This case's method wasn't particularly ingenious, nor was its backstory especially profound. The main thing was the sheer destructive force of a truck plowing into someone's store—it had a certain spirit to it. He wondered whether the unlucky shop owner had gotten any compensation.
"What are you looking at?" Noticing Tangze's gaze had remained fixed in one spot, Conan turned around and saw the tightly shut restroom door.
"That uncle's state is very off," Tangze casually bullshitted. "How should I put it... he has this murderous aura?"
Conan studied Tangze's expression suspiciously, surprised to find that he wasn't joking. "...You're serious? He does look really angry, but murderous intent..."
"Did I forget to mention it?" Tangze smiled. "My parents were scholars in clinical medicine and psychology."
That was certainly an interesting way of putting it. Conan carefully considered the middle-aged man's condition and asked, "So you came to that conclusion based on psychology?"
"No. It would be more accurate to say that I've experienced what it feels like to be forced to the brink—the moment when you can't control the thought, I want to kill him. He gave me a similar feeling." Tangze casually tossed out several rather dramatic lines before getting to the point. "He's been in the restroom for way too long."
Had Tangze just lightly said something incredibly dangerous? Conan was once again seized by the concern he'd had that morning: if he wasn't careful, this new friend might take a wrong step, and Conan would have to tearfully escort Tangze to the police station.
About ten more minutes passed before the middle-aged man finally left the restroom and returned to his seat.
Thanks to Tangze's reminder, Conan had been keeping an eye on the man whether he believed him or not, and he immediately caught something unusual.
"He was licking his fingers just now," Tangze said.
"He switched hands while drawing," Conan added.
The two exchanged glances and both nodded.
Whether their brainwaves had somehow synced up or not, both of them kept watching the middle-aged man's table.
"President Ohara, are you kidding me?" Aihara rather rudely shoved the papers on the table forward. "Do you think that since I'm about to change jobs, you can squeeze me dry while you still have the chance? You want me to finish all this by tomorrow?"
"Aihara, this is an urgent order. You knew the situation when you accepted it!" Ohara refused to yield and pushed the papers back, irritably pulling a cigarette from his pocket and putting it between his lips.
He looked at the bus passing behind Aihara, patted himself down, and said, "My lighter's gone. I'll go look for it." With that, he stood up and headed for the restroom again.
Aihara muttered under his breath as he flipped through the documents. Conan had just been about to follow President Ohara to see what he was planning when Tangze abruptly stood up.
"What is it?" Conan instinctively rose as well.
"The truck, that delivery truck!" Tangze said only two words before taking a huge stride, shoving open the shop door, and rushing outside.
Conan repeated in confusion, "The delivery truck?"
Before he had time to think, he chased after Tangze out of the shop. He saw Tangze's figure racing away like an arrow loosed from a bow—and at the top of the slope, a box truck was rolling backward toward them, gradually picking up speed.
Tangze's target was clearly that truck. After a brief moment of thought, Conan understood the situation.
The truck wasn't reversing.
It was sliding down the slope, and its direction—
Was straight toward this little shop at the bend in the road!
Conan's pupils contracted, and he ran in that direction too. Tangze had already caught up to the accelerating truck, kicked off the ground, grabbed the vehicle's side mirror, and climbed onto the door.
Tangze glanced into the empty driver's seat, raised his right fist, and smashed it heavily into the window.
Under Conan's shocked gaze, Tangze punched a spiderweb-shaped hole into the window in one blow. He reached in, unlocked the door, yanked it open, and nimbly climbed into the driver's seat.
By then, the truck had accelerated to the speed of a moving vehicle. Fortunately, the key was still in the ignition. Tangze started the engine and stomped hard on the brakes.
Though Tangze's movements had been smooth and seamless, the truck had already charged to within a little over a hundred meters of the shop entrance. Tangze slammed the brakes all the way down, and the truck carved two clear skid marks across the asphalt. Amid the screams and cries of pedestrians, the box truck barely came to a stop just over two meters from the shop.
"Tangze!" Conan, who had run more than ten meters before doubling back, had his heart pounding wildly from both exertion and fright. He leaped onto the open driver's door and looked at his classmate, who had just performed an action movie scene. "Are you okay?!"
"I'm fine, I'm fine." After sprinting two or three hundred meters and pulling off that dangerous stunt, Tangze panted heavily, released the steering wheel, and leaned back against the seat. "I did it. Great job, I did it..."
He knew it. As long as the goal was helping others, Conan's world would allow any action-movie performance—everything would go without a hitch, as if aided by divine intervention.
Behind them, Aihara had just been wondering why two kids had run away shouting, thinking someone had skipped out on their bill. Then, amid the others' screams, he turned his head and saw the rear of the truck two meters outside the floor-to-ceiling window. Only then did he realize that he had nearly lost his life.
Breaking out in a cold sweat, he screamed twice and scrambled away from his seat.
Tangze jumped out of the cab, looked over the chaotic but thankfully casualty-free shop, let out a breath, then glanced at the door window he had broken. "Well, looks like I'll have to pay for a window..."
The pedestrians who had witnessed the terrifying scene finally came to their senses. Some cried out in amazement, while others began applauding.
"Is that really your main concern?" Conan grumbled, smacking him lightly. Then he looked at the cuts on Tangze's hand and wrist from the glass. "Wipe that up. The blood's already dripping!"
Among the seasoned citizens of Beika Town, someone had already called the police. By the time Tangze casually wrapped a couple loops of bandage around his hand—Conan had been dumbfounded when Tangze pulled the bandages from his bag—the police had swiftly arrived on the scene.
Because Tangze had intervened in time, the accident hadn't turned into a homicide, so the detectives who arrived weren't from the First Investigation Division.
After briefly explaining how he had noticed the truck behaving strangely at the top of the slope, Tangze returned to the shop amid the truck driver's endless thanks and repeated assurances that Tangze didn't need to compensate him.
The books they had bought were still on the table.
Having escaped disaster, Aihara grabbed Tangze's hand, his excitement plain to see. "Thank you so much, truly, thank you so much. That was so dangerous. My God, what kind of misfortune was that? I can't believe I encountered an accident like that..."
Tangze met the gaze of President Ohara, who had emerged from the restroom with his face alternating between green and white, and said meaningfully, "Surviving an accident like that is a different kind of luck, isn't it?"
President Ohara glanced at the truck parked in front of the door and gritted his teeth.
"Sir." Tangze pulled free from Aihara's grasp and suddenly reached out to pat President Ohara on the shoulder. "You almost ran into danger too. Be more careful."
"Was that accident just now caused by that uncle?" Half an hour later, after helping the police finish their statements, Tangze and Conan left the shop. Conan spoke up.
"Most likely." Tangze shoved his hands into his pockets and swung his ever-present commuter bag behind him. "The truck driver said he normally wouldn't park in such a dangerous spot, but a sedan was parked in the unloading space he usually used today, so he had no choice but to stop on the slope. He remembered pulling the handbrake and locking all four wheels when he got out, but when I climbed in, the handbrake wasn't on. And that sedan belonged to that uncle."
Since no one had actually been hurt and no property had been damaged, the case had been closed as an accident caused by the truck driver's operational error. The only victim might have been the truck driver's insurance company.
Unable to figure out the real method, Conan couldn't help but speculate. "How did he do it? Even if he climbed out the restroom window and released the truck's handbrake, there wouldn't have been enough time for him to get back into the shop, right?"
"There must have been some kind of delayed mechanism. And the timing would need to be controllable."
"Right. Otherwise, if he failed to leave his seat in time, he'd get hit himself. So what did he use?"
"High-strength cable?"
"Not likely. It wouldn't be easy to set that up out on the street... Hmm, ice? Maybe he put ice under the wheels?"
"That sounds less reliable than making a device to pull the handbrake."
"No way. You didn't see anything when you climbed in. Do you think he'll try again?"
"Who knows? Maybe he did make some kind of device with ice? I don't think he will, though. It felt like impulsive murderous intent. The kind where, once it fails, he won't have the drive to try a second time."
"Yours is the truly unreliable theory. Wouldn't ice leave water marks?"
The two of them traded guesses as they leisurely made their way back.
As Conan chatted idly, he glanced at Tangze's wrist sticking out of his pocket. It was haphazardly wrapped in gauze, and faint bleeding had left several pink streaks on the bandage.
...So Tangze really was a good person, wasn't he?
Behind them, Shuichi Akai, who had witnessed everything that day, tugged at his mask. He stopped at the corner and silently watched Tangze's receding figure approach the Polo Cafe.
Tang Ze Zhao had not only grown up healthy and whole, but had become such an outstanding child. If you knew, you would be comforted, wouldn't you?
On a more distant street, in a dark alleyway, Kazuo Ohara, whose plan had failed, angrily walked back toward the company.
Aihara would resign next week. Since this attempt had failed, Aihara would probably never want to visit the shop where he had nearly lost his life again. His murder plan could no longer be carried out.
He sighed, unsure whether it was from unwillingness or relief.
His hand reached for the cigarette case inside his coat, intending to light one up and ease his frustration, but his fingertips touched the edge of a stiff piece of paper first.
"What is this..." Kazuo Ohara frowned and pulled it out.
It was a red card the size of a business card. On it, differently sized letters cut from newspapers formed a short message.
"Your evil and your crimes are all known to us.
Do not count yourself fortunate merely because you failed to carry out your evil.
Sincerely, the Phantom Thieves of Hearts"
Sorry, I wrote late today _(:з"∠)_ Here it comes!
Before you continue