Conan: The Phantom Heart Thief

When Conan arrived at the scene on his skateboard, following the signal, what he saw was Hirota Akira lying unconscious on the ground with his face stepped on.

Conan adjusted his glasses, checked the signal location in his lenses, and once again confirmed that the signal source was indeed attached to the man in front of him. He frowned.

After confirming that the man wasn't dead, Conan turned his head to look at his crooked face. Seeing no obvious external injuries, he called the police and emergency services.

"Why did he pass out here..."

Thinking through the situation, Conan squatted and opened the man's pocket.

Before the police arrived, Conan quickly searched his belongings, scanning the alley for any overlooked clues.

"Ah, there's identification. Is this your passport?" The man's wallet was in the inner chest pocket. Inside was a stack of brand-new banknotes and several exchange coupons for a pachinko parlor. In a side pocket were a passport and a hotel room card.

He opened the passport.

The photo matched the man lying on the ground.

"Hirota Akira!" The moment he saw the name, Conan straightened up.

According to Joker's information, Kenzo Hirota and Masami Hirota were both pseudonyms.

And now, the tracker Conan placed on Miss Yamei was showing on this man. His surname was also Hirota...

Did he take Hirota Masami from the hospital? Or did Hirota Masami leave the hospital on her own to find him?

What had actually happened? Did Hirota Masami knock him out and run, or was there a third person involved?

Conan's mind was racing, analyzing the scene.

Soon, he found a pair of open-toed high heels discarded on top of the trash can—exactly the style Hirota Masami had been wearing. When Conan had crouched earlier to tie his shoelaces, he had placed the transmitter on them.

There was no blood, and the shoes looked fine—no signs of a struggle or being forcibly removed.

As Conan loosened his own shoes, he caught a glimpse of a small white dot on the wall behind the man. He bent down, picked up a small round white bead, and examined it in his palm.

"Rubber... this is a BB pellet?" Conan felt its texture and size, making a deduction.

Could this be what knocked out Hirota Akira?

Once the keywords "toy gun" and "model gun" came to mind, Conan immediately thought of the realistic model gun Joker had used on the train that day.

What had Joker done behind the scenes this time? The moment Conan had informed him of Kenzo Hirota's death, had Joker already found Hirota Masami?

Damn it. I told him right away—how was he already moving without even telling me?

A brief wave of frustration toward the Riddler rose in Conan's heart. But he remembered Joker's earlier warning not to contact him, and after holding back for a moment, he didn't call. Instead, he refocused on the man lying unconscious.

If Joker had knocked him out, then maybe there was no need to worry too much about Hirota Masami—for now.

But... three pseudonyms, the same surname, connected events, and a suspicious missing person case…

Conan held his chin, linking all the information from the past few days, gradually sketching out a clearer picture.

The murdered Kenzo Hirota. Horse racing. Pachinko. Gambling debts. Gangsters tied to the organization…

Why did two gamblers with crushing debt suddenly become wealthy? Kenzo Hirota even paid a year's rent all at once. How were these two connected to the organization? And what role did Hirota Masami play?

Conan's eyes lit up—an idea struck him.

He recalled Kazawa's voice, sighing with emotion: "Life really isn't easy. One billion yen, and it ended up being the biggest case..."

He clutched the room card in his hand, a confident smile forming on his face.

"Hello? Officer Megure?" Conan brought the voice changer to his lips and spoke into the phone, "It's me, Kudo Shinichi... Please head to Conan's location right away. The unconscious man he found may be the real killer in your ongoing case. Please investigate thoroughly. I suspect this man, the deceased Kenzo Hirota, and the missing Hirota Masami are the three culprits behind the 'one billion yen bank robbery' from a few days ago."

Messages traveled through the crowd via radio waves—like whispered secrets. One after another, the short phrases that appeared on the screen passed under Kazawa's fingers and entered his blue eyes.

[Are you following Hirota Masami?]

[What are you doing, Kazawa? Why won't you answer the phone? What does Gin want from you?]

[Are you sure about this, leader? Sounds like too many unknowns.]

[I know you're not Kazawa. Your plan won't work.]

[Come to Mihua Street as soon as possible.]

"Hah... I'm exhausted."

Kazawa turned off the screen briefly, closed his eyes, and slowed his breathing under the fading glow of sunset. The hum of engines, the chatter of pedestrians, the ringing of bicycle bells—they all became white noise, calming him.

"I still need to catch more pawns. There are only two of us in the Phantom Thieves, and one can't appear publicly. I have to do everything alone. Time management really isn't easy." Kazawa leaned back in his seat, muttering, "Put on the onion layers, take them off again… I really just want to take a nap, drink some wine in a dream and relax…"

"Your coffee, sir."

"Ah, thank you." Kazawa opened his eyes, smiled, and accepted the tray. "Can I get two more sugar cubes, please?"

"You're Japanese?" the server asked, surprised by his accent. Realizing the rudeness, she quickly added, "I thought you were a foreign tourist... what you just said didn't sound like Japanese."

"It wasn't. I was just practicing, miss." Kazawa smiled with squinted eyes as he lifted his cup. "Thanks for the concern. Don't forget my sugar cubes."

The cute waitress blushed from his smile. She returned a shy, awkward grin, lowered her head, and walked back inside.

This was a psychological trick Kazawa reinforced on himself over and over again: There are things that must not be said here—so don't say them in Japanese.

It was also a habit formed during his years of undercover work. Acting had become second nature. In fact, by the end of his mission, no one had noticed his true identity. If the informant hadn't played a trick on him, he might have gotten away clean...

Only after receiving his sugar cubes did Kazawa begin replying to the messages one by one.

[Don't worry about Hirota Masami. I'm on it. You just focus on Hirota Akira's safety. You know how the organization operates.]

[Relax. It'll all be over tonight. I'll be back at the café tomorrow~]

[Just do as I say. Go to the cognitive world and wait. Nothing will go wrong.]

[Excuse me, who are you?]

[I'm already here, senpai~ Where are you?]

The email send sounds chimed one after another. After replying to everything, Kazawa drained the rest of his coffee and slung his commuter bag over his shoulder.

He never let himself get proud over a small win. After all, he had chosen a cautious plan.

He wasn't trying to rewrite fate—just subtly push parts of it forward, slightly obscure certain threads, slowly blend in his own strength.

He feared that too many changes would create uncontrollable unknowns, pushing things off course. For someone who likes to plan things out, the worst thing is losing control.

Kazawa waved his hand, and the floating tarot cards dispersed. The glowing words "All in One Go" disappeared from sight.

"I'm already holding such a big hook… should I be called cautious or cowardly?" Kazawa laughed at himself and shook his head. "Time to get back to work."