Chapter 73: The History of the Twilight Mansion
With their own lingering thoughts weighing on their minds, the group eventually migrated to the recreation room to pass the time.
The heavy oak doors opened to reveal a space that felt entirely disconnected from the gloomy, oppressive aura of the Twilight Mansion. Soon, the sharp clack of billiard balls echoed across the room as Saguru Hakuba and Harufumi Mogi circled the green baize. In a quieter corner, Kayo Senma and Kogoro Mouri sat hunched over a chessboard, the wooden pieces sliding softly across the checkered squares. Meanwhile, a different kind of battlefield formed around the central table: Ikumi Soda, Ran Mouri, Conan, Natsume, and the uninvited guest, Shiro Morikawa, gathered for a game of cards.
Since a standard game was impossible with only one deck and five players, they settled on a casual game of Old Maid.
It did not take long for Natsume to realize a fundamental truth of this universe: Ran Mouri's luck was terrifyingly absolute. Not only did the high school girl completely avoid drawing the Joker, but her hand was always the first to clear, laying down pairs with a bright, apologetic smile.
Even Natsume, with all her careful observation, inevitably ended up holding the cursed card.
This round was no different. As soon as Natsume fanned out her newly drawn hand, an invisible weight settled over her shoulders. The Joker stared back at her with its mocking, painted grin. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but a faint trace of dejection slipped through.
After a few tense turns, Natsume was down to her last two cards. The Joker remained stubbornly in her grasp.
It was Morikawa's turn to draw. Natsume held up her two cards, keeping the backs facing him, her posture rigid. Morikawa reached out, his fingertips hovering deliberately over the safe card. Watching his hand approach the one card that would leave her stuck with the Joker, a microscopic flicker of disappointment betrayed Natsume's eyes.
Just as Morikawa prepared to pull the safe card, he glanced up and caught that fleeting look on her face. He froze for a fraction of a second. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. Smoothly, he shifted his hand to the left and plucked the other card instead.
He flipped it over. The Joker.
Morikawa glanced back at Natsume, noting the immediate, visible lift in her mood. She really was quite easily satisfied.
The round ended shortly after. Having willingly taken the cursed card, Morikawa's luck took a sharp nosedive. The Joker stayed glued to his hand until the bitter end, leaving him as the sole loser of the match. He did not seem to mind in the slightest, casually distributing his penalty chips to the others before tossing the Joker back into the center of the table.
Ran, having won yet again, cheerfully gathered the scattered cards and began to shuffle for the next round.
Once the fresh hands were dealt, Natsume picked up her cards. Her thumb brushed against a strange, stiff texture. One of the cards felt unnaturally thick. She pulled it out from the fan to inspect it closer, realizing that two cards were firmly fused together.
Thinking nothing of it, she pinched the edges and pried them apart.
A dry, rust-colored flake crumbled against her skin. Natsume stared at the dark, oxidized stains smeared across the card faces. It was dried blood. Judging by the deep brownish-black hue and the brittle texture, it had been there for decades.
Natsume was not easily frightened, but the sheer unexpectedness of holding a blood-soaked playing card made her freeze in momentary shock.
What is wrong? Morikawa noticed her sudden stillness, his relaxed demeanor shifting into genuine concern as he leaned closer.
His eyes fell on the stained cards in her hand. His expression hardened instantly. Before Natsume could even process his movement, Morikawa reached out and snatched the cards from her grip.
Ah!
Conan and the others turned at the sudden motion, their eyes locking onto the dark crimson stains on the cards Morikawa now held. Ran let out a sharp, frightened gasp, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of the recreation room. Hearing his daughter cry out, Kogoro Mouri nearly knocked over the chessboard in his haste, rushing over with panic written all over his face.
Harufumi Mogi set his pool cue down, his sharp eyes narrowing at the gruesome discovery. He walked over, his voice grim. The maid, Aki Ishihara, mentioned earlier that absolutely nothing in this mansion has been moved or replaced since the tragedy forty years ago. We are playing with a dead man's deck. That blood is likely a remnant of the original massacre.
A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by a timid knock at the door.
The maid, Aki Ishihara, stood in the doorway, her hands clasped nervously in front of her apron. Dinner is prepared, she announced, her voice trembling slightly. The master is waiting for you all in the dining room.
Harufumi Mogi smirked, though the amusement did not reach his eyes. The leading actor finally takes the stage, he muttered. As he spoke, his gaze flicked sideways, inconspicuously studying Shiro Morikawa's reaction.
Morikawa ignored the probing stares directed his way. With a perfectly natural, unbothered demeanor, he turned and followed the group out into the dimly lit hallway.
As they walked toward the dining room, Morikawa fell into step beside Natsume. He tilted his head, a curious glint in his eyes. I have pieced together a few things recently, he said, his voice pitched low enough for her to hear. It seems you were all invited here by the mansion's owner. A gathering of detectives. But what exactly are you hunting? The murder from forty years ago... or the treasure?
Treasure? Natsume stopped and looked at Morikawa searchingly, her guard instantly rising. What treasure? None of us have mentioned a single word about any treasure.
This time, Morikawa looked at Natsume with genuine bewilderment. Did you all really come to the Twilight Mansion without looking into its history at all?
Oh? It seems Mr. Morikawa knows something we do not. Saguru Hakuba slowed his pace, letting the others pass as he dropped back to join them. His polished shoes clicked softly against the floorboards as he approached. I wonder if you could enlighten us about this supposed treasure?
Hakuba had clearly been eavesdropping on their conversation. The mention of hidden wealth was enough to break his aristocratic reserve. Ahead of them, the rest of the group subtly slowed their footsteps, their ears practically swiveling backward to listen.
Kayo Senma, in particular, turned her head to look searchingly at Morikawa. Her grip on her cane tightened. How did this unplanned, uninvited guest know about the hidden fortune inside the Twilight Mansion? Did he have some secret connection to the Karasuma family? Or was he, perhaps, just like her—someone with a relative deeply entangled in the bloody incident from four decades ago?
Seeing the collective curiosity radiating from the group, Morikawa did not withhold the information. He kept his voice steady as he recounted the dark history of the estate.
Forty years ago, two major incidents occurred in this very mansion, Morikawa began, his words echoing slightly in the long, shadowed corridor. First, there was the old master, Renya Karasuma. He knew that a treasure of unimaginable value, left to him by his mother, was hidden somewhere within these walls. As his health failed and death approached, his desperation to find it grew into an obsession. He invited a large group of prominent scholars here to crack the code and locate the fortune. But when they failed to produce results... he slaughtered every last one of them in a fit of dying paranoia.
Ah... how could he? Ran covered her mouth, her eyes softening with deep sorrow at the thought of such a senseless tragedy. The detectives, however, merely absorbed the information, their expressions turning cold and pensive.
At that exact moment, Morikawa's peripheral vision caught a subtle shift. Kayo Senma's jaw had locked tight, a muscle feathering at her cheek. Her expression had become distinctly unnatural, a rigid mask of suppressed emotion.
Morikawa paused for a fraction of a second before continuing his tale.
The second event happened later that same year, shortly after Renya Karasuma's death, Morikawa said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, theatrical pitch. An exclusive auction was held right here in this mansion. Prominent politicians, wealthy economists, the absolute elite of society—they were all invited to bid on over three hundred pieces of priceless art from Karasuma's private collection.
He let the silence stretch for a heartbeat.
Then, on the second night, two mysterious guests arrived. Madness followed almost immediately. The esteemed guests turned on each other, slaughtering one another in a frenzied battle to claim the various artworks and treasures. They transformed the opulent halls of this mansion into a literal living hell. And when the blood finally stopped flowing... those two mysterious guests had vanished without a trace, taking all three hundred of Renya Karasuma's masterpieces with them.
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