After being arrested, Tomokazu Yamashita proved surprisingly stubborn, refusing to admit any wrongdoing despite the mounting evidence.
"Tomokazu Yamashita, we found a water bottle containing a significant amount of stimulants in your car," Inspector Megure stated firmly, sliding a photograph across the metal table. "Someone filmed you giving this bottle to Saionji to drink. We have all the evidence we need—that's why you're sitting here."
The photo clearly showed the water bottle marked with the number "one" that had been discovered in the suspect's vehicle.
"Officer, I have no idea what you're talking about," Yamashita replied with an infuriating calm. "How could there be a water bottle in my car? Besides, I was unconscious after Master Fujiwara and Master Saionji's accident. My car door wasn't even properly closed, and with all that chaos..." He shrugged dismissively. "Anyone could have planted something there."
Megure's jaw tightened. This wasn't going according to plan. "We extracted your fingerprints from that bottle, Yamashita. Still want to deny it?"
A cold smile spread across the suspect's face as he leaned back in his chair. "Then let me ask you something, Officer. You claim I gave that bottle to Master Saionji. If that's true, his fingerprints should be on it too, shouldn't they?"
The question hung in the air like a challenge. Megure saw the contempt and disdain flickering in Yamashita's eyes—this man had clearly prepared for every angle of questioning. The lack of Saionji's fingerprints on the bottle was indeed a significant gap in their evidence.
"If you cooperate and tell us the truth, the charges against you could be reduced during trial," Megure tried, switching tactics.
"Officer, whether I'm guilty or innocent should be proven by evidence, not assumptions," Yamashita replied with maddening composure. "As a police officer, surely you understand this basic principle of justice?"
Megure felt his frustration mounting. When had he last encountered such a defiant criminal? It had been years—before Kudo Shinichi appeared on the scene, before the sleeping Kogoro began his legendary deductions. Back then, when the Metropolitan Police relied solely on their own investigative skills, criminals like this were more common. Now, after years of having brilliant detectives wrap up cases with dramatic revelations that led to tearful confessions, facing someone this prepared felt almost foreign.
"I'll give you some time to think it over," Megure said finally, moving toward the door.
But as his hand touched the handle, Yamashita's arrogant voice followed him: "Officer, why don't you take some time to think instead? Because when your twenty-four hours are up, you'll have to release me anyway."
The sheer audacity made Megure's blood boil. Not only was this man refusing to confess, he was actually taunting the police within the walls of Metropolitan Police headquarters.
SLAM!
Megure's anger got the better of him as he slammed the interrogation room door.
"Megure, since that guy wants to play hardball, just leave him to me," came a voice from behind him. A man with somewhat feminine features approached, his smile not reaching his eyes. "I have plenty of methods to make him talk."
Megure hesitated, his conscience warring with the pressure he was under.
"Superintendent Hakuba issued direct orders," the man continued. "We need a confession within twenty-four hours. If we don't get one, it won't just be you and me in hot water—the entire Metropolitan Police Department will look incompetent from day one of this case."
After a long internal struggle, Megure made his decision. "Give me twenty hours, Taiga. If I can't find concrete evidence by then, he's yours."
Taiga shook his head. "Too long. Eighteen hours, maximum. After that, I take over the interrogation directly."
"Fine." Megure agreed immediately, then cast one last glance through the interrogation room window at Yamashita. "You'd better pray I find evidence within eighteen hours, Yamashita. Because once Taiga takes over, you won't be nearly as comfortable as you are now."
The Metropolitan Police had developed specialized techniques for handling stubborn suspects like this. Taiga was particularly skilled at obtaining confessions without leaving any evidence of coercion—his methods were psychological rather than physical, but devastatingly effective.
Back in the main office, Megure gathered his team along with Gustave and Conan. The tension in the room was palpable as he clapped his hands for attention.
"I just finished with the interrogation. Tomokazu Yamashita refuses to admit guilt, so we have exactly eighteen hours to find new evidence that will break this case wide open!"
"Understood!" his officers responded in unison, immediately dispersing to their workstations with renewed urgency.
Gustave and Conan remained behind, both deep in thought as they watched the flurry of activity around them.
"So, any brilliant insights?" Conan asked, adjusting his glasses with a slight frown. While he had successfully deduced Yamashita's complete method of committing the crime, the frustrating lack of concrete evidence was giving him a headache.
"Let me think..." Gustave rested his chin on his hand, methodically reviewing every detail of the incident. After a moment, his eyes lit up. "Why don't we approach this from a different angle? Let's focus on Yamashita's motive. From what we heard in that recording, Takuya Fujiwara clearly despises people who use underhanded tricks to help him win. For Yamashita to risk everything by attacking Saionji, there has to be something deeper driving him."
Conan snapped his fingers. "Of course! The motive—how could I overlook something so fundamental?"
"First, we can rule out simple financial gain," Conan began, pacing as his detective mind engaged. "Yamashita isn't hurting for money. His father served the Fujiwara family loyally for decades, and now he's serving the next generation. Despite being 'just' a butler, his father held significant influence within the Fujiwara Group. Between his annual salary and dividends, he probably earns more than most small company presidents."
Gustave held up a hand. "Hold on. That's all surface-level information. I've seen plenty of cases where people appear wealthy and successful on the outside but are drowning in debt privately. Appearances can be deceiving."
"You're absolutely right," Conan conceded. "Looks can definitely be misleading."
"So here's what we need to do," Gustave said, patting Conan on the head with just enough force to be annoying. "Get me access to a computer so I can trace Yamashita's recent financial transactions."
"I get it already!" Conan glared at the chef, rubbing his head irritably. He'd lost count of how many times Gustave had done that, and he was starting to suspect it was affecting his ability to think clearly.
Taking advantage of his small size and the connections he'd built within the Metropolitan Police, Conan quickly procured a computer for Gustave's use.
What the young detective didn't realize was that Gustave's request for a computer was merely for show. His real advantage lay in his Rumble-Rumble Fruit abilities—with his electromagnetic powers, posing as a computer expert was child's play.
As Conan watched, Gustave appeared to be typing rapidly on the keyboard, fingers dancing across the keys with practiced efficiency. In reality, he was extending his consciousness through the internet infrastructure itself, his electrical essence flowing through fiber optic cables and wireless signals like a digital ghost.
Within moments, he had infiltrated the security systems of every major bank in Japan. His electromagnetic awareness allowed him to navigate through firewalls and encryption as easily as walking through an open door. Traditional cybersecurity measures were useless against someone who could directly interface with electronic systems at the fundamental level.
"This is incredible," Gustave murmured, genuinely impressed by the sophistication of this world's banking networks. "The security architecture here is far more advanced than what we have back in the One Piece world."
Bank records, credit statements, investment portfolios, loan applications—all of Tomokazu Yamashita's financial history began flowing past Gustave's consciousness like a digital river. He sorted through years of transactions in seconds, his enhanced perception allowing him to identify patterns and anomalies that would take conventional investigators hours to discover.
"Find anything yet?" Conan asked anxiously, peering at the screen where Gustave appeared to be working his way through complex financial databases.
"Patience," Gustave replied, though internally he was already uncovering some very interesting discrepancies. "These things take time to do properly. But I have a feeling we're going to find exactly what we need to crack this case wide open."
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