Chapter 63 BOOM!

Mouri Ran hesitatingly took the boxing gloves. She was no amateur—wouldn't hitting this thing feel a bit like bullying it?

Still, if it could help relieve some stress...

She put on the gloves, stared at the red target area in the center, and slowly imagined it as Kudou Shinichi's face.

"Shinichi!" she shouted with a fierce roar, startling Conan, who had been glaring unpleasantly at Nakajima Hideaki. "Just where in the world did you run off to, you jerk!"

"Thump!" The sponge-packed target emitted a muffled thud. The machine froze for two or three seconds as if jammed, a blazing red "400" flashed across the display, and a heavy, triumphant march began to play.

Nakajima Hideaki, who had been planning to wait for the high school girl to throw a feeble punch before stepping in with a gentle, patronizing demonstration: "!!!"

"400..." Takeshita Hironobu swallowed hard. "That's the absolute limit of the machine!"

Mouri Ran let out a breath, happily unbuckled the gloves, and handed them to Karasawa. "I feel so much better! There, it's your turn, Karasawa."

Suzuki Sonoko clapped her hands, cheering for her best friend's stellar performance. "I knew Ran could do it! Karasawa, there's no way you can win this now!"

Karasawa cast a peculiar look at the gloves, then gave an equally strange glance at Conan, who was still deeply shaken by Mouri Ran's outburst, and slowly slipped his hands into the gear.

Conan was still trembling slightly, intimidated by Mouri Ran's world-shattering punch.

She was so furious. If he were standing right there taking that blow...

Before he could escape from his gory fantasies of being beaten to a pulp, he noticed Karasawa's expression, which looked suspiciously like he was holding back laughter.

Huh? Why was he... Ah! Conan slapped his palm against his forehead, a sorrowful expression on his face as he poked Suzuki Sonoko.

"What is it?" Suzuki Sonoko asked, lowering her head in confusion.

"Karasawa... big brother told me last time," Conan said, turning his head away because he couldn't bear to watch, "he actually practices kickboxing."

"Thump!"

The moment his words fell, Karasawa threw a punch that struck the target dead center.

Another brief jam, another blindingly red "400". A staff member walked over looking troubled, eyeing the target that had suffered consecutive brutal hits and was now showing visible deformation in its sponge padding, wondering if they should replace it right then and there.

"It's a tie," Karasawa said, walking back with a mild smile. "To be fair, though, this isn't entirely equal. My strength probably isn't as formidable as Miss Mouri's, and I haven't been training that long. Still, these arcade machines have a capped limit anyway; no matter how hard you hit past a certain point, it won't register higher. I definitely caught a break here."

"Ahahaha..." Suzuki Sonoko offered a dry laugh, having failed her bid for a comeback.

"Aren't you guys going to give it a try?" Karasawa handed the gloves over to Suzuki Sonoko.

"Um, I—I need to use the restroom." The sweat brought on by Mouri Ran's terrifying display had yet to dry. Conan glanced left and right, deciding he needed to go wash his face.

Here it comes. Karasawa's ears twitched slightly. He stepped forward, took Conan by the hand, and said, "The convention hall is huge. A little kid shouldn't be wandering around alone. I'll go with you."

Mouri Ran nodded.

She and Suzuki Sonoko were both girls, so it was much more convenient for Karasawa to accompany him. The exchange felt entirely natural, and she was actually quite relieved to have Karasawa around; otherwise, this little monkey Conan would easily run off and disappear again.

Nakajima Hideaki, who was still feeling shocked and awkward due to Mouri Ran's terrifying display of martial prowess, eagerly stepped forward at those words. "The restrooms in this hall are a bit secluded. Since I need to head that way myself, I can show you the way."

Karasawa glanced at the hand Nakajima had tucked into his pocket, gripping something hidden away, and smiled faintly. "Then I'll have to trouble you, Mr. Nakajima."

Nakajima Hideaki took the lead as a self-appointed guide, while Karasawa held Conan's hand and followed close behind. The two of them whispered quietly to each other.

"This is terrifying. It's way too scary..."

"Relax. Considering you're currently in the body of a kid, she'll probably pull her punches a little."

"That only makes it scarier! I can never let her find out the truth. People will die."

"Is there really a difference? Whether you change back or not, a punch like that would kill you either way."

Nakajima Hideaki paid no attention to their murmurs; his focus was entirely fixed on the corridor ahead.

An exceptionally tall, burly man wearing a bowler hat came striding toward them from the opposite direction, plowing straight into Nakajima Hideaki without the slightest attempt to step aside.

"Ah, that hurts..." Nakajima Hideaki, who was even shorter than Karasawa, was predictably knocked off balance and tumbled to the floor, clutching the waist that had slammed against the ground.

Conan and Karasawa cut off their conversation and turned their heads in unison to stare at the man in black.

The stranger walked on with his gaze fixed straight ahead, as if completely oblivious to the person he had just knocked down.

Yes! Oh yeah! It's Tequila! Karasawa felt a surge of excitement at having completed another checkbox on his mental itinerary.

Was that guy easily two meters tall...? Wait, black clothes! Conan instantly recalled Joker's message, his body tensing up tight as a spring.

Left completely ignored, Nakajima Hideaki grimaced in pain for a moment before hauling himself back up off the floor.

Karasawa blinked, delayed by a fraction of a second before looking down at him with a faux-sympathetic expression. "Are you alright, Mr. Nakajima? That guy didn't even say sorry. How rude."

Conan's gaze had turned razor-sharp. He squeezed Karasawa's hand tightly.

Karasawa understood the signal, lowering his gaze to exchange a quick, knowing look with the boy. He then pointed toward a vending machine at the other end of the corridor. "I actually need to grab some water anyway. I'll head over to the vending machine first... The restrooms are that way, right? I already saw the sign."

Nakajima Hideaki, feeling slightly baffled by the duo's sudden dismissal, was nonetheless relieved. He clutched the numbered tag that had been shoved into his palm during their collision, his heart racing with excitement at the thought of the large sum of cash he was about to receive. He nodded and parted ways with them.

"Is he connected to those people?" Keeping a safe distance behind the man, Karasawa lowered his voice only when he was certain they were out of earshot.

Conan nodded heavily. "Everything about him—his style of dress, his aura—bears a strong resemblance."

"Let's see what he's up to first."

The two of them followed the corridor along, naturally drifting in the direction of the vending machines.

The convention hall's corridors linked the exits and entrances, wrapping around the perimeter of the entire venue. This particular end led straight back to where they had entered that morning. Tequila walked up to the coat check counter and handed his numbered tag to the attendant.

"Tag number 98, please wait a moment." The attendant smiled sweetly and turned to walk toward the corresponding locker.

"Number 98," Karasawa said in a low voice. "That's not right. This morning, Miss Mouri's tag was number 100."

He pulled his own claim check from his pocket; the plastic tag had "96" printed on it.

"Between me and Miss Mouri, there were only those three employees from Mantoa." Karasawa's expression turned grave.

With years of investigative experience under his belt, Conan caught on almost immediately after receiving that subtle prompt. "He swapped his tag with one of them! That's a classic underground tradecraft technique!"

Tequila took the briefcase bearing the Mantoa logo and turned around.

The two of them pivoted to face the vending machine. Conan brushed a hand against his lapel, peeled off a button-shaped wiretap sticker, and pressed it into Karasawa's palm.

Karasawa understood instantly. As Tequila walked past behind them, Karasawa lifted his hand as if hesitating over which drink to choose, and with a casual wave, the small sticker quietly adhered itself to Tequila's back.

To avoid discovery, they refrained from tailing him any further. Instead, they found a seat near the entrance partially obscured by a decorative potted plant. Conan fired up the receiving program on his glasses and waited quietly in silence.

First came the sound of steady footsteps, followed by a faint electronic beep.

"He's making a call," Conan frowned deeply.

"Hey, it's me, Tequila," came the heavy, thick Kansai accent through the receiver. "The deal is done."

Conan clenched his fists. Just as he suspected, Tequila had used a swapped coat-check tag to complete a transaction with one of those three men!

"Don't worry, there won't be any problems, Vodka... Tell Gin that I'll rendezvous with you guys before evening... I've got the goods, and I'll inspect them myself. That's it, hanging up."

Tequila, Vodka, Gin...

A string of code names tumbled from his lips. Conan's eyes lit up. He activated the receiver built into his glasses and tugged at Karasawa's sleeve. "Let's go. The signal on this tracker isn't strong enough if we stay too far apart. They're meeting up this afternoon—let's follow them and see what happens!"

Karasawa had no objections and stood up without a single shred of psychological burden.

Knowing full well what was about to transpire, he calmly walked back into the corridor alongside Conan.

"Huh? It won't open?" Through the wiretap, Tequila's puzzled self-talk suddenly filtered through. "Ah, wait, looks like it's unlocking..."

*Click!* The sound of a latch springing open.

"Huh?! Aah!" Tequila's cry of startled disbelief.

*BOOM—!* A deafening explosion erupted simultaneously through the wiretap and from the restrooms ahead.

A fierce wall of explosive fire and billowing smoke instantly choked the entire corridor. The shockwave forced Karasawa to steady himself against the nearby wall, while instinctively reaching out to catch an off-balance Conan.

"Cough, cough, cough..."

"What was that!"

"An explosion! Where did it—"

Conan raised his head in shock, ignoring the acrid smoke choking the hallway, and charged headlong toward the source of the blast.