The Dump Truck Is Here

"Hello, Ran, it's me... Yeah, I know it's sudden, but I don't have a choice..."

Sitting across from him, Tangze boredly scooped up a sugar cube with his spoon, watching it rise and fall in his coffee as it shrank in circles, while Conan furtively made a phone call with his voice changer.

"Yeah, there are still no leads in the case, and the investigation will take a long time," Conan said. Thinking of those two mysterious men in black, he sighed from the bottom of his heart. "I can't say how much longer it'll take."

Whatever Ran Mouri asked on the other end, Conan's face twisted as he tried to formulate an answer. Then he looked up at Tangze, who was playing with the sugar cube, and had an idea. Into the phone, he said with great solemnity, "It's an extremely difficult case... It's an urgent confidential commission, and the relationships involved are very complicated, so I can only investigate independently... Yes, it's very troublesome, because it may involve misconduct within the police department and other issues. I have to keep it strictly confidential."

The longer Tangze listened, the more he sensed something was off. He put down his spoon and glared at the brat across from him.

"...It's very difficult. The whole case is shrouded in fog right now, and I can't return to Tokyo, or I might alert them..." Conan awkwardly looked away, not daring to meet Tangze's eyes. He coughed twice. "Ahem. Anyway, I can't come back for the time being. Don't worry, I'm perfectly fine..."

"You couldn't make up an excuse, so you copied a commission on the spot and used me to fool Ran, huh?" Once Conan put down his phone, Tangze rolled his eyes irritably.

Wasn't what Conan had described Tang Ze's case? Add a few classic lines like "those who get it, get it; those who don't, won't understand even if you explain," and the excuse actually sounded quite legitimate. After all, it involved corrupt cops, dereliction of duty, and perhaps even more shady deals between money and power. It really was the sort of job that needed to be carried out in secret. It was perfectly believable that Shinichi Kudo had run off to play secret agent.

"Hahaha, but you said yourself that your case can only be investigated once I have channels anyway. There's no difference, right? Different paths, same destination!" Conan laughed awkwardly and scratched the back of his head. Pulling a switcheroo right in front of the person involved was indeed a little embarrassing.

Tangze gave him an odd look, thinking, That prophetic talent of yours is pretty good. If he really investigates the details of the case, it might actually lead to the same destination. Maybe Gin had a hand in the original owner's lousy case too. Wasn't Gin the organization's workhorse? It was only normal for him to be everywhere.

"Why are you ordering coffee again?" Conan hurriedly changed the subject, pointing at the cup in front of Tangze. "You live in a cafe. Why come out specifically just to drink coffee?"

After the two of them bought their books, it was nearly lunchtime. Too lazy to rush back, Tangze had brought Conan to a nearby place for lunch.

Tangze let out a deep sigh and pointed at Conan, his fellow sufferer. "Do you even get a chance to drink coffee now? Would Ran and the others let you?"

"I..." Conan was briefly speechless and withdrew his finger.

"I'm pretty much the same." Tangze lifted his cup and took a sip. "Even though I'm not a kid anymore, I don't know whether it's because of how I look or something else, but everyone at the cafe has never treated me like an adult. It's terrifying. Mr. Amuro wouldn't even make me cocoa yesterday. He only gave me warm milk..."

Conan studied Tangze's somewhat rounded features and nodded in agreement.

Tangze's mixed-race appearance did not manifest in deep-set features or sharply defined bone structure. Instead, it showed in his plump apple cheeks. If Conan had not known beforehand that this person was his newly transferred classmate, he would have taken him for a middle schooler.

A middle schooler was only two or three years older than an elementary schooler, after all.

"But it's pretty strange. Why are you living in a cafe?" Thinking of Polo Cafe, Conan touched the book beside him on the table. "Even if your parents are overseas, and you need someone to supervise your schooling, shouldn't they have found you a proper host family?"

That was the crucial question. Because the organization needed Bourbon to monitor him—but perhaps, more importantly, because of the irresistible force of the plot.

That was what Tangze thought, but what he said was, "I find it strange too. It seems to be because the cafe owner is a friend of my parents. But I can't verify it either. I haven't contacted my parents in two or three years."

Conan frowned. "Two or three years? That's way too long."

His parents lived in America most of the time and only came to Japan a few times a year, but he still called them every week to chat and ask how they were doing. At most, instant messaging was a bit inconvenient because of the time difference.

Tangze stirred his half-finished coffee with his spoon as he recalled, "They seemed to be involved in a classified project. Ever since a few years ago, our contact became intermittent. Their phones often couldn't be reached, and I didn't know the details. One day more than two years ago, I got a call from my mother. She said she and my father were going to participate in a special scientific expedition and would be very difficult to contact afterward. She told me to take good care of myself. That was the last time I spoke to them."

Tangze gradually drifted off. Fragmented images flashed through his mind, while faint voices, like whispers by a pillow, brushed past his ears.

"Akira—this name means brilliance, brightness..." "...Baby, you smiled. Do it again..." "Mommy and Daddy have to go..." "...The next time we meet, Akira will be a big boy..."

The scattered fragments rose and sank again. Those soft, warm memories made Tangze's mood sink. He took out his phone, opened his email again, and found that harsh, coldly worded message. This was absolutely not how the original owner's parents would speak to their child. That couple probably...

He gently closed his eyes.

"Are you okay?" Conan had clearly seen Tangze's distraction and sorrow. He was not particularly skilled at reading the room, and for a moment, he did not know how to comfort him.

Before Tangze could speak, their conversation was interrupted by an argument at the table across from them.

"Are you done nagging?" The bearded young man disdainfully pushed aside the papers on the table. "I don't want to spend my whole life drawing these flyers. If I keep wasting away at your company, my inspiration will be destroyed."

Across from him, a middle-aged man with streaks of white in his hair pressed down the design drafts that had flown loose and said through gritted teeth, "Aihara! Results don't come overnight. Without these small orders, how are clients supposed to notice us? Haven't we already gotten a larger order?"

"Hah, are they here for your company, or for me? I think you know perfectly well." The young man's attitude did not soften in the slightest. "Could you handle this order without me? They've already contacted me directly. Consider this order my severance compensation."

"You...!" The middle-aged man ignored the papers in front of him and slammed his hand onto the table as he rose furiously. The pencil beside his hand flew off and landed on Tangze and Conan's table.

Tangze and Conan, along with the other two or three customers in the cafe, were drawn by the commotion and all looked toward the two men.

Realizing that he had disturbed the other customers, the middle-aged man suppressed his anger, bowed to apologize, said, "I'm going to the restroom," and left his seat. It looked like he was going to calm down.

"What a strange person. Why come to a cafe to discuss work..." Conan looked in confusion at the design drafts on their table. Were they really not worried about leaking the project's contents?

Tangze glanced at the young man, who sat with his back to the floor-to-ceiling window and impatiently looked at his phone, then looked at the steep slope outside the little cafe.

Because he was planning to run over his disobedient employee with a dump truck... Tangze gave Conan a meaningful look.

Sure enough, whenever the God of Death arrived, the simple, honest people of Beika suddenly became suspicious as hell...