The Dump Truck is Here

"Hey, Ran, it's me... Ah, I know it's sudden, but what else could I do..."

Tang Ze, sitting opposite, listlessly stirred a sugar cube in his coffee with a spoon, watching it shrink in circles as Conan, using a voice changer, made a furtive phone call.

"Yeah, there's no lead on the case yet, and the investigation will take a long time," Conan said, sighing genuinely as he recalled the two mysterious men in black. "I can't say for sure how much longer it will take."

Unsure what Ran Mouri asked on the phone, Conan, with a conflicted expression, organized his words. Suddenly, he glanced at Tang Ze, who was playing with sugar cubes, and had a flash of inspiration. He said with great seriousness into the phone receiver, "It's a very tricky case... It's an urgent, secret commission, and the connections involved are very complicated. I can only investigate independently... Yes, it's very troublesome because it might involve dereliction of duty within the police department and other issues. I must maintain strict confidentiality."

As Tang Ze listened, he realized something was off. He put down his spoon and glared at the brat sitting opposite him.

"...It's very tricky, the whole case is shrouded in fog right now, and I can't go back to Tokyo, or I might alert them..." Conan awkwardly shifted his gaze, not daring to meet Tang Ze's eyes. He coughed twice, "Ahem, anyway, I can't come back for now. Don't worry, I'm doing fine..."

"Couldn't come up with an excuse, so you're just copying my case and using it to fool Ran, aren't you?" By the time Conan hung up, Tang Ze was rolling his eyes impatiently.

What Conan had described was exactly Tang Ze's case. With a few classic lines like "Those who know, know; those who don't, won't understand," the reason sounded quite legitimate. After all, it involved corrupt police, dereliction of duty, and even more issues of power and money trading. It was indeed a task that required secrecy, and it could completely be passed off as Shinichi Kudo going undercover as an agent.

"Ahahaha, anyway, like you said, your case also needs me to have the channels to investigate it. Is there any difference? It's all leading to the same destination!" Conan chuckled awkwardly and scratched the back of his head. It was indeed a bit embarrassing to steal someone's thunder right in front of them.

Tang Ze gave him a strange look, thinking, 'The Prophet talent is quite good. If I investigate the details of the case, it will indeed lead to the same destination. Perhaps Gin was even involved in the original case's resolution. As the workhorse, it's normal for him to be everywhere.'

"Why are you ordering coffee again?" Conan quickly changed the subject, pointing at the cup in front of Tang Ze. "You live at the cafe, so why come out specifically just to drink coffee?"

After they bought their books, it was almost lunchtime. Tang Ze, too lazy to rush back, took Conan to a nearby restaurant for lunch.

Tang Ze sighed deeply and pointed at Conan, who was in the same boat: "Do you even get to drink coffee now? Do you let Ran Mouri drink it?"

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

"It's pretty much the same for me," Tang Ze picked up his cup and took a sip. "Although I'm not a child anymore, I don't know if it's because of my appearance or something else, but everyone at the shop doesn't treat me like an adult either. It's terrifying. Mr. Amuro wouldn't even make me cocoa yesterday, he just gave me hot milk..."

Conan observed Tang Ze's slightly rounded features and nodded in agreement.

Tang Ze's mixed-race features didn't manifest in sharp facial features or prominent bones, but rather in his plump apple cheeks. If Conan hadn't known beforehand that this person was his new classmate, he would have mistaken him for someone from the junior high section.

Junior high students are only two or three years older than elementary schoolers.

"But it's strange, why do you live at the cafe?" Conan thought of the Polo Cafe and touched the books placed on the side of the table. "Even though your parents are abroad, even if you needed a guardian to supervise you at school, you should have found a formal boarding house, right?"

The crucial question. It's because the Organization needs Bourbon to monitor him, but perhaps more importantly, it's the irresistible force of the plot.

Tang Ze thought this to himself, but said aloud, "I think it's strange too. It seems like the cafe owner is a friend of my parents. But I can't verify it. I haven't contacted my parents for two or three years."

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

His parents lived in the United States and couldn't visit Japan even once a year, but he still called them every week to chat and ask about their recent situation. At most, due to the time difference, instant communication was a bit inconvenient.

Tang Ze stirred his half-finished coffee with a spoon, recalling as he spoke, "They seemed to be involved in classified projects. Their contact became intermittent a few years ago, and their calls often went unanswered. I don't know the details. More than two years ago, I received a call from my mother. She said she and my father were going on a special scientific expedition and would be difficult to contact. She told me to take care of myself. That was the last time I spoke to them."

Tang Ze slowly became lost in thought. Fragmented images flashed by, and faint sounds like whispers by his pillow flowed past his ears.

"Akira—that name means brilliant, bright..." "...Baby, you're smiling, do it again..." "Mom and Dad have to go..." " ...See you next time, Akira will be a big boy..."

The jumbled fragments surfaced and sank. The soft, warm memories made Tang Ze's mood turn somber. He took out his phone, reopened his email, and found that stern, cold-worded email. This was definitely not the tone parents would use to speak to their child. These two people, probably...

He closed his eyes gently.

"Are you okay?" Conan clearly saw Tang Ze's distraction and dejection. He wasn't a very emotionally intelligent person and didn't know how to comfort someone.

Before Tang Ze could reply, their conversation was interrupted by an argument at the next table.

"Are you annoying or what?" the scruffy young man disdainfully pushed the papers on the table away. "I don't want to spend my whole life drawing these flyers, and if I keep wasting away in your company, my inspiration will be destroyed."

Opposite him, the middle-aged man with streaks of white in his hair held down the flying design draft and said, suppressing his anger, "Aihara! Performance doesn't improve in a day. If it weren't for these small orders, how would clients notice us? Don't we already have bigger orders?"

"Ha, you know very well whether they came for your company or for me?" The young man's attitude softened not at all. "Without me, could you even handle this order? They've already contacted me directly. Consider this order my severance pay."

"You...!" The middle-aged man ignored the papers in front of him and angrily slammed the table. The pencil in his hand flew out and landed on Tang Ze and Conan's table.

Tang Ze, Conan, and the other two or three customers in the shop were attracted by the commotion and all looked towards the two of them.

Realizing he had disturbed the other customers, the middle-aged man suppressed his anger, bowed apologetically to the others, and said, "I'm going to the restroom," before leaving his seat, seemingly intending to calm down.

"What strange people, why would they discuss work in a shop..." Conan looked confusedly at the design drafts on their table, genuinely not worried about leaking project content?

Tang Ze glanced at the young man who had his back to the floor-to-ceiling window, impatiently looking at his phone, and then at the steep slope outside the small shop.

Because he's planning to use a dump truck to run over disobedient employees... Tang Ze looked meaningfully at Conan.

As expected, ever since the God of Death arrived, the simple folk of Beika have become so discerning...