Karasawa's head hung low, chestnut hair falling in a soft curtain that completely veiled his face. No one in front of him could make out his expression.
Sonoko Suzuki tugged on Ran Mouri's sleeve, half-whispering with bubbling excitement. "Ran, is he... is he imitating your dad? You know, like that whole 'Sleeping Kogoro' routine? Look at him—he's totally got the vibe! 'The Sleeping Karasawa Akira'… damn, that's hot!"
"Sonoko…" Ran caught her friend's wrist mid-reach as she fumbled for her phone. No way was she letting this rabid fangirl snap a photo right now.
Behind Karasawa, Conan crouched low, slipping seamlessly into full analysis mode.
"The killer was recreating the composition of the painting Divine Retribution. They deliberately murdered the victim across from it and cleared all the adjacent artworks in advance. That, along with the fact that the killer moved around wearing the suit of armor on display, makes it clear—the culprit is someone intimately familiar with the layout of the museum. A staff member."
Inspector Megure stroked his chin, following the line of reasoning. "But if they know the place so well, why commit the murder in full view of the security cameras? Someone working here would have access to blind spots—or could've just covered the lens."
"I think the killer wanted to be seen," Conan explained from behind the ladder, adjusting his bowtie's dial to match Karasawa's voice. "They wanted the footage to validate the piece of paper in the victim's hand… to sell the illusion that it was a suicide note. That's why they left the recording behind. Inspector, if you examine that paper under light, you'll notice something—horizontal scratch marks across the handwriting."
Megure did as instructed, peering through the evidence bag. "You're right… there are a lot of horizontal marks over the name. Wait—don't tell me…"
"Exactly. What the victim really wanted to do was scratch that name out. He wasn't writing it—he was erasing it."
"But the pen matches the ink and stroke style," Megure pointed out, producing another evidence bag. "Initial tests suggest the pen used to write that name is the very one found at the scene."
"That may be true… but it wasn't the last pen the victim held. It couldn't have been. The pen was clicked shut when we found it. Who takes the time to retract the nib before dying? And the killer, as the footage shows, never touched the pen. After that, only we entered the room—until the police arrived and rounded everyone up."
Conan peeked around the ladder. "Which means… the real pen—the one that didn't write—is still on the killer. Right now."
He reached out from between the ladder rails, trying to nudge Karasawa's hand into pointing.
But… there was nothing there.
Conan froze. His pulse jumped. Slowly, he tilted his head upward.
Karasawa was moving.
He was standing up.
What the hell? How is he awake already?!
Conan panicked. He scrambled out of sight, ducking behind a nearby display cabinet. No way he could stay behind the ladder if Karasawa stood up—he'd be spotted immediately.
But Karasawa didn't look confused. Didn't blink around like someone who just blacked out mid-case. He simply walked, calm and deliberate, straight toward Director Ochiai.
With a gloved hand, he reached into the man's inner pocket and pulled out a pen—identical to the one in the evidence bag.
"The nib's still retracted. Seems like you didn't even have time to click it out. Must've been in a real hurry, huh?" Karasawa's tone was composed, almost polite. "Say, do you think we'll find the victim's fingerprints on this?"
All eyes turned to the old director, faces stiff with shock.
Except Conan—his jaw hung open, staring at Karasawa.
"...You're absolutely right, child," Ochiai said softly. He leaned on his cane, eyes heavy with weary resignation.
The officers who had been surrounding Kuwata immediately pivoted, stepping toward the director. Megure accepted the pen from Karasawa, tested it against his notebook—and nothing. No ink. Just as they suspected.
That note hadn't been a suicide letter.
It was a staged setup. The name "Kuwata" wasn't written by the victim—it was left there to frame him.
"Do you have an alibi for the time of death?" Megure asked, though his tone had shifted—he was already signaling his men to ready the cuffs.
"I was wearing that suit of armor," Ochiai answered, gesturing toward the knight's plate metal. "Standing right here, waiting for Mr. Manaka to arrive. Waiting to reenact the scene—just like in Divine Retribution."
"To make it perfect, I practiced. Every angle. Every step. I studied the camera placements, predicted his movements."
"So the rumors about the armor walking at night—those were you rehearsing for the murder?" Megure breathed.
Karasawa blinked.
...God damn. You Conan villains are something else. So courteous. So well-prepared. So... oddly forthcoming.
Still, he played along.
"Was it because he planned to tear down the museum and turn it into a restaurant? And you chose to frame Kuwata because of the way he secretly sold off exhibits? Because he didn't respect the art?"
Ochiai's eyes glowed with heat as he surveyed the hall. "Since the day this museum was built, I've been its curator. Every piece in here… they're like my children. I couldn't bear to see them desecrated."
"But you're not some noble knight slaying devils. You're just a murderer," Megure cut in coldly. "You're under arrest."
"The knight in the painting," Ochiai murmured, "he's already knee-deep in blood. That's the true meaning of Divine Retribution." His gaze met Karasawa's. "Which is why… it's fitting that my judgment came at the hands of children. It's what I deserve."
Karasawa knew exactly what the old man meant: children, plural. Not just him—him and Conan. The only two who would catch the implication of that phrasing.
He glanced back at Conan, who was now frozen against a wall, face pale.
Conan was sweating harder than Kuwata had when he was about to be wrongfully arrested. The realization hit him hard—Karasawa had figured out the killer too. He was going to reveal the truth even without being prompted. He'd taken that step forward just before being shot with the tranquilizer.
So I didn't even need to use the dart?! Oh no—if Karasawa says something now... if he tells Ran... I'm screwed!
But Karasawa merely spared him a glance, then turned away.
He walked up to Megure and said, "This case is pretty elaborate. The crime scene is intense. The rumors surrounding the walking armor—it'll be big news. Could I ask you something, sir? Please don't mention my name to the press."
"Why not?" Megure blinked. "Your deduction was spot-on. This is the kind of case that'll make headlines. You've got real talent, Karasawa-kun. You're cut out to be a detective. It's only right we give credit where it's due."
Another one?! The inspector thought with a twinge of hope. Kudo's vanished, and now we get this sharp new face. What a gift!
But Karasawa leaned close and whispered something in Megure's ear.
The inspector's brows knit, then shot up. He looked Karasawa up and down again with new pity in his eyes, then patted him on the shoulder.
"I understand. Alright—I'll respect your wishes. We won't release your name."
Conan, still braced against the wall like a frog in a dissection lab, tried to read their lips. What the hell did he just say to him? I want to know too!
But his thoughts were cut off.
Because Karasawa turned, eyes locked on him.
Step by step, he walked toward the boy, smiling faintly.
Conan backed away. One foot. Two. Until he was pinned flat against the wall like he'd just been crucified by a divine sword.
In that moment, he knew with perfect clarity—
This time, I'm the one being skewered.