"I'm Kiichi Higashino," the man said, offering a brief introduction with a polite nod.
"Oh! You're that ace detective from the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department!" Rachel Moore exclaimed, her voice tinged with the kind of awe that seemed to ripple through the Detective Conan universe whenever a notable figure appeared, as if the world itself demanded everyone recognize their reputation.
Kiichi didn't elaborate. His mind buzzed with witty quips and sarcastic asides, but outwardly, he kept his words sparse and to the point. Back in his old life, before he found himself inexplicably transported to this world, his friends had called him "repressed" for this very reason—full of clever remarks he rarely voiced. He wasn't one for unnecessary chatter.
He knew some transmigrators—especially those who ended up as cops—liked to play games with the "Death Trio" of Conan, Kogoro, and Rachel. They'd toss around lines like "protect the crime scene" or "a detective could be the killer" to mess with the trio's heads. But Kiichi couldn't be bothered. Why waste energy on theatrics? The courts in this world barely cared about procedure, so why should he? His job was to be a detective, not a philosopher debating the morality of detectives as potential culprits. As for Kogoro Mouri being a killer? The man was many things—bumbling, loud, occasionally brilliant—but a murderer? Not a chance. Why stir up drama for no reason?
And don't get him started on "procedural justice." The same people who demanded it would turn around and vilify defense attorneys, treating them like villains straight out of a comic book. Hypocrisy, plain and simple. Kiichi wasn't here to play those games or to dunk on characters for clout. He had better things to do.
Besides, the whole routine—bait Kogoro, exchange some banter, let Inspector Megure smooth things over, then bask in a smug sense of superiority—was a tired script. It'd eat up a whole chapter, padding the word count with meaningless fluff. Did readers really want that?
"Mr. Mouri mentioned that the victim stepped out to meet a guest," Inspector Megure said, flipping through his notebook. "And Conan said he saw a suspicious visitor."
Kiichi crouched down to meet Conan's eyes, his tone gentle but probing. "Did you get a look at this person's face, kid?"
Conan shook his head, his oversized glasses glinting in the afternoon light. "No, I was by the pond, and the trees were too thick. I only saw their feet. But after the victim and that person went into the room, no one came out. The back door was open, though, so I think the killer must've slipped out that way after doing it."
Kiichi's lips curved into a warm, approving smile. "Sharp as ever, little guy." He couldn't resist ruffling Conan's hair, his hand lingering just long enough to make the boy squirm.
Uh-oh… Conan thought, his heart sinking as he caught Kiichi's knowing grin. Did I say too much?
But to his relief, Kiichi didn't press further. Conan let out a quiet breath, his tension easing.
"So," Inspector Megure mused, rubbing his chin, "the killer's likely someone who had an appointment with the victim and is skilled in kendo, given the sword wounds."
Just then, an officer approached, holding a small notebook found on the victim's body. Kiichi took it and flipped it open. Scrawled inside were the names of four visitors expected today: Kogoro Mouri, Yuji Suwa, Kiya Hatayama, and Makoto Akutsu.
Kogoro nodded, confirming the victim had mentioned other appointments. While it didn't rule out an unlisted acquaintance, these four were the prime suspects for now.
Before Kiichi could say anything, an officer escorted in a nervous-looking man, his shoulders hunched and his eyes darting around.
"Mr. Hatayama!" Inoko Maru, the victim's wife, gasped, recognizing him instantly. She explained that Kiya Hatayama was the doctor who visited weekly to monitor her husband's diabetes.
Meanwhile, a commotion erupted outside. "Don't you know who I am? I'm Makoto Akutsu, the master sculptor!" a voice boomed, indignant.
Kogoro's eyes lit up with sudden certainty. "I've got it! If the killer already came and left, they wouldn't stick around. That means the murderer has to be the one who's not here—Yuji Suwa!"
No sooner had he spoken than a man with a neatly trimmed mustache strolled into the yard. "What's all this racket about?"
It was none other than Yuji Suwa.
Conan, ever quick on his feet, sidled up to Suwa and tugged at his hand. "Mister, you know kendo, don't you?"
What followed was a classic Conan performance—a rapid-fire deduction worthy of Sherlock Holmes himself, complete with dramatic pauses and pointed questions.
"I've got it!" Kogoro declared again, jabbing a finger at Suwa. "You killed him to dodge your debts, didn't you?"
Kiichi, meanwhile, wandered over to inspect the room's cabinet, which had been hacked to pieces with a sword. He beckoned a few officers over, whispered some instructions, and watched them nod and hurry off. Then he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, observing the chaos in the yard with mild amusement. Where's the famous Mouri Exclusion Method when you need it? he thought wryly.
Inspector Megure ushered everyone back to the crime scene, where Kogoro inadvertently let slip that he'd been hired to investigate Mrs. Maru's possible infidelity. Rachel, sharp as ever, pointed out that the victim's grip on the sword was unnatural, suggesting it had been staged. Megure checked alibis via phone records, while Conan sniffed out a faint trace of perfume on Dr. Hatayama, hinting at an affair with Mrs. Maru.
Of course it's Hatayama, Kiichi thought, suppressing a smirk. Some stereotypes write themselves.
The affair, naturally, didn't hold up as an alibi. The investigation shifted to the phone records. Hatayama's message was straightforward: he'd called at 4:38 p.m. to confirm a 5:00 p.m. appointment, but no one answered. Suwa's message followed at 4:41 p.m., requesting to move his 6:00 p.m. meeting to 5:00 p.m. Akutsu, however, had no recorded message.
Akutsu denied everything, launching into a heated rant about calling to promise repayment for a debt and to reclaim a prized dragon sculpture—the only item in the room untouched by sword marks.
"You're the killer!" Kogoro bellowed, pointing at Akutsu.
Kiichi sighed, cutting in. "Mr. Akutsu, when you made that call, did anything strike you as odd?"
Akutsu frowned, thinking. "Well, now that you mention it, the phone rang for ages before it finally went to the answering machine."
Rachel piped up, her brow furrowing. "Yeah, that call was so annoying—it just kept ringing."
Megure confirmed with Mrs. Maru that the phone typically rang several times before switching to voicemail if unanswered.
"Why did you say that call rang for a long time?" Kiichi asked, turning to the Mouris.
"Because the next two calls only rang once before cutting off," Rachel replied, recalling the sequence.
The group was still bickering over Akutsu's missing message, with the sculptor eventually admitting he'd left a "threatening" voicemail. Then came a brief uproar when Mrs. Maru couldn't find a key in the cabinet drawer—only to discover it in the wrong drawer.
Kiichi, who'd been watching the chaos unfold with detached amusement, noticed Conan's sudden "eureka" expression. The boy dashed off, charming a servant into lending him an instant camera to photograph the cabinet.
About time, Kiichi thought, stifling a yawn. Conan's slacking today. How am I supposed to coast on his brilliance if he's this slow?
As Conan worked his charm to sneak past a guard and snap photos, Kiichi decided enough was enough. He stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "Alright, that's enough noise. Let's wrap this up and go home." He pointed at Yuji Suwa. "Take him away."
Conan whipped around, the camera nearly slipping from his hands, his photos forgotten.
In the world of Detective Conan, the truth always finds a way to surface—no matter how tangled the web of lies. But for Kiichi Higashino, the real mystery was whether Conan could keep up… or if he'd have to carry this case himself.