Kiichi Higashino dragged himself out of bed, the morning routine as mechanical as ever. A quick splash of water on his face, a carton of milk from the fridge, and a slightly stale egg sandwich from last night's convenience store run. Cold breakfasts had long ceased to bother him; they were just fuel to get through the day.
It had been a rough few weeks. His grandfather's passing from lung cancer had pulled him back to Yokohama for bereavement leave. Today marked his return to the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, stepping back into the relentless rhythm of Beika Town's chaos. He couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia for smartphones—those sleek devices that didn't exist in this era of sluggish newspaper headlines. The information lag was palpable, like living in a world stuck a decade behind.
Still, Kiichi's mind wandered to a certain high school detective. If his memory served, Shinichi Kudo was a second-year student by now. That meant Conan Edogawa—or "Director Conan," as Kiichi wryly thought of him—should be making his grand debut soon. All it would take was one swing from Gin's infamous crowbar, and this world might leapfrog into the smartphone age within six months. Kiichi chuckled under his breath. Conan and Gin, the unwitting catalysts of technological progress, sacrificing so much for the sake of civilian innovation.
Parking his car, Kiichi rode the elevator to the Violent Crimes Section of Criminal Investigation Division 1. The moment the doors slid open, he spotted Inspector Megure—Juzo Megure, to be precise—with his uncanny ability to mobilize at lightning speed and a network of contacts that seemed to span the globe.
"Morning, Inspector Megure," Kiichi greeted, his tone respectful. Though they were nearly equals after Kiichi's recent promotion, Megure was a veteran, and Japan's social hierarchy demanded a nod to seniority.
"Everything go smoothly with your family matters?" Megure asked, his voice carrying genuine concern.
"Yeah, more or less," Kiichi replied, his words measured. "It's been years in the making. We were prepared." His grandfather's diagnosis wasn't a surprise; the family had braced for it long ago.
Grabbing a canned coffee from the vending machine—a habit as ingrained as breathing—Kiichi followed Megure toward the open-plan office. Despite their ranks, neither had a private office. Inspectors, even those as seasoned as Megure, were still field commanders, tethered to crime scenes rather than desks. Megure, as section chief, at least had a semi-private corner in the bustling office space.
"Any new cases?" Kiichi asked, casually tidying his already pristine desk. He caught Officer Wataru Takagi passing by and waved him over for a quick debrief. Beika's crime rate was no secret, and with Kiichi gone for nearly a week, he half-expected a backlog of "suicides" piling up. The Tokyo MPD was staffed with good-hearted people, but their detective skills? Let's just say they left room for improvement—especially without a certain pint-sized sleuth steering the ship.
"Oh, plenty," Takagi said, nodding earnestly. He started counting on his fingers. "The night you went on leave, General Manager Yamazaki from Hachiryo Bank was murdered at a banquet. Then there was the roller coaster killing at Dorobiga Paradise. Oh, and a suicide at Yoko Okino's place…"
Kiichi's eyebrows shot up as Takagi rattled off the cases like a menu. A roller coaster murder? That rang a bell. "Have those been solved?" he asked, zeroing in. His memory of the early Detective Conan cases was fuzzy—over a thousand episodes will do that to you—but the roller coaster case was iconic. He needed confirmation.
"Yup, all solved," Takagi confirmed, his tone almost reverent. "Shinichi Kudo and Mr. Mouri were incredible."
There it is. The Grim Reaper duo had officially debuted. No wonder the crime rate was spiking. Kiichi suppressed a smirk. Fans loved to pin the "Reaper" label on Conan, but in his view, Kogoro Mouri was no innocent bystander. Back when Shinichi was still himself, Beika's crime rate was high but manageable. Now, with the Mouri-Kudo father-in-law combo in play, it was like they'd ignited a chemical reaction. Kogoro alone was inert, but pair him with Shinichi—er, Conan—and the results were explosive. A thousand cases in a year? Child's play. They were probably halfway there in six months.
The realization stirred something in Kiichi. He'd been at the MPD for years, yet some invisible force always kept him from crossing paths with Shinichi Kudo. King avoids king, huh? But now that the plot was in motion, the world revolved around Director Conan. Surely, Kiichi wouldn't be sidelined forever. Right? The thought of a thousand cases unfolding in half a year—while he was stuck on desk duty or, worse, handed new cases—sent a shiver down his spine.
No way… right?
The day dragged on, uneventful to an almost suspicious degree. No cases? Had Conan taken a day off from his Reaper duties, or was Kiichi genuinely being walled off by some cosmic author's will? By late afternoon, he was restless. Then, just as the clock ticked toward quitting time, the phone rang.
The caller? None other than Rachel Moore, the most professional crime-scene dialer in Beika.
Inspector Megure dispatched a small team of officers, keeping the response light. With Kogoro Mouri on the scene, Megure likely figured he could lean on the "Sleeping Kogoro" to wrap things up without delaying everyone's evening. What a guy, Kiichi thought, admiring his boss's knack for work-life balance.
But Kiichi wasn't about to sit this one out. If this was his chance to test whether some unseen force was keeping him from Conan, he'd take it. "I'm coming along," he declared, striding after the team. Reason? He didn't need one. Overtime was its own justification.
The crime scene was a stunning traditional Japanese villa, its elegance marred by the grim reality within. Inspector Megure was already in his element, delivering his classic rundown: "The victim is Denjiro Maru, age 51. Cause of death: a single katana thrust through the chest, fatal in one strike."
Kiichi's gaze swept the room. The scene was chaos—slash marks crisscrossed the walls, as if Ximen Chuixue and Ye Gucheng had dueled here straight out of a wuxia novel. Wrong set, folks.
Megure's voice carried on, questioning the gathered suspects. The woman in a tailored kimono, a distinctive mole beneath her right eye, was Inako Maru, the victim's wife. Beside her stood two maids, Kumi and Saori, their faces pale.
Kiichi tuned out the chatter and crouched near the body. The room reeked of blood and steel. "This chest wound is the cause of death?" he asked the forensic examiner. In Conan's world, the forensics team often missed clues, but what they did report was ironclad.
"Correct," the examiner replied.
Kiichi gestured for the body to be turned over. Sure enough, a massive slash marred the victim's back. "This was inflicted pre-mortem?"
"Affirmative."
His eyes flicked to the countless blade marks scarring the room. Without another word, he stepped outside, his mind already turning over the puzzle.
"Inspector Megure, any useful leads?" Kiichi asked, cutting straight to the point.
Kogoro Mouri, standing nearby, tilted his head. "And who's this guy?"