Chapter 74: Dinner at the Mansion
"Mr. Morikawa, your well of information is suspiciously deep." Saguru Hakuba's sharp gaze locked onto the man, his tone polite but laced with unmistakable scrutiny. "I find myself quite curious about your true identity. How exactly do you know details that the parties involved have fought so bitterly to keep strictly confidential?"
Hakuba's suspicion of this stranger, who had seemingly materialized out of thin air, was growing by the second. As the son of the Superintendent General of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, he had access to top-secret files that most detectives could only dream of. Yet, even he was in the dark regarding the specifics of this mansion's bloody history—details Mr. Morikawa had just casually laid bare.
"As long as one lives long enough, one naturally comes to know many things." Shiro Morikawa offered a faint, unbothered smile, neatly sidestepping the detective's interrogation with a masterclass in evasion.
Hakuba's eyes narrowed slightly. Seeing the impenetrable calm on Morikawa's face, he realized pressing the issue would yield nothing but more riddles. He snapped his pocket watch shut with a sharp click, deciding to drop the subject for the time being.
The heavy mahogany doors of the dining room swung open, revealing a grand, dimly lit space. A long, polished oak table stretched across the center, already set with gleaming silver tableware and crystal glasses. In front of each setting rested an elegantly calligraphed nameplate.
However, the sophisticated atmosphere quickly gave way to awkwardness. Because Morikawa's arrival had been entirely unexpected, Shukuzen Ogami—the detective who had taken charge of the evening's culinary arrangements—had no idea there would be an extra mouth to feed.
Standing nervously near the wall, the maid, Aki Ishihara, wrung her hands. She bowed her head apologetically toward Morikawa. "I am so incredibly sorry, sir. I completely forgot to inform Mr. Ogami about our unexpected guest. We... we are short one serving."
The logistics of seating were easily remedied. Aki hurried to fetch an extra heavy wooden chair and a spare set of pristine silverware, placing them at the far end of the table. The food, however, was another matter entirely.
"Well, I can share a portion of my dinner with Morikawa," Natsume offered smoothly, her pragmatic nature taking over. Seeing the man looking momentarily downcast at the prospect of an empty plate, her protective instincts flared. "I'm a girl, so eating a bit less at night won't hurt me in the slightest."
Ran Mouri smiled warmly, nodding in agreement. "I don't have much of an appetite this evening anyway. I'd be more than happy to share some of mine as well."
Standing beside Ran, Conan felt a familiar twitch in his eyebrow. He glared up at the unknown man. No way am I letting this shady guy take Ran's dinner.
"Since I'm just a kid, I don't need to eat that much!" Conan piped up, his voice pitching into that perfectly innocent, childish register he used as a weapon. He flashed a wide, entirely fake smile. "I can share my portion with this uncle!"
Morikawa blinked, looking down at the bespectacled boy before turning to the two young women. He chuckled, waving off Natsume and Ran's generosity. "How could I, a grown man, possibly have the heart to take food from young ladies? It just so happens this kid is right—he can't eat that much anyway. I'll share with him. Skipping a few bites at night is no big deal."
Conan's smile froze, his eyes turning into flat half-moons. Oh, so you have a conscience when it comes to teenage girls, but you'll gladly steal a seven-year-old's dinner? Unbelievable.
With the dinner crisis averted, the group finally turned their collective attention to the head of the table. Sitting motionless in the high-backed chair was the host.
The figure was draped in a heavy, dark cloak, a deep hood pulled low over their head, swallowing their features in absolute shadow. Following the silent, eerie instructions of the setup, the detectives took their seats behind their respective nameplates.
Suddenly, a distorted, mechanical voice echoed through the room, stating the true purpose behind their invitations to the Twilight Mansion: they were here to find the legendary treasure hidden within its walls.
At the mention of 'treasure,' every head in the room swiveled toward Morikawa. He was, after all, the only person who had just provided a detailed history of that very same fortune.
Feeling the weight of their collective stares, Morikawa simply rested his chin on his steepled hands and offered them a pleasant, unreadable smile.
But before anyone could interrogate him further, the heavy silence of the mansion was shattered.
BOOM!
A violent explosion rocked the dining room. The floorboards trembled, and the crystal glasses rattled violently against the silver plates. Outside, a fiery orange glow illuminated the stained glass windows. To force the detectives into risking their lives for the treasure, the host had just detonated all of their parked cars—and blown the only bridge leading back to civilization straight to hell.
"Sigh, well, this is just great," Morikawa lamented, leaning back in his chair with a heavy exhale. "I was originally planning to just stay the night and head out by morning. Looks like my schedule is cleared."
Harushi Mogi leaned forward, his eyes sharp beneath his messy hair. "You don't seem very nervous for a man who just got trapped in a death game, Mr. Morikawa."
Morikawa met his gaze, his smile never wavering. "The bridge is gone and the cars are ash. It's already happened. What use is panic? Isn't it far more productive to sit down and find a solution?"
Mogi clicked his tongue, studying Morikawa's unnervingly calm expression for a long moment before falling silent.
As the dust settled, the group made a chilling discovery. The hooded host sitting at the head of the table wasn't a person at all. It was a lifeless mannequin rigged with a loudspeaker. The voice issuing the demands was nothing more than a pre-recorded cassette tape.
The mechanical voice droned on, finally addressing the bizarre signature stamped on their invitation letters: The Phantom of the Son Abandoned by God.
It was a riddle. A riddle that pointed directly to the Magician Under the Moonlight—Kaitou Kid.
The moment the phantom thief's name hung in the air, the detectives' eyes darted toward Morikawa, their suspicions flaring anew. Was this mysterious, overly knowledgeable stranger actually Kaitou Kid in disguise?
Even Conan was watching Morikawa like a hawk. Earlier, based on Kiyo Senma's sharp observation regarding Kogoro Mouri's unusually heavy smoking habits in the car, Conan had strongly suspected that 'Uncle Mouri' was Kid in disguise. But now, with this new, highly suspicious candidate sitting at the end of the table, Conan began to wonder if Morikawa was Kid's accomplice.
Across the table, Kiyo Senma's sharp, aged eyes darted between Morikawa and Kogoro, a similar theory forming in her mind.
"Kaitou Kid?" Morikawa mused aloud, his tone entirely nonchalant. "I heard he's a phantom thief who began his operations eighteen years ago, specializing in stealing priceless jewels. But he vanished without a trace eight years ago. If he's recently reappeared... then we must be dealing with the Second-Generation Kid."
"Brother Morikawa, do you know Kaitou Kid very well?" Conan asked, a layer of white light flashing across his glasses as he tilted his head, playing the curious child. "How do you know the current one is the second generation and not the original thief from eighteen years ago?"
Morikawa didn't miss a beat. "I happened to come across one of Kaitou Kid's heist scenes recently. If you listen to his voice, you can tell he's definitely no older than twenty. Eighteen years ago, he would have been in diapers. Naturally, he can't be the first generation."
He paused, tapping a finger thoughtfully against the table. "Besides, their methods are entirely different. The current Kid is incredibly flashy. He thrives on public attention, sometimes completely disregarding the collateral damage just for the sake of a grand performance—like blowing up a power station just to set a mood. Hmm... it's almost like a child who hasn't quite grown up yet, desperate to show off his new tricks."
Morikawa shrugged casually. "If I had to guess, the current Kid is likely an apprentice, or perhaps a son who inherited the mantle from the original."
Sitting a few seats away, 'Kogoro Mouri' felt a cold bead of sweat slide down his spine.
Who the hell is this guy?! Kid panicked internally, his heart hammering against his ribs. He's practically spelling out the entire truth! No, I can't let him keep talking. He's going to blow my cover!
"You certainly know an awful lot about him!" Kogoro suddenly roared, slamming his palms onto the table as he shot up from his chair. He pointed a dramatic, accusing finger directly at Morikawa. "Could it be that you are Kaitou Kid?!"
Morikawa didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He just sat there, staring dead into Kogoro's eyes for a long, agonizingly quiet moment.
"If you think so," Morikawa finally said, his voice dangerously soft, "then I am."
'Kogoro' swallowed hard, his confident facade cracking for a fraction of a second. Hey, hey, what's with that look? Why is he staring at me like that? Did he figure it out?!
Morikawa's non-committal, almost mocking admission left Kogoro entirely at a loss for words. Unable to formulate a proper comeback without breaking character, he awkwardly cleared his throat and sank back into his chair.
Right on cue, a timid knock echoed from the dining room door. Aki Ishihara entered, pushing a silver serving cart, prepared to serve the meal in the exact order the 'host' had instructed prior to the explosion.
Paranoia, however, had firmly taken root. Refusing to play into a potential murderer's script, the detectives quickly convened. They scrambled the seating arrangement, entirely abandoning their assigned nameplates. Taking it a step further, Hakuba withdrew a pristine white handkerchief, suggesting everyone thoroughly wipe down their utensils to prevent any risk of contact poison.
Once the tense, heavily scrutinized dinner concluded, the group sat in grim silence as the mannequin's loudspeaker clicked back to life. The scratchy audio tape began to recount the horrific, blood-soaked tragedy that had occurred within the mansion's walls following Renya Karasuma's death.
As the gruesome details filled the room, the detectives exchanged subtle glances. Fortunately, the tape provided several dark details that Morikawa hadn't mentioned earlier. If it had been a perfect repetition, sitting through the story twice would have been agonizing.
More, this discrepancy finally began to shift the scales. The detectives slowly realized that Morikawa likely had no true connection to the host; if he were the mastermind, he wouldn't have spoiled his own dramatic reveal by sharing the mansion's history in advance.
However, as they glanced at the calm, smiling man sitting at the end of the table, one question remained stubbornly lodged in their minds. He might not be the host... but whether he had a connection to Kaitou Kid was still very much up for debate.
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