Conan's Corpse Picker

Double Chapter

Today's murder case had it all—arson, multiple fatalities, and trails of running footprints long enough to qualify for an Olympic relay. The police were swamped. Taking statements? Not urgent.

Given how thick the police presence was at Daibao Film City, communication wasn't going to be easy.

Jiangxia quietly watched the Detective Boys walk away. His eyes followed Genta.

The blonde-haired man shrouded in killing intent hadn't moved yet. But once Genta got far enough, Jiangxia figured he'd start following—the guy probably wouldn't be too bothered by two other kids barely up to his knee.

Once Blondie followed, then Jiangxia could swoop in to harvest that juicy killing intent.

He had it all planned out.

But then one minute passed.

Then two.

Then ten.

And the blonde-haired man… still didn't move.

"…"

Several police cars had already pulled away, but the guy was still lurking in the shadows like a mannequin on standby mode.

…Had Jiangxia guessed wrong?

Maybe this guy had nothing to do with Kojima Genta. Maybe he was part of some other case entirely.

But something still didn't sit right. Jiangxia squinted, then suddenly got an idea.

He didn't stick around. Instead, he took a quick mental snapshot of the surroundings, and while the police weren't looking, he slipped off toward a nearby subway station.

That route passed through a neighborhood of half-demolished buildings—perfect terrain for an ambush. From both tactical and storytelling perspectives.

Ten meters in, his ghosts stirred.

The killing intent was following.

Jiangxia didn't look back. He kept walking, calm and steady.

So… this blonde-haired killer wasn't just some reckless stalker; he was strategic. Prioritized targets. Made decisions.

Jiangxia thought back to Genta bowing to him and begging, "Please let me go."

The killer hadn't been close enough to hear the words—only saw the gesture.

And given Jiangxia's public identity as a high school detective, that scene could easily be misinterpreted as a kid seeking help from an adult after spotting a stalker.

The slight fear in Genta's face? Just a scared kid reporting a suspicious man.

So, from Blondie's point of view… Jiangxia was now an insider.

And a detective was far more dangerous than a rice-ball-headed bear child.

Perfect.

Because originally, that killing intent had been aimed at Genta. Now, it was directed at Jiangxia too.

And instead of chasing Blondie all over the city, Jiangxia just had to walk to a dark alley and wait for the man to serve himself up like a cursed Bento box.

Wonderful.

Soon, the building came into view—a five or six-story relic awaiting demolition. Old, but solid. The top floors were still stable enough, and it was remote enough that no one would hear a thing if... say, someone screamed.

Jiangxia looked up at it. Then, acting as if he'd noticed something mysterious, he walked right in.

Nothing strange about this behavior at all. Everyone knew high school detectives were pathologically drawn to shady, dangerous places.

…

Not long after Jiangxia disappeared into the building, someone stopped outside.

The fugitive—Kamiyo Someda—watched Jiangxia's retreating figure. He raised a hand and smoothed down his new, trendy blond hair. A cruel smirk crept onto his lips.

Meanwhile, just around the corner, a car rolled up and parked.

Inside sat Vermouth.

She'd already ditched the Bourbon disguise. With the window down and sunglasses shoved up her nose bridge, she casually swept her golden hair behind her ear and squinted in confusion.

A few seconds later, she saw Kamiyo Someda glance around, bend down, and pick up a meter-long broken steel rod. He gave it an experimental swing and then walked inside with an expression that practically screamed, I have unresolved issues.

Vermouth narrowed her clear green eyes.

She recalled who had entered the building just before him.

Her gaze flickered.

Then she quietly opened the door, stepped out, and closed it behind her.

…

The abandoned building had once been a museum. Even now, with the wrecking ball looming, it still had some faded grandeur.

Jiangxia admired the peeling painted walls as he climbed slowly toward the top floor.

Once there, he casually signed the shikigami of Producer Kamei—today's corpse pick-up—and tucked it neatly into a corner.

Then he waited.

One minute. Two. Three.

Five.

The rooftop was bleak and quiet. A cold wind rolled across it, carrying a lone dead leaf.

Jiangxia stared at the leaf as it fluttered past his foot. He sighed, lifted his leg, and stepped on it with a satisfying crunch.

Still nothing.

He squinted toward the stairwell.

The blonde-haired man had seemed pretty healthy. Could he really be this slow?

Maybe he took another route. Maybe Jiangxia had overestimated the man's confidence.

After a moment's hesitation, Jiangxia clicked open the collapsible baton in his pocket and headed back down.

Two floors lower, the ghosts stirred again.

They signaled: the killing intent was still on the first floor. And it hadn't moved.

"…"

That coward really just stalled on the ground floor?

Was he afraid of heights? Seemed unlikely—he'd pushed Genta off a bridge, after all.

Well, whatever the reason, Jiangxia figured he'd better go check. Wouldn't do to have Blondie wander off after waiting too long.

…

When he reached the first-floor lobby, Jiangxia turned toward the source of the killing intent.

Only to find… nothing.

Just an empty space.

Then, as he looked closer—ah. There it was.

A faint patch of killing intent was lying on the floor like a discarded gym towel.

"…"

Jiangxia blinked. What the hell kind of situation was this?

He stood there, silently processing.

Then, slowly, he walked over, crouched down, and picked up the limp clump of killing intent.

It seemed… intact.

And yet... why was it on the ground?

Judging from the scene, the owner of the killing intent was... probably, maybe, almost certainly dead.

Jiangxia gave the blonde-haired man a respectful 0.1-second moment of silence, then cheerfully stashed the killing intent away.

Afterward, he crouched to examine the floor nearby. There was no blood, but the dust patterns looked off—as if someone had kicked around in a panic, struggled hard, and then someone carelessly wiped the area down.

If Jiangxia hadn't known there was killing intent here, he probably wouldn't have noticed a thing just glancing from afar.

Now the question was: who had killed the guy? And had they gone far? If not, maybe he could snag another shikigami before heading home.

He walked out of the building, eyes scanning the surroundings, trying to judge which way the killer had left.

But before he could go far, he spotted the mermaid ghost spinning in place thoughtfully, head tilting left and right as she scrutinized the remnants of killing intent.

A few seconds later, she reached out and, with the air of someone playing supernatural tug-of-war, pulled a thin thread from the heap.

Jiangxia silently observed the process, then casually snatched the strand from her hand with a practiced motion.

The mermaid, offended, bit his arm with her tiny teeth. Jiangxia leaned in to sniff the thread—there was a faint scent of apples.

"…"

So it was Vermouth again.

If she was the one who'd killed the blonde fugitive, then by now, she was probably halfway through disposing of the body and scrubbing the crime scene. Tracking her down would be tricky.

Not to mention, Jiangxia wasn't sure if a shikigami even dared to cling to her. If it followed the corpse, he might need to go dredging in Tokyo Bay to find it. Not worth the effort unless it was a really high-grade shikigami.

With that, Jiangxia dismissed the whole situation and decided to head back to the agency. Today's killing intent haul had been unexpectedly fruitful.

He also wanted to ask Professor Agasa if he had any more child-friendly entertainment activities.

The Detective Boys were truly adorable. He wanted to continue playing with those innocent bear children.

…

Meanwhile, at an old factory.

Vermouth watched as the organic matter in the incinerator burned with a roar, then shut the heavy door with a bang.

She dusted off her hands and was just about to return to her car when a familiar black Porsche turned the corner behind the building.

The car slowed as it passed.

The window rolled down, and Gin's face appeared.

He glanced at the flickering light behind the furnace door and asked, cigarette between his lips, "What are you doing?"

Vermouth tugged down her sunglasses, giving a lazy smile. "What does it look like? Burning trash."

She turned to leave, but paused suddenly.

Thinking of something, she added nonchalantly, "I ran into someone tailing Ouzo on the road. Took care of him on the spot."

"—Ouzo had just finished a case, and the police were still packing up, when he tried to lure the guy into an abandoned building to create an 'accidental' death. If bodies keep piling up around him like this, it's bound to attract attention. So I helped a little."

She said this casually, twirling her sunglasses as she spoke. "Don't worry, the guy wasn't anyone important. From his clothes, just a low-level thug."

Gin nodded.

...So Vermouth had taken it upon herself to clean up after Ouzo. It seemed the previous warning had gotten through to her.

Seeing that the corpse in the furnace wasn't one of their own, Gin gave Vodka a look. The car rolled on.

Vermouth watched the window slide up and the Porsche disappear.

Her hand froze in midair. Her expression turned quietly disgruntled.

—Now that she'd proved she had no ill will toward Ouzo, shouldn't Gin have mentioned passing Ouzo over to her? What about that psychological counseling they discussed?

She couldn't bring it up herself. That would make it obvious she wanted custody of Ouzo—and Gin might get suspicious and hand him off to someone else out of caution.

That was why she'd orchestrated today's performance. She'd carefully portrayed Ouzo as reckless, needing guidance—a dangerous but salvageable young cadre.

But Gin didn't say a word.

…Tch. She shouldn't have tried to take Ouzo and "dispose" of him herself back then. If not for that, he'd definitely be in her hands by now.

She still didn't know who'd tattled to Gin—probably Bourbon.

Thinking of this, Vermouth smiled faintly and bared her sharp canines. Mentally, she added another grudge to her Bourbon tally.

That yinbi snitch dared to steal her person. She'd kill him eventually… But first, she'd have to deal with those timed backup messages he always left behind.

Also, she needed to test Gin again. Sooner or later, he'd remember...

Just then, the screech of tires broke her thoughts.

The black Porsche had come to a sudden stop again.

The window lowered.

Vermouth raised a brow. Her face remained calm, but a flicker of surprise crossed her eyes.

Gin looked at her and said, irritation curling his lip, "Don't approach Ouzo or other members using that face. And don't show up around our spots looking like that—you'll attract those damn FBI agents."

Then the window rolled up again, and the car sped off.

This time, it didn't stop.

"…"

Vermouth stood still, caught in the cloud of exhaust, veins throbbing on her otherwise flawless forehead.

…

A few days later.

The Gomera Film Studio case wrapped up, as expected, and made it into the Detective Daily.

But unlike previous cases, the coverage was half-hearted. Late, rushed, and barely filled a third of a column.

They still used Jiangxia's photo and listed the "Amuro Detective Agency" as usual, but Amuro Tooru's name didn't appear. Not even once. No photo, no alias, nothing.

Jiangxia stared at it and guessed that Amuro Tooru must've had the article edited.

Undercover agents weren't supposed to become tabloid regulars. Imagine one of his police academy classmates seeing him in the paper, happily swinging by to say hello—only to get tailed by the Black Organization.

Big trouble.

At the moment, Jiangxia was lounging on the office sofa, idly spinning a pair of scissors. He stared at the article, which technically should've been credited to Vermouth, and hesitated—should he paste it into their case scrapbook?

Amuro Tooru happened to walk in just then—ostensibly to retrieve something. But ever since he encountered "Amuro Tooru" at the Gomera set, he'd been showing up almost daily, pretending to just check in and subtly asking whether Jiangxia had seen any "suspicious people" recently.

Now, hearing the snip-snip of scissors, Amuro came over.

He glanced at the paper.

The corner of his eye twitched. Barely.

"Throw it away," he said.

*Goal #1: Top 200 fanfics published within the last 31 - 90 days by POWER STONES.

Progress: 50/60(approx) for 10 BONUS CHAPTERS

Goal #2: One BONUS CHAPTER per review for the first 10 REVIEWS.

Progress:3/10*