Chapter 130: Conan at Work
Conan was no stranger to Kogoro Mouri. After all, he was the father of his childhood friend, Ran Mouri. Driven by his hidden feelings for her, Conan had previously put some effort into researching the man.
Kogoro Mouri claimed to be a descendant of the Sengoku-era daimyo Mouri Motonari—truth unknown—but his family background was fairly solid. He attended Teitan Elementary all the way through Teitan High, where he was childhood friends and classmates with his future wife, Eri Kisaki. He eventually attended Beika University before transferring to the Metropolitan Police Academy. After graduation, he served in the Arson Investigation Section and was later transferred to the First Investigation Division's Violent Crimes Section 3, serving directly under Inspector Megure.
His resume was that of a standard non-career track officer—a policeman who rose through the local civil service exams. Back when Conan was still Shinichi Kudo, he had pried for information from Inspector Megure and found that, in Megure's words, Kogoro's professional reputation had been excellent. He was considered a powerhouse among officers.
Every time the topic came up, Megure couldn't help but sigh, saying that if Kogoro hadn't resigned over a certain incident, he might be a fellow Inspector today.
Conan, however, had always harbored doubts about this. The reason was simple: since resigning and becoming a private investigator, Kogoro had been a slovenly, muddled drunk who gambled every day, with professional skills so abysmal he was a "salted fish" detective. He showed none of the flair of a legendary officer.
Yet, despite his agency's business being stagnant for a decade, Kogoro could still afford to drink and bet on horses daily. From that perspective, his claim of being a descendant of a wealthy daimyo might not be a boast—at the very least, his family coffers were deep.
But that was a side note. Although Conan was unfamiliar with the investigation process of this new world, he could read the situation. Inspector Megure was pinned down by the criminal's Stand, and Kogoro Mouri was, as usual, dropping the ball, making the situation quite troublesome.
Fortunately, as the Criminal Mist expanded, many officers waiting outside were pulled in. They refused to let Megure fight alone and summoned their Stands to join the fray. However, before long, they were swatted away one by one. Megure roared:
"This criminal's Stand is buffed by the Mist! Its destructive power has reached C+ or even B-! Only I can stall him! The rest of you, go find clues! Deduce the truth and identify the culprit to dispel the mist and weaken the Stand!"
Conan's thirst for knowledge spiked. He desperately wanted to know how Stand attributes were categorized and what the numerical values meant in this new world. As a detective, this knowledge was essential—but he knew now was not the time for a chat.
The other officers scrambled to their feet to search for clues. Even the onlookers, sensing the danger, grew restless. The "Mystery Enthusiast" who wanted to study the crime yelled:
"If that criminal gets any stronger, we'll all be victims! We can't just sit here! Let the killer see the backbone of Beika Town! Everyone, help find clues!"
With that, the enthusiast led the charge, and the crowd followed.
In that instant, Conan sensed a dissonance.
Among the people present, someone felt... wrong. Conan instinctively scanned the area. Out of the corner of his eye, a bone-chilling sensation hit him. He saw a familiar, haunting silhouette—a pitch-black humanoid outline.
But when Conan whipped his head around, the Moriarty-style "Xiao Hei" was gone. Conan didn't doubt his eyes. He muttered:
"Moriarty? No, compared to that Absolute Evil, this shadow was far weaker. But the essence felt identical. What's going on?"
The mysteries were piling up, but they only served to set Conan's Detective Soul ablaze. He followed the flow and took action. Even without a Stand, Conan was confident in his brain and his eyes when it came to finding clues.
Suddenly, the giant black spider let out a piercing shriek:
"You'll never find the truth! Stay in this Blade Nest and become food for my evolution and sublimation!"
The spider waved its limbs, and the mist on the 13th floor rippled. Conan's vision spun. When he came to, the scenery had changed.
In the dim light, a labyrinth of distorted hallways intertwined. Office doors with question marks for room numbers were scattered randomly along the walls. A sense of danger permeated the air. Conan was alone.
"Hey, isn't the Sixth Divergence a bit too much? A Stand that can warp space? This is way stronger than the Fifth Divergence!"
Conan complained, feeling helpless. He wasn't even at the "average" level of the Sixth world line; he was a human relic of the Fourth! A crippled mortal facing a world of supermen.
However, he was the one who threw the die. The Sixth world was born from his desire. No matter how hard it was, he had to face it. The only silver lining was that some traits from his time as Moriarty had survived the transition in this child's body.
Hyper-sensitivity to "Criminal Auras" was one. The other was the Perception of Killing Intent.
Some of the doors in the labyrinth radiated malice—obvious traps. To test his senses, Conan opened the door with the weakest aura. Instantly, spider silk shot out. Because he was prepared, he leaped back, avoiding being cocooned.
He inspected the silk. It was embedded with tiny razor blades. If he had struggled, he would have been shredded. Conan looked thoughtful.
"Webs and blades... characteristic traits. Are they related to the killer's method?"
Conan continued through the maze, opening "safe" doors. Often, they just led to more hallways and more doors. He didn't know how large the Stand-created space was, but he persisted.
Soon, he felt a pull. He turned and saw a door embedded in the floor, glowing with a steady, shimmering light. It looked like a key interactive object in an RPG, telling the player: Plot Point Here.
"In this new world, this is the only setting I like. Very convenient."
Conan jumped into the floor-door.
He landed in a luxurious, medium-sized office—likely the President's. At the far end, the black-hearted President sat in his leather chair, covered in blood. Even without a close look, Conan knew he was dead. The neck wound that nearly decapitated him was medically conclusive.
This was the primary crime scene. Conan approached to investigate.
As he drew near, the dead President suddenly moved. Conan's hair stood on end. Did this world add a horror/supernatural setting too?
Fortunately, it wasn't a zombie. The President's hand rose in a jerky, unnatural motion, as if an invisible hand were lifting it. His finger, dipped in his own blood, began to write on the desk:
"The one who killed me is..."
A Dying Message! Conan watched, breathless. But the President stopped after the word "is."
"Hey! Who is it!? Finish the sentence! Do you know how much people want to hit you for doing that!?" Conan almost exploded with frustration.
Suddenly, a blurry shadow beside the corpse solidified. it was a humanoid pig with a greedy face—but covered in wounds even more gruesome than the President's. The Pig Stand looked at Conan with a calm gaze and then slowly dissipated.
Through that eye contact, Conan understood. The pig was the President's Stand. It had fought the killer but lost. When its host died, the Stand died too. But Stand deaths were different; unless erased by a specific power, they faded slowly.
The killer, rushing to complete a serial murder, had left immediately after the hit to strike the next target, leaving the Stand just enough time to act. The glowing door wasn't a game mechanic—it was a marker left by the dying Stand to lead a detective to the body.
The Dying Message was also its work. Within the Criminal Mist, the Stand couldn't break the seal to name the killer directly, but it could leave a hint.
The Stand vanished. Conan looked down. Though the writing was unfinished, the President's hand was frozen in a specific gesture: pinky and thumb extended, middle three fingers curled. A "Six" or a "Ram's Head."
Conan's mind raced. He remembered how often victims in his old life left complex dying messages. If it weren't for the fact that Stands didn't exist then, he'd suspect Stands were doing the writing back then, too.
He統合ed the clues:
The "Dissonant" person in the crowd.
The glimpse of "Xiao Hei."
The "Six" or "Ram" hand sign.
The "Mystery Enthusiast" was very suspicious. He had egged the crowd to charge forward—and had lunged toward Inspector Megure despite being told to stay back. That was a huge red flag. But was it enough proof?
As Conan pondered the hand sign, a flash of light suddenly streaked over his head.
THWACK!
Conan was knocked to the floor. He sat up, rubbing a painful lump on his head. He saw a physical pillar of light—shaped like a fluorescent tube—lying on the floor. It had literally fallen on him.
Conan looked up, wondering where it came from. He picked it up, and suddenly, knowledge flooded his brain:
[The Legion of 666 Beasts]: A secret criminal society in Beika Town. Their goal is to resurrect a legendary entity. Their style is unique. Slogan: "We are the swarm, we are the multitude, we are the Beast of the Great Crowd..."
Conan tilted his head. He had no idea why this "Physical Epiphany" had happened or why it contained Wikipedia-level info.
But it was timely! Just like in the old days when a random comment from a passerby would trigger a "flash of insight" to solve a deadlock, this pillar of light had done the same.
Though, Conan thought, I have a feeling this thing has other uses.
Suspect identified: The Mystery Enthusiast. Motive: The Legion of 666 Beasts. Next: The Method.
Conan began to scrutinize the scene. Even with a Stand as the weapon, a killer always leaves a trace. After a moment, Conan realized the killer had relied too much on his Stand, leaving behind a wealth of overlooked details.
End of Chapter
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