The courtroom was solemn and silent, its bright lights blazing down like the judgment of heaven itself—symbols of law and justice. The judge sat high above the rest, the prosecution and defense positioned on either side, with the accused enclosed within the railing facing the jury.
Satou, now the defendant, sat quietly behind the bars. Her face was pale but calm, her gaze fixed forward as the room filled with tension thick enough to choke on.
Everyone had arrived. The trial could finally begin.
"Hey, hey… Eri's gonna be okay, right?" Kogoro Mouri muttered anxiously. Despite his gruff tone, his worry was plain. After all, if the so-called "Undefeated Queen" lost this case, it would ruin her reputation—and her firm's business would surely plummet.
"Mom will be fine," Ran whispered, folding her hands in prayer. Her voice trembled slightly, but she held her faith.
Neither of them realized they were worrying about the wrong person. The woman seated in the defense's place wasn't Kisaki Eri at all. It was Kaitou Kid, perfectly disguised, sitting there in her stead.
As the prosecutor laid out the case, detailing Satou's confession and presenting each piece of evidence—the weapon, the forensics, the timeline—it became painfully clear to everyone that this was an open-and-shut case. The only question left was: how much of a sentence reduction could the famous Undefeated Queen win for her client? That was the best possible outcome anyone could hope for.
Kogoro sighed and shook his head. "Must be age catching up with her," he muttered. The evidence was overwhelming—what miracle could even Eri pull off here? Still, part of him was already rehearsing what he'd say afterward to comfort her. Maybe I'll take her out for dinner… that fancy restaurant we used to go to before we got married…
Inspector Megure sat stiffly, arms crossed, his face drawn. One glance at the judge and jury told him all he needed to know. The verdict was practically decided already. Satou was doomed. The only question was how many years Eri could shave off her sentence.
At the defendant's bench, Takagi sat frozen. Regret gnawed at him. If only I hadn't turned her in… if I'd done nothing, maybe none of this would have happened. But it was far too late for "if."
Prosecutor Kujo Reiko concluded her statement with icy precision, then turned toward the judge.
"Prosecution rests."
The judge nodded and looked toward the defense table. "Defense attorney, please present your argument."
Finally, it was time.
Kogoro and Ran both straightened, their nerves taut.
"Here it comes…"
Kaitou Kid—still perfectly disguised as Kisaki Eri—rose slowly from the defense table. With calm, deliberate steps, she walked to the center of the courtroom and turned to face the bench.
"Your Honor. Members of the jury. Prosecutor Kujo," she began, her voice firm and measured. After the formal greeting, her tone rang out clearly under the courtroom lights.
"As the defense attorney in this case, I hereby state—my client, Satou Miwako, is innocent. Therefore, I will be entering a plea of not guilty."
The words struck like thunder.
The entire courtroom froze. For several seconds, no one even breathed. Then the murmurs started—first disbelief, then confusion, then outright shock.
A not guilty plea? For a case with overwhelming evidence and a full confession? Was she insane?
Even Prosecutor Kujo blinked, stunned, before narrowing her eyes. Eri, what the hell are you doing? They'd known each other for years—friends, rivals, colleagues. But this? This was madness. With evidence this solid, even a sentence reduction was a stretch. A full acquittal? Impossible.
The judge and jury both looked startled.
"Defense counsel," the judge asked slowly, "do you possess any new evidence that might change the facts of the case?"
Of course not.
Everyone could see the answer written on her face.
Kid—disguised as Eri—fell silent for a moment.
From the defendant's seat, Satou's heart clenched. She knew the truth—she knew "Eri" wasn't really Eri, but Kaitou Kid. And she couldn't believe it. That the world's most elusive thief would go this far for her. That he would risk everything to defend her.
But in her heart, she whispered, It's no use. No matter what you say, the facts won't change. I'm guilty. I pulled the trigger.
"Has she lost her mind?" Kogoro blurted out, leaping from his seat. "How can she plead not guilty?!"
Even Conan was speechless. This wasn't the Kisaki Eri he knew. That brilliant, razor-tongued lawyer who never lost her composure—this was something else entirely. What's going on here?
"Counselor," the judge repeated, "do you have any new evidence to submit?"
Kid snapped back to reality. For a moment, he wondered if it was still possible to bribe someone mid-trial. The pressure was crushing—Satou hadn't given him an inch to work with, and he had no cards left to play.
"Your Honor," he said finally, forcing confidence into his voice, "I have no new physical evidence. However, what I wish to say today concerns every single person in this courtroom."
He almost blurted out, Because my client suffers from intermittent dissociative disorder—she couldn't control her actions! But even in his own head, it sounded ridiculous. He knew that argument wouldn't convince anyone.
"Please continue," the judge said, curious despite himself.
"Then allow me to begin from seven years ago…" Kid—still acting as Eri—launched into a detailed recounting of the bomber's background, his history, his victims, his crimes.
"Objection!" Kujo Reiko rose sharply. "The defense's statement is irrelevant to the case at hand!"
"How can you call it irrelevant," Kid shot back smoothly, "when the bomber is the victim in this case?"
The courtroom went silent again, the air thick with tension.
For the first time in the entire trial, the unshakable Prosecutor Kujo hesitated.
And Kaitou Kid—standing there under the glaring lights in Eri's face and voice—smiled faintly.
The game had finally begun.
"The objection is overruled," the judge said calmly. "Defense counsel, please keep your statement brief and get to the point."
In truth, Kaitou Kid had already gone through countless strategies before this trial began. But once he stepped into the courtroom, he realized none of them would actually work. Here, clever tricks and witty arguments meant nothing. Courtrooms ran on evidence and the letter of the law.
Even if Satou had shot in the heat of the moment, even if it was a tragic mistake, she had still taken a life. And to make it worse, the reason she pulled the trigger was personal—revenge for her first love. No matter how he twisted it, it wouldn't hold up. No one here would listen to excuses like that.
Still disguised as Kisaki Eri, Kid laid out the entire record of the bomber's crimes, every atrocity he had committed. People in the courtroom nodded grimly—yes, the bomber had deserved to die—but even that couldn't erase Satou's crime. It was still a case of a police officer killing a suspect without due process.
As Kid spoke, it became clearer to him that following the "proper" legal route was a dead end. The system wasn't designed for miracles.
The judge listened patiently, then frowned slightly. "Defense attorney, if you have no new evidence to present, we will move directly to deliberation and verdict."
Whispers rippled through the courtroom. Everyone familiar with Kisaki Eri was puzzled. This wasn't her style. The legendary undefeated queen of the legal world—today, she seemed… off. She'd been rambling, circling around the same points without ever striking at the heart of the issue. To claim she would defend Satou as innocent in a case this airtight—it almost sounded desperate.
At this rate, Satou was doomed to a heavy sentence.
"Wait," Kid suddenly said. "I have a witness."
The courtroom stirred again.
"Then call the witness to the stand," the judge instructed, though he gave Kid a long, assessing look. Something about her—him—wasn't quite right today.
Kid clasped his hands together. "My witness hasn't arrived yet. I request a recess."
The judge hesitated, glanced toward the prosecution, then gave a short nod. "Very well. The court will recess for two hours. Defense counsel, I trust your witness will arrive within that time."
"They'll make it," Kid said confidently, bowing.
The gavel struck once.
[Recess declared.]
The courtroom exhaled in unison, tension spilling out into the open. For everyone watching, the case felt hopeless. The so-called Undefeated Queen was losing her edge, and even her charisma couldn't disguise that.
"Attorney Kisaki," said Kujo Reiko, her voice cool and cutting as she approached. "Your performance today was… disappointing. I expected more from you." She crossed her arms, her sharp eyes flashing with restrained frustration. "If I beat you like this, there's no sense of victory at all."
"Ha ha," Kid chuckled dryly, rubbing the back of his neck. Inside, he was groaning. You think I'm not frustrated too? I'm improvising on fumes here! But he kept a straight face and nodded politely. "I'll do my best not to let you down next round."
"I hope so," Reiko replied. "Maybe after the break, the real Kisaki Eri will show up again." With that, she turned and strode away.
As soon as she was gone, Ran hurried over. "Mom! Are you okay? This case seems really tough…"
"It's beyond tough—it's impossible," muttered Kogoro as he followed her. He tried to sound dismissive, but the crease between his brows betrayed him. No matter how much he pretended not to care, the worry was written all over his face.
Kid—still in disguise—felt a shiver run down his spine under Kogoro's stare. Yikes. That's the last person I want looking at me right now. He deliberately turned away.
"Why are you two even here?" he asked with mock annoyance.
"Mom, what are you saying?" Ran protested. "Of course we'd come! It's such an important case!" She hesitated, then added softly, "But… what happens next? Is Officer Satou really going to have to go to prison?"
Kid gave a faint smile. "Don't worry. I still have one last card to play. If nothing else works… I'll use that."
Ran blinked. "A last card? What kind of card?"
Kid adjusted his glasses and looked toward the empty witness stand, eyes gleaming faintly beneath the courtroom lights.
"The kind," he said quietly, "that never fails."