, made him deeply gratified.
Tangze's disappointment in the justice system had not fermented into apathy or resentment. Having been drenched by rain—and still standing in a torrential downpour—he was willing to hold an umbrella over others. What an exceptionally rare quality that was.
But on the other hand, Tooru Amuro also knew that Tangze was in danger.
If he appeared in the media like those detectives, drawing attention to himself, what methods the organization would choose to prevent Tangze from receiving more attention and throwing the plan into disarray was something Tooru Amuro could not be sure of.
"Impossible. Detective work and all that?" Tangze considered it for a moment and felt that these words contained more of Furuya Rei than Tooru Amuro, so he said, "My identity isn't suitable for public exposure. If people find out that a criminal provided the key clue in a case, they'll question whether the conclusion is correct instead... I only wanted to help, not cause trouble. Don't worry, Mr. Amuro. I already asked the officer handling the case not to reveal it."
That wrongful accusation hanging over him was practically a sharp blade, made specifically to stab Red Faction members with a conscience. It was like a buff: as long as he slapped it onto his head, Tangze could stand on the moral high ground and do whatever the hell he wanted.
Just like Conan a few minutes ago, Tooru Amuro was choked speechless. All he could do was reach out and pat Tangze's shoulder reassuringly.
It really worked. Tangze sighed inwardly, without the slightest pang of conscience, and decided he would do it again next time.
Once he got involved in a few more cases using excuses like "I don't want anyone else to suffer the way I did," his character setup would be flawless.
A young man traumatized into isolation by violence, who had lost his trust in society, yet still reached out to every unfortunate person like himself out of simple justice and powerful empathy—who wouldn't call him a saint?
Another day without getting the chance to slack off at work. The second chapter would be updated tonight.
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