Chapter 265: The Similar-Looking Girl
Meanwhile, at the entrance of the Beika Shopping Mall, a familiar black Porsche 356A was parked discreetly by the curb, its engine a low, predatory hum.
Inside the vehicle, the tension was a evident, suffocating thing. Kir remained unnervingly composed, her gaze steady even as it met the cold, dark muzzle of the Beretta in Gin's hand.
"How could he possibly still be alive?" she asked, her voice a calm, even tone that defied the imminent threat. "Gin, have you forgotten? Shuichi Akai—I personally disposed of that man with a bullet, right in front of you."
"Not right in front of my eyes," Gin corrected, his voice a low rasp that scraped at the silence. He didn't lower the weapon. "It was through a monitor. You had ample opportunity to tamper with the feed."
"Exactly. Gin is right," a voice cut in from the front passenger seat, laced with a detached, almost musical quality.
The Wanderer turned his head, his indigo eyes sweeping over Kir. "So, if you had just listened to me back then and used the terminal to quickly check Shuichi Akai's body temperature, we wouldn't be having this little problem today, would we?"
"This can hardly be blamed on me." Kir's gaze flickered towards him. She had heard the rumors. Shortly after the Shuichi Akai incident, the Wanderer had earned his own codename. He was Glenlivet now.
"Indeed. So, who should be blamed, then?" Glenlivet's eyes shifted, landing on Gin with a look of pointed, theatrical curiosity. His tone was a strange, mocking drawl.
Sensing the dangerous undercurrent in Glenlivet's sarcasm, Vodka, seated beside Gin, hurriedly tried to smooth things over. "Well, it shouldn't be blamed on Big Brother, either! Big Brother didn't know…"
"Shut up!" Gin snapped, his patience finally fracturing.
This idiot, Vodka, Gin thought, his grip tightening on his pistol. Glenlivet hadn't even stated the accusation outright, and yet Vodka was already leaping to confirm it, practically volunteering for the blame.
Deciding not to dwell on the point of failure, Gin refocused his chilling attention on Kir. "Well, we'll soon see if that look-alike who just appeared in the mall is the real Shuichi Akai. Whether or not you survive the night," he paused, a cruel smirk twisting his lips, "depends entirely on it. Heh."
Inside the bustling Beika Central Mall, Natsume slipped her phone back into her pocket, a faint crease of confusion marring her brow.
"What's wrong? What did that brother of yours have to say?" Charlotte leaned in, her curiosity piqued.
Natsume frowned. "He wants me to find a way to make sure Bourbon notices me. That's it. Just… get him to see me."
She puffed out her cheeks in a rare show of annoyance. "He said he'll handle the rest and that I don't need to worry about it. Honestly! This whole thing clearly involves me, but he refuses to explain the plan properly."
Charlotte blinked, observing Natsume's vexed expression without offering any immediate comfort. She knew her friend well.
As expected, Natsume's frustration was a fleeting storm. A moment later, her shoulders slumped with a helpless sigh as her pragmatic nature reasserted itself. "Forget it. I'll settle the score with him later. For now, I'll just do as he says."
A smile returned to her face as she looped her arm through Charlotte's. "Perfect! This means you'll get a front-row seat to today's incident, Charlotte. All the firsthand information you could want."
"Then I must be sure to take plenty of photos!" Charlotte declared, raising her camera with a grin that mirrored Natsume's.
At that moment, in the center of a growing crowd, Kogoro Mouri and the others were staring at the ground in complete bewilderment. Thirteen red T-shirts were laid out in a bizarre pattern, and they were no closer to understanding the meaning behind the cryptic delivery.
"Ran! Conan! Uncle Mouri! What a coincidence! Charlotte and I were just out shopping and ran right into you."
Hearing a familiar, cheerful voice call out to them, Ran and the others looked up. They saw Natsume, with Charlotte in tow, weaving through the throng of onlookers to stand before them.
"Natsume and I saw that an incident had occurred and immediately guessed that the great Detective Mouri must be on the scene," Charlotte chimed in, her reporter's instincts already humming. She aimed a charming smile at Kogoro. "I hope you don't mind if I photograph the heroic figure of Detective Mouri as he once again unravels a mystery."
Conan watched with his signature half-lidded gaze as his uncle's head began to swell under the weight of Charlotte's praise. The corners of his mouth twitched. He had to admit, he was a little impressed with Charlotte; she was the ace reporter of the Beika Daily for a reason, able to smile and focus on her story even with the potential threat of a bomb looming.
Meanwhile, a short distance away, Toru Amuro blended smoothly into the crowd. He had been seriously observing Kogoro Mouri's group, planning his next approach, and barely registered the arrival of two more women.
However, as his gaze inadvertently swept over the newcomers, his entire body went rigid.
His eyes, a moment ago casually observant, sharpened into piercing points of focus. He stared intently at the two unfamiliar women, a sudden, cold alarm ringing through him.
It was the girl with the blonde hair and brilliant golden eyes. Her physical characteristics seized his attention, pulling it with an irresistible force. His gaze locked onto her face, scrutinizing every feature, every subtle shift in her expression, every graceful mannerism.
Amuro's brow gradually furrowed, a knot of disbelief and suspicion tightening in his chest. A surge of doubt, cold and sharp, washed over him.
Who is this girl? he wondered, his mind racing. What is her relationship with Kogoro Mouri and the others?
And the most crucial question of all, the one that made his blood run cold: Why does she look so much like Cointreau?
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