"An ambulance! Call an ambulance, hurry—"
"Grandpa, Grandpa, are you all right?!"
"This is bad, his breathing is weakening..."
As Genzaburo Shitara rolled onto the cold floor as though guided by fate itself, the entire banquet hall instantly descended into chaos.
Only then did Haga Kyosuke, who had watched the scene with cold eyes, walk down from the stairs. He joined everyone in carefully checking Genzaburo Shitara's condition and preparing to send him to the hospital.
Conan, who had rushed over the instant he heard the scream, finally managed to squeeze through the crowd and reach Genzaburo, who was taking more breaths out than in and whose face was rapidly turning ashen.
He secretly felt the man's pulse at the side of his neck, then leaned closer and pulled open one of his eyelids, his brow tightly furrowed.
Having encountered far too many crime scenes, his judgment in such matters was more than reliable.
Considering Genzaburo Shitara's age of sixty and the amount of blood on the floor, although he had not died immediately, the situation did not look optimistic. He likely would not make it to the hospital.
He rapidly recalled where everyone had been when the lights came on, then his gaze precisely settled on Haga Kyosuke.
It was not that he was jumping to conclusions. Genzaburo Shitara's manner of death was simply far too similar to the described death of Jiro Shitarara, and Haga Kyosuke had happened to be standing at the top of the stairs at the time...
Thinking of that, he lowered his head to look at Genzaburo Shitara, whose breathing was steadily weakening, and felt that something was off.
Genzaburo Shitara believed so deeply in the so-called curse. He could not have failed to understand how dangerous it was to stand in that position