Lately, I feel as though the seasons are shifting at a frantic, random pace. Neither those around me nor Furuya himself seem to notice this temporal glitch. I suppose there is no helping the whims of fate; logic holds no sway over this frozen time.
Thus, on a day like this, I found myself homeless after fire consumed the Mokuba-so apartments in Beika. Honestly, I had completely forgotten that this building burns down in the original story. I woke up suddenly in the middle of the night to the smell of smoke, only to find the room hazy. By the time I rushed outside, the world around me had turned into a sea of flames. It was so desperate that an ordinary person would have found no way out.
The reason I noticed the disaster so late was that I was deep within my subconscious, busy constructing a massive "Memory Library." Furuya and I had immersed ourselves in building this mental structure with such passion that we neglected reality, leading to this tragedy. Once we realized the building was on fire, chaos erupted inside me. My consciousness clashed with Furuya's as we both tried to surface and take control of the body. Our thoughts collided, and for a few moments, my movements faltered in a blur of confusion and pain.
Nevertheless, I regained my composure and took charge. I found the landlord lying unconscious at the foot of the stairs. I immediately turned on a tap, drenched myself in water, and dove into the flames to save him. I gripped the edge of the burning roof with my bare hands and swung around the wall like an acrobat, narrowly evading the tongues of fire. It was a gruesome scene; anyone else would have surely died. For a moment, even I thought my end had come.
Later, rescue teams found me with minor burns. They took me and the landlord to the hospital in an ambulance as a precaution. May God never forgive the criminal who set that fire. I ignored my own negligence and forgetfulness, letting my anger toward the perpetrator boil over.
Incidentally, the "Library" we were building is a mental technique for "Near-Perfect Memory." We recently discovered that we can store everything we see and hear in our deep consciousness as text or images. By accumulating this data, we can turn every minute detail into a portable database. While this project seems incredibly useful, it hides a frustrating reality: I am terrible at searching for and retrieving information, so I cannot use it efficiently. The whole thing relies on Furuya. He is the one with the superhuman memory who can pull the required "book" from his mind in seconds. My role is limited to being the "input" for data through my five senses and intuition, while he acts as a strict internal librarian who exhausts me with orders, saying, "The information is incomplete; bring more, quickly."
In any case, as a victim of the fire, I became a suspect in the arson. I returned to the completely charred Mokuba-so to meet the three people who were out of the house during the incident. Conan and the cheerful Detective Boys greeted me with looks of pure shock.
"Ah, Amuro-san!? Did you really live here!?"
"Hello, Conan. Have you come to mourn my state now that I've lost my home overnight?"
"...You seem strangely relaxed. Anyway, are you the culprit? I don't think so, right?"
"I'm not the culprit, of course. Well, anyone can claim anything, I suppose."
While we talked casually, a storm of killing intent erupted—a force so strong it felt like it could level a building. It came from Subaru Okiya, the graduate student who had just arrived with us. Stop it, Akai-san; you'll blow your cover... though I realize it isn't easy to switch off once you've made a decision.
Subaru-san merely looked at me in silence, as if he had no intention of speaking. I sensed a slight trace of confusion within that killing intent, suggesting that the Raiha Pass incident had a specific effect on him as well.
Even during this "Cold War" with Akai-san, the deductions of the police and Conan continued to move forward. Through the diary of young Kaito, the landlord's son who loved toy cars, the identity of the likely culprit emerged. The culprit was the "Yellow Person."
The "Black and White Person" was Conan, the genius likened to a police car for his deductive powers. The "White Person" was the kind carpenter who gave Kaito a bandage, likened to an ambulance. The "Red Person" was Subaru Okiya, likened to a fire engine because Kaito saw him watering flowers. Meanwhile, the "Yellow Person" was the skilled player digging in the ground—the arsonist.
Since this man lived in the same building as me, Furuya had already conducted a full background check on him and all his connections. Therefore, Furuya reached the answer before Conan could finalize his deduction. Furuya quickly took control of the body and strode toward the defenseless culprit, his steps radiating a threat to everyone nearby. He seized the man by the collar, hoisted him up with one hand, and left him dangling in the air, his face twisted in intense rage.
"What—what do you think you're doing!?"
"Amuro-san!?"
The detectives rushed over, terrified by this sudden outburst. As Furuya held the culprit, who was squirming and gasping for air, he ground his teeth with force. There was no trace of killing intent or a drive for violence in his movement. This was expected, as Furuya, when in control, was not used to displaying killing intent openly. Had I been the one doing it, the intent radiating from me would have forced Subaru-san to draw his weapon instinctively.
Subaru Okiya grabbed Furuya's right arm and rebuked him calmly, though his confusion was visible.
"I understand your anger, but you are overreacting."
"...My apologies. I lost my temper for a moment."
When Furuya set him down, the man coughed for a long time before screaming in a rage, "What the hell do you think you're doing, you bastard!!?"
Ah. From what standing does this man speak? Naturally, I felt annoyed, so I shot him a sharp, cold glare on Furuya's behalf. This is how you release killing intent.
"...…Hie!"
"You, the man likened to a construction vehicle for digging in the dirt, the one nicknamed the 'Yellow Person.' Do you not agree?"
This heavy killing intent made everyone around me sense danger, even if they couldn't pinpoint the source. They watched me in silence, their bodies stiff.
"I am the 'Colored Person.' I was likened to the bright paint of a catering truck, because I often shared food with them."
"...What? No..."
"I didn't intend to go this far, but as a victim who nearly lost his life, my sense of resentment took hold first."
"...…!"
"I am deeply ashamed. Let us leave the rest to our fellow investigators. Conan, isn't the matter clear to you now?"
Conan nodded hesitantly. "Yeah... yes."
Even though I got swept up in Furuya's anger, I am not really in a position to be angry. Someone who rose through the ranks of the Organization by committing numerous murders is already covered in blood. A crime is a crime, and punishment is punishment. These accumulated sins, which can no longer be justified, must be paid for eventually.
This is what I think as I contemplate Furuya's somber presence in the depths of my subconscious, day after day.
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