The internal information sorting and power structure adjustment of the organization took Kanjuro some time. When everything was back on an efficient track—and even more meticulous and aggressive against Western intelligence agencies thanks to Jodie's "joining" and Vermouth's collaboration—Kanjuro felt a rare bit of... what could be called a "leisurely" void.
It wasn't fatigue, but a brief detachment from the unchanging rhythm.
He stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of the private observation deck at the top of Tokyo Tower, looking down at the city lights sprawling like a galaxy beneath his feet, his fingertips unconsciously tapping the cold glass. The dark bible flowed slowly in the depths of his consciousness, bringing faint whispers of countless prayers, fears, and desires from afar, along with a cold indifference akin to a deity looking down upon the mortal world.
Occasionally, beneath this indifference, a very faint ripple belonging to the "human" side would surface. For example, an appreciation for a certain pure "form."
An exquisitely made promotional brochure was respectfully placed on the coffee table behind him, presented by Vodka during his routine sorting of "civilian activities that might be worth noting." On the cover was Kuraki Mai's gentle and firm smile, with the grand National Stadium in the background. The title read: "MongOn! Kuraki Mai · Tokyo National Special Performance."
Kanjuro's gaze fell upon it and lingered for a moment.
Singing.
Pure singing, untainted by organization affairs, conspiracies, or power struggles. He remembered this female singer's voice—clear and piercing, with a kind of heart-strengthening resilience. In that little brat Conan's world, it seemed to ring out quite often. A kind of... positive background sound belonging to the "world of light."
Let's go listen.
The thought surfaced casually but was immediately settled. For him, any whim, as long as it didn't interfere with his core plans, was worth acting upon. Moreover, with his current level of control, what place in Tokyo, or even the whole of Japan, could he not go?
He didn't even bother to hide his tracks.
On the night of the concert, the National Stadium was teeming with people, with brilliant lights and deafening cheers intertwining into an ocean of mania. Kanjuro sat in a central seat in the front row, wearing a well-tailored dark grey casual suit, looking out of place among the fans excitedly waving glow sticks. He leaned quietly against the back of his chair, without even a bottle of drink by his side, simply tilting his head slightly and casting a calm gaze toward the stage.
Kuraki Mai's performance was extremely infectious. She Ran, sang, and interacted with the audience, her sweat and smiles shining under the spotlights. Her voice was at times high-spirited and at times gentle, singing of dreams, courage, partings, and moving forward. Around him was a ten-thousand-person sing-along, the flood of collective emotion almost threatening to burst through the roof of the venue.
Kanjuro listened quietly, no expression on his face. The power of pure emotion contained in that singing was like a stream under the sun—crystal clear and rushing forward. It was beautiful, but also... very fragile. Compared to the profound, ancient, and all-consuming darkness he represented and controlled, it was like a firefly to an abyss. He appreciated this "beauty," just as one would appreciate a piece of fine porcelain or a legendary painting, but it ended at appreciation. Not even a single ripple truly stirred in the lake of his heart.
Until the middle of the concert, after a medley of several popular songs pushed the atmosphere to a small climax, Kuraki Mai paused for breath during an interlude, picked up the microphone, and spoke with a tone that seemed a bit more solemn than before.
"This next song," her voice spread throughout the venue via the top-tier sound system, "I want to dedicate to... everyone who protects the peace of our daily lives. I also hope it can bring those who... might be lost in the darkness, a little bit of courage to find the light."
As her words fell, the prelude began—a song with a slightly heavy but powerful melody. However, at the very moment Kuraki Mai was about to start singing, the huge circular screens around the stadium and the main screen behind the stage suddenly changed!
The close-up shot of Kuraki Mai disappeared.
In its place was a high-definition photograph—Kanjuro's face. In the photo, he appeared to be captured in profile by a hidden camera on some street, his gaze deep and calm. Immediately following, text information scrolled rapidly beside the photo, and a serious voiceover, deliberately mimicking an official announcement, rang out, drowning out the background music:
"International Extremely Dangerous Person Wanted Notice."
"Name: Kanjuro."
"Identity: Core leader of a transnational terrorist organization, suspected of multiple counts of (caaf) vicious murder, subversive activities, terrorist attacks, and massive illegal transactions."
"Characteristics:..."
"This individual is extremely dangerous, skilled in disguise and manipulation. If the public discovers any clues, please stay away immediately and report to the police or the following hotline..."
The text information scrolled incredibly fast, interspersed with several blurry images of what appeared to be crime scenes or weapon deals (clearly forged or doctored). The voiceover was powerful and resonant, carrying an unquestionable tone of authority, instantly freezing the heated atmosphere of the concert!
The entire venue was in an uproar!
The fans looked at the screen in shock, then subconsciously looked toward the center of the stage at Kuraki Mai, who was also frozen, her face turning pale in an instant. The whispers quickly turned into a wave of chaos.
"What's going on?!"
"Screen malfunction?"
"A wanted criminal? Why would they play this at a concert?!"
"Kanjuro? Who is that?"
"Look at that photo... it looks a bit familiar..."
In the front row, some sharp-eyed audience members had already snapped their heads around, looking in disbelief at the man sitting in the VIP seat—the exact same man as the photo on the wanted notice on the screen!
Kanjuro maintained his original posture, not even moving an eyebrow. He only slowly withdrew his gaze from the stage and turned to look at his own "wanted notice" on the giant screen beside him, the corner of his mouth curling up into an extremely subtle arc.
Ah... so that's how it is.
Kuraki Mai's invitation, the performance at the National Stadium, the grand occasion, the attention of tens of thousands... a meticulously arranged stage. It wasn't for music, but for a "declaration." The CIA, or rather, the result of cooperation between certain remnants and some people within Japan. The goal was to "nail" Kanjuro's identity into public perception at the largest public venue, shaping his image as a terrorist demon, inciting public opinion, and at the same time... perhaps also holding the foolish hope of disrupting his rhythm or even provoking him into doing something in public.
The method wasn't particularly sophisticated, but it was bold enough, and it had... a sense of ritual.
Unfortunately, they got one thing wrong.
They thought this was "provoking" him, creating "trouble" for him.
However, in Kanjuro's eyes, this was nothing more than a slightly special... side show. It even piqued his interest a bit more than Kuraki Mai's singing from before.
On stage, Kuraki Mai had completely lost her composure. This was clearly not part of the scheduled program! She stood there at a loss, the music having long since stopped. Staff members were running frantically backstage, trying to cut the signal, but the screen was still firmly controlled. She looked at the restless crowd below, then at the handsome yet chilling wanted photo on the screen, and finally, her gaze, as if pulled by an invisible thread, fell upon the man in the front row who was slowly standing up.
Kanjuro stood up.
Under the focus of tens of thousands of gazes—some shocked, some fearful, some bewildered—he straightened his cuffs with composed movements. Then, he raised his head, looking not at the agitated crowd nor at the frantic stage, but straight at... Kuraki Mai.
Across the distance, amidst the chaotic light, shadows, and waves of sound, Kuraki Mai met his eyes.
What kind of eyes were those!
Calm, deep, like a starless night sky, or like an ancient well that encompasses and swallows everything. There was no anger, no panic, not even a hint of embarrassment at being "exposed" in public. There was only a kind of... condescending, almost compassionate scrutiny, as if watching a clumsy performance that had nothing to do with him.
Kuraki Mai trembled all over, as if falling into an ice cellar. Her professional poise barely kept her standing, but her mind was a complete blank. She vaguely knew that she had been drawn into a dangerous whirlpool far beyond her imagination.
Kanjuro looked at her and suddenly smiled slightly. That smile was faint, yet it strangely pierced through the distance and the noise, clearly imprinted on her retina.
Then, he did something that no one—including the masterminds behind the scenes—expected.
He raised his hands and gently clapped.
The applause wasn't loud, but in the eerie atmosphere that was gradually falling silent, it was exceptionally clear. Once, twice, three times.
As if thanking them for this "tailor-made" debut show.
Then, he turned around, no longer looking at anyone, and walked unhurriedly along the VIP passage toward the exit. The security guards around him seemed to want to step forward, but the moment they met his gaze, they froze in place, unable to move. The crowd subconsciously parted a path for him, silent as the grave.
Just like that, under the gaze of tens of thousands, with the giant screen scrolling his "crimes" as a backdrop, he departed composedly, as if taking a stroll in a courtyard.
It wasn't until his figure disappeared at the end of the passage that the frozen air in the venue suddenly exploded! Exclamations, discussions, the shouts of security personnel, the sound of Kuraki Mai finally unable to support herself and collapsing into a seat... everything turned into a mess.
However, all this clamor no longer had anything to do with Kanjuro.
Walking out of the stadium, the night breeze was slightly cool. Vodka's black Porsche 356A slid silently to the roadside like a ghost and stopped.
Kanjuro pulled open the car door and sat inside.
"Brother." Vodka's voice carried a hint of tension; clearly, he had also learned of everything that happened inside through surveillance or intelligence. "It was the work of the CIA's residual network cooperating with certain people inside the Public Security Bureau. Do we need to clean them up immediately?"
"No rush." Kanjuro leaned back in the rear seat, resting with his eyes closed, his tone betraying no emotion. "Have Jodie and Vermouth verify the list. The movement was so obvious, it just so happens to help us do a screening."
"Yes," Vodka replied, hesitating for a moment. "Then... Kuraki Mai? She should be unaware, she was used."
Kanjuro opened his eyes and looked at the brilliant street scenes receding rapidly outside the window.
"Being used is itself a choice," he said faintly. "Will her voice still be the same after tonight?"
Vodka remained silent.
"Send a 'condolence' to the concert organizers and the agency Kuraki Mai belongs to." Kanjuro's fingertip tapped lightly on his knee, and a wisp of dark aura, difficult to detect with the naked eye, quietly spread out like a ripple, silently creeping toward specific targets along countless radio waves and information links.
"After all, because of my 'attendance,' I brought trouble to their grand event." In his voice, there was finally a hint of an extremely faint, cold smile. "As compensation... let her next single be sung for me."
"I want to hear her voice stained with my color."
"Whether it be despair, obedience, or... a more poignant light blooming amidst struggle."
The Porsche silently merged into the flow of traffic in the Tokyo night. Behind it, the National Stadium was still brightly lit, the chaos unabated. And a new, more invisible erosion had already begun. The strings of Kuraki Mai's fate had been lightly plucked, destined to play a dark melody that deviated from its original track.
To Kanjuro, this was just an incidental piece of entertainment, a piece played casually. A wanted notice? Public image? Those were merely laughable attempts by mortals trying to define a deity.
His world had its own laws of operation. And after tonight, more people would be forced to realize it, or... sink forever beneath these laws.
In the private lounge backstage at the National Stadium, the clamor and commotion were isolated by the thick door panels, leaving only the low hum of the central air conditioning and a silence so tense it felt as if it were about to snap. The expensive fragrance now only made one feel stifled.
Kuraki Mai curled up in the large makeup chair, still wearing her stage costume—a white dress adorned with sequins, which now seemed to have lost all its luster, making her face appear even more deathly pale. She hugged herself tightly, her fingertips icy, still trembling uncontrollably. Those calm, deep eyes and those three gentle claps repeatedly flashed before her eyes. That applause felt as if it weren't striking the air, but directly striking her heart; every time she recalled it, it brought a cold throb.
"It's okay, Miss Kuraki, please calm down." A middle-aged Caucasian male in a well-tailored suit with a sharp expression sat on the sofa opposite her, keeping his tone as level as possible. He was "Rogers," nominally a senior consultant for the overseas performance partner, but in reality, the CIA field coordinator responsible for this "public opinion guidance" operation. "The live signal has been completely cut off by our people, and the subsequent chaos is under control. You were startled, but the core part of the plan has been successfully implemented."
---------------------------------
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! If the story has you hooked and you can't wait to see what happens next, you can unlock 30 chapters in advance over on my Patreon: patreon.com/TLHimejima1
Every bit of support means the world to me so if you're loving the ride, don't forget to drop a Power Stone and let me know.