As evening settled in, the drama shoot wrapped up, and the crew at Beika Shrine began packing up.
Meanwhile, Shingo Nachi, the self-proclaimed heartthrob, continued to radiate his charm.
Tsuneo and Conan, one tall, one small, crouched off to the side, watching the spectacle.
"Detective, I've got a feeling someone's gonna die," Tsuneo said, munching on a sandwich and offering his sage prediction.
"I'm not getting that vibe…" Conan muttered, propping up his chin, unimpressed.
Nachi was busy flirting with Miss Myoko, the scriptwriter. Was he the one about to die?
Heh, maybe her fiancé, that assistant director Yuji Shimazaki with the lovesick grin, would do him in?
The set's atmosphere was all laughs and chatter. Conan dismissed Tsuneo's words as nonsense.
"Hey, you two, stop getting in the way!"
A jarring voice cut through from behind. Before Conan or Tsuneo could turn, the speaker rudely shoved them with his knees.
Conan toppled forward, eating dirt in a spectacular faceplant.
Tsuneo was fine, but his half-eaten sandwich slipped from its wrapper, bread, beef, and veggies scattering across the ground with a splat.
Tsuneo turned, his gaze icy, locking onto the tall man who'd mocked Miss Myoko after setting down his camera.
Well, well, well—looks like no one's dying after all!
"Conan, you okay?" Ran rushed over, pulling him up from the ground.
That was way too rough—how could someone knee a kid like that?!
"I'm fine," Conan said, shaking his head. He glanced at the ruined sandwich, then at Tsuneo's expression, a bad feeling creeping in.
Who knows what this guy might do when someone trashes his food.
The pint-sized reaper watched Mr. Anzai, the guy who'd knocked him over, bragging to the crew about a skull-shaped watch he'd bought abroad.
Conan cursed inwardly.
You've got nothing better to do than mess with him?
Their spot was a good meter from the equipment. "Getting in the way"? That was just an excuse.
"Heh, Ran, tell Yoko and the old man I'm heading out," Tsuneo said, tossing the empty sandwich wrapper and grabbing his tool bag with a smile.
"Oh, sure," Ran said, watching him descend the shrine steps. She crouched down, puzzled. "Conan, what's up with Tsuneo?"
The crew was having a wrap party later—skipping it was odd.
As a friend personally invited by Yoko Okino, Tsuneo had every right to join.
"No clue," Conan said, shaking his head.
In his memory, aside from his mom, no one had ever gotten the better of Tsuneo…
Mr. Anzai, you're in deep trouble!
That's what he thought, but Conan didn't dwell on it. At worst, Anzai might get a spanking…
…
Nightfall.
Tokyo.
In a dimly lit alley behind a bar's back door.
A few young punks smoked, chatting about their latest gigs.
"That wallet I swiped yesterday had seven or eight ten-thousand-yen bills!" a scrawny guy with yellow hair boasted.
"Nice! No wonder you're so generous today."
"C'mon, we gotta do another round later!"
His buddies, hearing their pal struck it rich, clamored for more drinks.
"No problem, let's keep the party going!" Yellow Hair declared, ready to lead his crew to another spot.
"Mind if I join?"
Suddenly, a dark figure leaned against the bar's back door, grinning as he spoke.
"Who the hell are you?!"
"Looking for trouble?"
"Get lost, you're an eyesore!"
Two of the drunker guys pointed and cursed, but Yellow Hair, still sober enough, caught sight of the figure's outfit and felt his mouth go dry.
"No, no way!"
"Run!"
Yellow Hair shouted in panic, spinning to flee through the other end of the alley.
In all of Tokyo, among the lowlifes like them, one figure struck fear above most.
The man in black, prowling the night—top of the list in Beika Town.
The Dark Knight!
Cross him, and it's not just a trip to the station—you're laid up in a hospital bed for two or three months!
"Cruel" didn't even begin to describe him.
"Oh?"
"If you're off to drink, take me along!"
At the other end of the alley, a mysterious figure in a motorcycle helmet chuckled.
Clearly, they were here to block the way too.
Yellow Hair glanced left and right, made a snap decision, and waved. "This way!"
He led the charge toward the motorcyclist, four or five punks yelling as they followed.
"Talk about being underestimated," the mysterious figure said, clenching their fists in a boxing stance.
As it turned out, there was no need for them to hide their identity—their skills were more than enough.
In under a minute, the punks were sprawled across the ground.
In the dim alley, under the flickering light by the bar's door, two unidentified figures stood face-to-face, meters apart.
After a few seconds of staring, they both let out a knowing laugh and charged, fists flying.
Thud!
Their punches collided.
They broke apart instantly, neither pressing the attack, just standing there, sizing each other up.
Yellow Hair, lying on the ground, wanted to bolt but didn't dare. He squinted, terrified that standing up would earn him a double beatdown.
"Too many flies in your choice of spot," Tsuneo said, glancing at the groaning punks.
Going too easy on them wasn't good—left room for slip-ups.
"Follow me," Tooru Amuro said, turning and heading out of the alley.
"I've got your faces memorized. Turn yourselves in at the station, got it?" Tsuneo leaned down toward Yellow Hair.
"Got it, got it!"
Yellow Hair, feeling like a ferocious beast had him in its sights, shuddered and nodded frantically.
"Heh, the Dark Knight, huh?" Amuro glanced back at the scene, chuckling.
Yellow Hair watched the two terrors disappear into the darkness, one after the other, and finally exhaled.
He scrambled for a phone he'd stolen recently and dialed.
"Hello, I need to report a crime!"
"No, no, I mean I'm turning myself in."
"Yes, please send a police car quick!" Yellow Hair glanced at his fallen buddies and added, "Two! We need two cars here!"
(End of Chapter)
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