Conan: The Phantom Heart Thief

The girl in front of them nervously tugged at her pigtails, lowering her head as Mouri Kogoro picked up the photo on the table.

"This is my father, Kenzo Hirota..."

"Hmm..." Mouri Kogoro stroked his chin in thought. The middle-aged man in the photo stood smiling beside a taxi. He looked at the picture, then at the girl's delicate face, but couldn't find much resemblance. He continued, "He was a taxi driver?"

"Yes." The girl bit her lip. "He came to Tokyo for work, but we haven't heard anything from him in days. He even quit his job at the taxi company..."

While Mouri Ran busied herself in the kitchen preparing tea, Conan yawned, listening to the conversation between her father and the girl. He lazily pulled out his phone.

Finding lost relatives seemed like an ordinary case—but thinking back on how "ordinary" tasks had turned out before...

Feeling slightly guilty, Conan typed up a message and sent it to Joker's email:

[Uncle Mouri accepted a new case. A girl named Hirota Masami asked him to help find her father. Nothing unusual so far, but since I promised to keep you informed, here's the update.]

—

A man clutching a suitcase ran through the docks, weaving between containers.

He kept glancing over his shoulder in panic—despite no one being behind him—chased not by people, but by the crushing sense of danger.

His breath was ragged, and though his body burned from exertion, the chill crawling down his spine wasn't from fatigue—it was cold, creeping fear.

The cloudy sky dulled the sun's warmth, offering no relief from the tension clawing at him.

At last, he spotted the gray-blue coastline between the containers. Gritting his teeth, he stopped looking back and charged forward.

Just get this thing to the rendezvous point—run faster—

"What are you looking for, sir?" A figure stepped from behind a container and blocked his path.

"!" The man froze in his tracks. He wiped sweat from his eyes, squinting to see clearly.

A slender young man with golden short hair and tanned skin smiled at him brightly, like a cheerful shop clerk welcoming a customer.

"Get out of my way!" the man snarled, raising the suitcase to swing. But before he could, the blond calmly raised a pistol, its metallic surface gleaming.

"Sorry. This road is closed." The blond man dropped the smile and pointed the muzzle at the suitcase. "Put it down."

Right—the suitcase. It was important. Too important.

Panicking, the man hugged the case tighter. "Back off! This is fragile! If I use force—"

Bang! Bang!

Two sharp cracks cut him off.

His scream tore through the air as the bullets pierced his knees. He collapsed, clutching his legs, blood pouring out, the suitcase forgotten.

"You're too slow, Senior Bourbon."

Goro Akechi poked his head out from atop the container, then lightly jumped down to the ground, landing with practiced ease.

"Tsk... Knees again?" Amuro Toru clicked his tongue and walked over, yanking the black box from the man's trembling hands. "Kumail, could you just shoot them cleanly next time? The blood gets everywhere. It's annoying."

"We're supposed to leave him alive," Akechi nodded at the earpiece in his right ear. "Right, Gin-senpai?"

As he spoke, he removed the silencer from the gun, shook it casually, and checked the rest of the weapon's parts before approaching Amuro.

"Stay there and don't move. I'll pick up the package myself," Gin's voice came through the earpiece. "And don't open it."

"What's so interesting about opening it anyway?" Akechi sighed, feigning boredom. "Isn't it just that memory card I took from Kazawa? It's been days, and no one's moved it. Someone still tried to steal it. Are Tokyo's members really reliable? Tell me who we contacted—I'll ask for you."

"Even if they're useless, you don't get to kill them just because you feel like it." Gin's voice cut off, followed by the screech of brakes. "Wait where you are. Don't open the box."

The communication ended.

Kazawa tapped the earpiece twice, confirmed Gin was gone, then removed it and exchanged a look with Amuro.

Both of them raised their eyebrows in unison.

When Gin arrived, he saw Bourbon and Kumail each holding one side of the box. Though both wore polite smiles, neither was letting go. The atmosphere was tense.

The man who'd been shot had long since passed out, face caked in blood and dirt. Two muddy boot prints were stamped across it, but no one could say who kicked him.

"Let go." Gin grabbed the suitcase handle and glanced at the two of them.

After glaring at each other, the men finally relinquished the box.

Gin opened it, confirmed the package was undamaged, and looked at the pair again.

Clearly, in the brief time since the call ended, the two had exchanged a few blows. Their suits were dusty and wrinkled.

Seeing that no one was dead or critically injured, Gin didn't bother with scolding. He gave a quick rundown of the mission, and Vodka lifted the unconscious man, brushed him off, and the two of them left.

Kazawa swept the area using his "third eye" and gave Amuro a silent OK signal.

The next second, both of them shed their undercover personas.

"You finish swapping things?" Amuro nodded toward Kazawa's suitcase.

"Yeah." Kazawa lifted the silver case marked with an 'A'. "No one noticed. Everything's in place."

"Why is the organization suddenly asking for Xingchuan Hui's experimental data?" Amuro asked, spraying reagent across the bloodstained ground.

Kazawa pulled out his own spray, covering the traces on the containers. "That's on me. Xingchuan's results deviated too far from mine, so I tried to use my parents' old experiments to cover for it. But it looks like they're still suspicious."

"You sure the forged data can hold up?" Amuro sounded doubtful.

"Completely. I used the tools my parents developed—real data, too. Xingchuan repeated the entire experiment overnight. Only my parents could see through it."

"What a pain..." Amuro shook his head.

"There won't be a next time." Kazawa shrugged.

Xingchuan Hui's latest data had already matched Persona awakening parameters. By his parents' standards, it was enough to confirm potential ability.

Two days ago, the experiment had gone smoothly. There was even a surprise—Kazawa was certain Xingchuan had awakened. He saw those golden eyes.

For a moment, Kazawa thought he would tear off the mask right there...

Unfortunately, that moment didn't come.

If only this was the P3 universe. Kazawa could have handed him a gun and let him shoot himself. With that reckless resolve, he might already be a true fighter by now.

Still, Kazawa wasn't too disappointed.

Maybe, like Okumura Haru in P5, Xingchuan just needed the right moment of willpower to truly break through and reveal his real self.

The only difference was that Kazawa now wouldn't keep Xingchuan Hui stuck in the role of driver and water-boy.

If he didn't get a chance to fight on his own, the awakening moment might never arrive. It didn't matter if he got beaten—Kazawa could patch him up later. Getting beaten up was part of the training.

Lost in thought, the two finished cleaning the scene.

Kazawa's phone chimed with a new email. He opened it—Conan.

"Huh..." Wiping sweat from his forehead, Kazawa slumped down to sit on the ground, not caring about appearances.

"Hmm?" Amuro looked over. "Tired? We didn't run that far."

"No," Kazawa crossed his legs and brushed off the dust on his gloves. "It's just... it feels like the other shoe has finally dropped."