The Dump Truck is Moving

The case itself wasn't particularly intricate, nor did it have a deep background. The main thing was the sheer destructive force of a vehicle plowing into a shop, which was quite impactful. I wonder if the unlucky shop owner received any compensation.

"What are you looking at?" Conan asked, noticing Tang Ze's gaze fixed on one spot. He followed Tang Ze's line of sight to the closed restroom door.

"That uncle, his state is very off," Tang Ze said casually, fabricating a reason. "How should I put it... there's a killing intent?"

Conan suspiciously studied Tang Ze's expression, surprised that he wasn't joking. "...Are you serious? Although he does look very angry, killing intent or something..."

"Did I forget to mention it earlier?" Tang Ze smiled. "My parents are scholars in clinical medicine and psychology."

That was an interesting explanation. Conan seriously considered the middle-aged man's demeanor and asked, "So, your conclusion is based on psychological analysis?"

"No, it's more like I've experienced that feeling of being pushed to the brink, that moment where you can't control yourself and think, 'I want to kill him.' He gives me a similar feeling." Tang Ze spouted a few dramatic lines before getting to the point. "He's been in the restroom for too long."

Did Tang Ze just casually say something dangerous? The worry that had plagued Conan that morning—the concern that if this new friend made one wrong move, he'd have to tearfully hand Tang Ze over to the police—returned.

About ten minutes later, the middle-aged man emerged from the restroom and returned to his seat.

Thanks to Tang Ze's heads-up, Conan, whether he believed him or not, had been keeping an eye on the man and immediately noticed something unusual.

"He was licking his fingers just now," Tang Ze said.

"He switched hands for his drawing," Conan added.

They exchanged a look and nodded.

Unsure if their wavelengths had truly matched, they both kept their attention on the middle-aged man's table.

"President Ohara, are you serious?" Aihara pushed the papers on the table forward somewhat rudely. "Are you trying to squeeze every last drop out of me during my last days here? You want all this done by tomorrow?"

"Aihara, this is an urgent order. You knew the situation when you accepted it!" Ohara pushed the papers back, refusing to yield, and irritably took a cigarette from his pocket.

He glanced at the bus passing behind Aihara, patted his pockets, and said, "I can't find my lighter. I'll go look for it." With that, he stood up and headed towards the restroom again.

Aihara grumbled as he flipped through the pages of the documents. Just as Conan was about to follow President Ohara to see what he was up to, Tang Ze suddenly stood up.

"What's wrong?" Conan couldn't help but stand up as well.

"The truck, that truck!" Tang Ze only said two words before darting out the door.

Conan repeated blankly, "Truck?"

He didn't have time to think and chased Tang Ze out of the shop. He saw Tang Ze's figure sprinting like an arrow, and at the top of the slope, a panel van was reversing towards them, gradually accelerating.

Tang Ze's target was clearly this truck. Conan reacted quickly and understood the situation.

This truck wasn't reversing; it was sliding down the slope, and its direction—

Was directly towards the small shop located at the turn of the slope!

Conan's pupils constricted, and he also started running in that direction. Tang Ze had already caught up to the accelerating truck, leaped off the ground, grabbed the side mirror, and climbed onto the door.

Tang Ze glanced into the empty driver's cabin, raised his right fist, and smashed heavily against the car window.

Under Conan's stunned gaze, Tang Ze smashed a spiderweb-like hole in the window. He reached inside, pulled the door lock, yanked the door open, and nimbly climbed into the driver's seat.

By now, the truck had reached driving speed. Fortunately, the truck's key was still in the ignition. Tang Ze started the engine and slammed on the brakes.

Even though Tang Ze's actions were continuous and smooth, the truck was already less than a hundred meters from the shop entrance. Tang Ze slammed on the brakes, leaving two distinct skid marks on the asphalt. Amidst the screams and gasps of onlookers, the panel van narrowly stopped about two meters from the shop.

"Tang Ze!" Conan, who had run out a dozen meters and then doubled back, felt his heart pounding from the exertion and shock. He jumped onto the open driver's door and looked at his classmate who had just performed a scene from an action movie. "Are you okay!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Tang Ze said, gasping for breath after sprinting two to three hundred meters and performing a dangerous maneuver. He released the steering wheel and leaned back against the seat. "I did it, I really did it..."

He knew it. As long as the goal was to help others, Conan's world allowed any kind of action movie performance without any obstacles, as if divinely aided.

Inside the shop behind them, Aihara, who had been wondering why two kids were running out shouting and thought someone was trying to skip out on the bill, turned his head amidst the screams of others. He saw the rear of the truck just two meters away outside the floor-to-ceiling window and finally realized he had narrowly escaped death.

He broke out in a cold sweat, shouted a couple of times, and scrambled away from his seat.

Tang Ze jumped down from the driver's seat and looked at the chaotic shop, which, thankfully, had no casualties. He let out a sigh and then looked at the car door he had broken. "Oh dear, looks like I'll have to pay for a window..."

The pedestrians who had witnessed the thrilling scene finally reacted. Some gasped, while others applauded.

"Is that your priority?" Conan playfully hit him. He then looked at Tang Ze's hand and wrist, which were cut by the glass. "Wipe it off, the blood is already dripping!"

Among the seasoned residents of Beika Town, someone had already called the police. By the time Tang Ze casually wrapped a bandage around his hand—Conan stared in disbelief at the bandage he pulled from his bag—the police had already arrived quickly.

Thanks to Tang Ze's timely intervention, the accident did not escalate into a murder case, and the detectives who arrived were not from the First Investigation Division.

After briefly explaining the entire process of observing the truck's strange movement at the top of the slope, Tang Ze walked back into the shop amidst the truck driver's profuse thanks and repeated assurances that he didn't need to pay for any damages.

The books they had bought were still on the table, uncollected.

Aihara, who had narrowly escaped, grabbed Tang Ze's hand, his excitement overflowing. "Thank you so much, thank you so much. It was so dangerous, my goodness, what kind of misfortune is this? I can't imagine encountering such an accident..."

Tang Ze met the gaze of President Ohara, who had emerged from the restroom with a pale face, and said meaningfully, "Surviving such an accident is also a kind of luck, isn't it?"

President Ohara glanced at the truck parked in front of the door and gritted his teeth.

"Uncle," Tang Ze broke free from Aihara's grip and suddenly patted President Ohara's shoulder. "You were almost in danger too. Be more careful."

"Was that uncle responsible for the accident just now?" Half an hour later, after assisting the police with their statements, Tang Ze and Conan left the shop. Conan asked.

"Most likely," Tang Ze said, his hands in his pockets, slinging his ever-present commuter bag behind him. "The truck driver said he wouldn't normally park in such a dangerous spot, but his usual unloading spot was occupied by a car today, so he had to park on the slope. He also remembered pulling the handbrake and locking all four wheels when he got out, but the handbrake wasn't engaged when I climbed in, and that car was the uncle's."

Since no real casualties or damages occurred, the case was closed as an accident caused by the truck driver's operational error. The only victim, perhaps, was the truck driver's insurance company.

Unable to know the true method, Conan couldn't help but start speculating, "How did he do it? Even if he climbed out the window while going to the restroom and pulled the truck's handbrake, there wouldn't be enough time for him to get back to the shop, right?"

"There must have been a delay device, and the timing had to be controllable."

"Yes, otherwise if he wasn't able to get away in time, he would have been hit and killed himself. So what did he use?"

"High-strength cables?"

"Unlikely, it's not easy to set them up on the street... Hmm, ice? Placing ice blocks under the car's wheels?"

"That sounds less reliable than a device to pull the handbrake."

"Impossible, you didn't see anything when you climbed in. Do you think he'll make another move?"

"Who knows, maybe he used a device made of ice? I don't think so, it felt like an impulsive murderous intent, the kind where if it fails, you can't muster the second attempt."

"Your idea is the one that's really unreliable, wouldn't ice leave water marks?"

The two of them guessed back and forth, leisurely walking back.

As Conan chatted idly, he glanced at Tang Ze's wrist, exposed from his pocket. It was haphazardly wrapped in gauze, with slight bleeding staining the bandages into several pink lines.

...So Tang Ze really is a good person, huh.

Behind them, Shuichi Akai, who had witnessed everything that day, tugged at his mask and stopped at the corner, quietly watching Tang Ze's retreating back as he approached the Polo Cafe.

Tang Ze Zhao not only grew up healthy and sound, but also grew into an excellent child. If you knew, you would be comforted by him.

Further down the street, in a dark alley, Kazuo Ohara, who had failed to achieve his goal, walked resentfully on his way back to the company.

Next week, Aihara would resign. This time it hadn't succeeded, and Aihara probably wouldn't want to go to the shop that almost killed him again. His plan to kill was now impossible to carry out again.

He sighed, unsure if it was out of unwillingness or relief.

He reached into his jacket for his cigarette case, wanting to light a cigarette to relieve his frustration, but his fingertips first touched the edge of a stiff piece of paper.

"What is this..." Kazuo Ohara frowned and pulled it out.

It was a red card, business card sized, with various sized letters cut from newspaper forming a short message.

"We know all about your sins and crimes.

Do not be lucky that you did not commit evil.

Sincerely, Phantom Thieves of Hearts."

Sorry, I wrote late today (:з」∠) Here I am!