Conan: When Shinjiu and Maolilan swap bodies

One belongs to Rum.

One belongs to that BOSS.

Ryuichi Sakamoto stared at the two addresses for a long time.

The one with rum won't light up anymore.

He took a deep breath, opened the new email interface, and began typing.

A shooting has occurred in Beikacho 5-chome. The deceased is suspected to be Rum, and a disguise was found at the scene. See attachment for details.

Kuroba Toichi was eating.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He picked it up and glanced at it. It was an encrypted email from Alak, and the message was brief:

He glanced at it, and his brows immediately furrowed.

Rum is dead?

He knew that Rum had gone to the sushi restaurant to disguise himself and had warned him not to mess with Ran Mouri.

But, dead?

Is it confirmed that Rum himself died and not some stand-in?

He opened the attachment.

Photos from the scene popped up.

The man lying in a pool of blood—one-eyed, wearing a sushi restaurant uniform, with a bloody hole in his left eye.

He stared at the photo for three seconds.

Rum is a very cautious person, even somewhat afraid of death, otherwise he would not hide his identity, disguise his voice, and rarely show his face.

The reason he didn't touch Ran Mouri at the Iroha Sushi restaurant was twofold: firstly, he received a warning from the "BOSS," and secondly, he was afraid of dying.

Continue reading for more detailed investigation results.

Witnesses say the perpetrator is suspected to be a woman?

"female?"

Kuroba Toichi quickly tried to match the information in his mind, but due to a lack of information, the match failed.

He temporarily set aside the killer and focused on Rum.

First, we need to determine whether the person who died was the real Rum or a body double.

These questions need to be asked of another person.

He picked up another phone and dialed a number.

It rang for half a minute, but no one answered.

He dialed it again.

Still no one answered.

He dialed another number.

This time someone answered.

“What about champagne?” he asked.

"I don't know," the person on the other end replied. "They haven't come for two days. We can't get in touch with them."

Kuroba Toichi hung up the phone.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, his hands clasped together, lost in thought.

Half a minute later, he stood up and picked up his coat.

Twenty minutes later, Kuroba Toichi stood in the corridor of an apartment building.

As he approached room 403, a faint, fishy odor wafted from the room; it wasn't strong, but he could smell it.

He opened the door and went inside.

The room was quiet. The curtains were drawn, and the lights were off. A woman lay sprawled on the sofa, and the scent was emanating from there.

Kuroba Touichi walked over and bent down to take a look.

There were no external injuries. There was no blood. The face looked painful. There was a glass of water on the table. It seemed that the person died from some kind of illness or drug-induced death.

Judging from the lividity on his body, he had been dead for at least two days.

Two days—this was a premeditated attack and assassination.

The person who killed Rum must have been planning this for a long time.

His gaze swept over his surroundings inch by inch. After standing still for a moment, he turned and left without leaving a trace.

One hour later, Beika Town 5-chome.

The sky was overcast, and the cold wind stung people's faces. The police tape was still in place, but the police cars had already left, leaving only two officers guarding the alley entrance, with white lines drawn around the location of the body on the ground.

A middle-aged man walked over from not far away.

He was wearing an ordinary dark coat, a scarf covering half of his face, gray hair, and deep wrinkles around his eyes.

He had an extremely ordinary face, the kind of middle-aged man who would never be given a second glance in a crowd.

He walked to the alley entrance, stopped, and peered inside curiously.

The alley wasn't long; you could see the end at a glance. The sniper's position was on the rooftop of the building opposite—two or three hundred meters away, with a wide, unobstructed view. The work of a professional assassin.

His gaze slowly swept across his surroundings, then stopped.

Several children I'd seen in photos before were sitting by the window at a roadside burger joint, eating burgers, but they looked somewhat listless.

Among them is Conan Edogawa.

He ate absentmindedly, his expression thoughtful.

The appendix indicates that the witnesses were several children.

It seems to be these few.

To witness all of this firsthand, his little nephew really does seem to have a knack for causing trouble...

Chapter 583 All Summoned

The burger joint was blasting heat, and a thin layer of condensation covered the windows. The sky outside was overcast, and there were few pedestrians on the street. Occasionally, a car would drive by, splashing up shallow puddles of water.

Conan held a French fry in his hand, but didn't put it in his mouth.

"Have you seen Wakasa-sensei recently?" he suddenly asked.

Mitsuhiko, who was stuffing a hamburger into his mouth, paused for a moment upon hearing this, and replied indistinctly while chewing, "I've seen it before. Last time we went to the Gate of Heaven, we asked Wakasa-sensei to take us."

He swallowed the hamburger and looked at Conan with a puzzled expression: "Why did you suddenly ask about Wakasa-sensei?"

Conan smiled and shook his head.

"It's nothing, it's just that I haven't seen Wakasa-sensei in a long time..."

He put the fries in his mouth and chewed slowly.

The image of that figure resurfaced in my mind—the swift movements, the agile figure, and that indescribable sense of familiarity.

If narrow-minded, then beautiful.

He remembered how she had once effortlessly taken down those men in the storage room. He remembered the occasional look in her eyes that seemed completely out of character for an elementary school teacher.

If that figure on the rooftop is her, it explains why she seems familiar.

“Speaking of the Sky Gate,” Mitsuhiko suddenly spoke, as if recalling something, “that day at the Sky Gate, there was someone who looked quite like the old man who died at the sushi restaurant.”

Conan stopped moving.

"When she saw that person, Wakasa-sensei's expression seemed a little strange..." Mitsuhiko frowned as he recalled, unable to quite put his finger on what was strange. "She seemed a little excited, yet also a little disgusted, but she quickly returned to normal..."

Ayumi remembered it when she heard that.

"Yes, yes, I saw it too!" She nodded vigorously. "If that uncle didn't have his front teeth and beard, and if he took off his blindfold and had no hair, he would look exactly like that gentleman!"

Conan's pupils suddenly contracted.

He almost stood up abruptly.

"Who are you talking about!"

The voice was very low, but extremely tense.

Mitsuhiko was startled by his reaction, blinked, and realized that things might not be so simple. He quickly took out his phone and started searching.

"I remember it was a big shot from the Karasuma Group... He spoke on stage back then..."

He swiped the screen, his brows furrowed deeply.

At the next table, a man eating fries paused slightly.

Kuroba Touichi raised his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the children. Finally, it landed on the face of the child wearing glasses—an expression that was too serious for a seven-year-old.

His gaze lingered on the child's face for two seconds before casually looking away.

I picked up a French fry with my fork and put it in my mouth.

He chewed slowly.

Wakasa Rumi...

……

A faint smell of disinfectant filled the air.

Kuroba Touichi pushed open the door and entered. His footsteps were very light, and his leather shoes made almost no sound on the cold stone slabs.

The room was dimly lit, with only the faint light from various medical instruments. The ripples on the screens flickered slowly, like the breath of a dying man.

The hospital bed was in the center of the room.

The man who once held everything now lay like a dried-up specimen under the white sheet. His skin clung to his bones, like a layer of old paper that had lost its elasticity.

His eyes were sunken and his cheekbones were high and prominent—time had drained his flesh and blood, leaving only his skeleton and a pair of eyes.

Those eyes were cloudy, yet still sharp.

He wasn't asleep. He was wide awake, his head turned to look at him.

"what's up?"

The voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against glass, but it still exuded an undeniable authority.

Kuroba Touichi walked to the bedside, lowered his eyes, and adopted an unusually respectful posture.

"Sir, Rum is dead."

Karasuma Renya narrowed his eyes slightly.

It was very slight. But Kuroba Toichi caught it.

"How did you die?"

“Beihua Town. Alley. Sniper rifle.” Kuroba paused. “A sniper shot through the left eye, one shot, one kill.”

silence.

Only the regular beeping of the instrument could be heard.

Karasuma Renya stared at the ceiling, his cloudy eyes unmoving, like a dried-up wax figure.

After a long silence, he finally spoke: "Who did this?"

"The investigation is still ongoing. It's highly likely to be a revenge killing."

Karasuma Renya's gaze fell on his face.

That gaze was slow, like a rusty blade gently slicing across skin.

Kuroba Touichi lowered his eyes, his expression remaining unchanged, letting that gaze linger on his face.

"A vendetta?" Karasuma Renya's voice grew even hoarseer, as if it were surging from the depths of the earth. "That little bastard Rum, so afraid of death. He's incredibly perceptive and insightful. How could he be so easily killed?"

He paused.