Chapter 384: Surrounded by Horrible Things

Double Chapter

Soon, Asama —his face hidden behind a wig, mask, and tinted glasses, body swallowed by a loose trench coat—cracked open the door.

He gave Kaetsu a quick glance, then stepped aside to let his old "partner" in.

Kaetsu, meanwhile, had long since flipped on Asama in his heart. 

But he was the type who never showed his true feelings—when he'd cut ties with Asama back then, he'd only sighed that he "lost his heart for robbery after his girlfriend died and wanted a quiet, stable job."

This time, after Asama's robbery flop, Kaetsu had even handed him disguises and a train ticket to "help him escape." In their old three-man crew, Kaetsu was always the strategist, and Asama, a creature of habit, hadn't doubted a thing.

So when Kaetsu stepped inside, the next part was simple.

He swung a bludgeon down—one clean strike—and Asama dropped like a bag of wet laundry.

Kaetsu snorted at the unconscious man. For a second, his mind flickered to his dead girlfriend. Then he gave Asama a kick for good measure.

He didn't linger on sentiment. He smashed the compartment window, tied a fishing line to Asama's waistband, and dangled him out the window like a piece of bait.

The other end of the line ran up through the door crack, along the stairs, and into Kaetsu's own second-floor compartment, where he fastened it tight.

All it would take was one snip at the right moment, and Asama would "jump off the train" on schedule—like a good puppet.

When the trap was set, Kaetsu slipped into Asama's disguise—a wig, fake beard, sunglasses, mask, trench coat—and picked up a gun.

Next stop: the lounge car, where he'd deal with Boss Izumo waiting for his "anonymous blackmailer."

And then, he'd "jump to his death" while being chased. Like the perfect tragic pot.

…

After the fake "Asama" disappeared down the corridor, a door a few compartments away creaked open.

Jiangxia poked his head out, watching the disguised figure vanish around the bend.

He stepped out, padded down the hallway, and stopped at Asama's door.

He knocked. No answer—of course.

So he slipped inside, closing the door behind him.

From the outside, the compartment looked normal—except for the fishing line caught in the crack, which wouldn't trigger if you opened the door carefully.

Inside, though, the place was a mess. Wind howled in through the shattered window. Snack wrappers and cheap train blankets flapped around like seaweed in a storm.

Jiangxia calmly tugged his windblown coat straight and checked the time.

Kaetsu would be back soon. Plenty of time.

He clicked out his expandable baton and gave it a quick test swing.

Just in case.

…

Kaetsu, now fully buried in his new identity, strode into the lounge car, hand in pocket, gun cold against his palm.

Scattered around the car were a few sleepy passengers—nursing drinks, playing cards.

And Izumo Keitaro.

The boss sat alone on a single sofa by the window, glaring holes into his watch.

The "anonymous blackmailer" had told him to wait here at 4 a.m. Now it was ten past.

Izumo's teeth ground together. Late? Was this yinbi trying to show him who was boss?

He made a mental note: once he got this guy's name, he'd arrange a nice "accidental death." Blackmail him? He'd show him how a real cadre settled debts.

Just as that thought sharpened behind his eyes, he felt something brush the back of his head.

His scalp prickled—he turned, only to freeze at the sight of a man standing right behind him.

A man completely hidden behind layers of disguise.

And there it was: the cold muzzle of a gun pressed into his hair.

This guy… looks familiar—

Before Izumo could pin down the thought, the "mysterious man" squeezed the trigger.

Bang—

No silencer, no subtlety. A deafening crack split the lounge.

Izumo Keitaro slumped forward over the table, a spray of red blooming from his skull.

For a few seconds, the car was dead silent—then a chorus of screams broke loose.

Passengers leapt up, shrieking, scattering like chickens at feeding time.

Kaetsu flicked a glance sideways. Good—half the car had seen "Asama" do the deed.

Perfect.

He let a thin grin slip as he backed toward the door. Once the train attendants lunged for him, he spun and ran.

His mind buzzed with the plan—every step just as Kudo Yusaku's manuscript described it. His hand trembled around the gun, not from fear, but from giddy excitement.

Next, he thought, get to Asama's compartment, fire a few shots, pretend the window shattered during the escape—

The corridor was narrow, just like the script said. When he turned and fired at the guards chasing him, the light and bullets would pin them back.

In that instant, when they ducked, he'd slip up the stairs next to Asama's door, out of sight.

Then he'd cut the line—down would go the real Asama, dragged clean out the window, just like a dropped pot. The door would slam shut from the force. Perfect illusion: "Asama killed, ran, jumped, and fell to his death."

A flawless plan, if he said so himself.

…

Meanwhile, in the Mouri family's compartment, Kogoro Mouri jolted awake.

He blinked at the two kids next to him—Ran staring out the window, Conan lost in his own head, still piecing together the Gin and Vodka puzzle and the weird robbery deja vu.

Kogoro, groggy and annoyed, tried to herd them back to sleep. Neither budged.

He gave up after one big yawn. Fine—let the bear child and his daughter stew in their thoughts. He flopped over, ready to snore himself into oblivion.

But just as his eyelids drooped, he caught it—a faint thump, muffled by the train's constant rumble.

Unusual. Definitely not normal.

But Mouri Ran's ears twitched. She turned, hesitating. "Listen… it sounds like someone's screaming."

"…Screaming?"

Mouri Kogoro hadn't been near many murders lately, so he was getting rusty. Only when his daughter mentioned it did he vaguely notice the noise—sharp, frantic, familiar. He sat up, cautious.

Conan heard it too.

And at that moment, some switch in his mind flipped, producing a narrative-like line from nowhere:

Gunshots and screams echoed through the rumbling tunnel… That man, like a thirsty beast, ran through the dark corridor…

"…?" Conan knocked on his own forehead, bewildered by this random dramatic monologue.

But "dark corridor"…

He drifted to the door and hovered for a moment.

Just then, a disguised figure—cap low, coat pulled tight—sprinted past their compartment. In a sleeper car at 4 a.m., that was suspicious enough to stun the three of them into frozen silence.

Next, the carriage door at the far end banged open. Two panting attendants leaned in, wild-eyed. They spotted Kogoro Mouri peeking out and shouted, "There's been a murder! That person just shot someone in the lounge car—right in front of everyone!"

"What?!" Kogoro's face turned to stone. He leapt forward, ready to chase.

…

Meanwhile, Kaetsu spotted the sudden onlookers but didn't panic—this was exactly how his idol's script predicted things would go down.

All he had to do now was fire a shot out the window, make the guards duck, and pin the murder on his dear enemy Asama…

He flung open Asama's compartment with a dramatic whoosh.

Gun raised. Window already shattered. Easy.

But inside—he froze.

…Someone was there. Standing in the middle of the wind-whipped room.

For a split second, Kaetsu's heart nearly seized up. He's still alive?

No—look closer. That wasn't Yasuharu Asama. It was the detective kid he'd always felt uneasy about.

…Not much better, actually.

His mind scrambled for an explanation, but instinct took over. He gritted his teeth, gun jerking up. Fine. Just one more body on Asama's escape route. No big deal.

He squeezed the trigger—

But the gun felt… stuck. Like it was clogged with glue. The simple click of "bang" dragged like syrup through a straw.

—In the ghostly vision beside him, the barrel of his gun was jammed with puppet clay that hadn't been there a moment ago.

But Kaetsu, being an ordinary criminal, couldn't see any of that.

So he just frowned, finger straining. Did I bump the safety while running? he thought wildly.

He fiddled with it, sweating, ready to try again.

But too late.

The detective in the room—Jiangxia—glanced at his own calf, then back up at Kaetsu, wearing the gentlest, most horrifyingly polite smile.

A black shape swished through the air—

Kaetsu's heart slammed in his chest as the arc of a baton swung down, slicing wind.

THUD.

Stars burst behind his eyes. He collapsed backward, throat bubbling with a choked groan.

The gun skittered from his hand and pinballed across the floor—right into Kogoro Mouri's path as he burst in, wide-eyed and ready to "help."

The gun rebounded off Kogoro's foot, flipping back across the compartment like a runaway hockey puck.

Kaetsu, dazed but stubborn, saw his final hope gleam under the corridor lights. He lunged, one hand outstretched—if he could grab it, fire, kill everyone blocking him—maybe there'd still be one last European Emperor win.

Click.

A compartment door swung open next to the fallen gun.

A foot came down, pinning the pistol in place.

Gin, hair slick, eyes cold, stood over it. He looked down at the gun, then up at Kaetsu—then turned his head, surveying the messy scene.

He hadn't really been asleep; for a cadre like Gin, even the softest "pop" of a gunshot mixed into the train's rumble was enough to wake him.

And once he heard footsteps, the whole "train corridor theatre" made sense. So he opened the door to check—just in time to step on the last pot of this absurd show.

Gin's eyes flicked to Jiangxia—still calm, watching like he'd planned the whole thing for his personal amusement. As expected of Ouzo, Gin thought dryly.

Anyway, Gin wasn't about to let anyone else hold a gun in such a cramped space. Vodka didn't count—Vodka was basically a shooting tool, and not a particularly accurate one.

He ground his heel into the weapon. The gun clinked against the floor but didn't break. Didn't need to.

Kaetsu's hope slid away with the sound.

In a last, twitching surge of denial, Kaetsu struggled up, but Jiangxia stepped forward and pinned him down with practiced ease.

Kaetsu's eyes flickered over the gathering onlookers—the approaching attendants, the curious passengers, the towering cadre in black, the creepy detective who'd appeared out of nowhere—and slammed his palm on the floor.

Then, true to routine, he shed a single tragic tear of unwillingness.

…

The lounge car murder, the body hanging outside the train window, the gunman chase—it was too much for the Hokutosei to just keep chugging along like nothing happened.

The attendants called the police. The train screeched to a stop halfway to its destination, lights blazing in the night.

A horde of officers swarmed aboard. They found Keitaro Izumo's body easily. Asama's too—dangling out the window, stiff and pitiful like a dropped shikigami.

In a corner of the dining car, Jiangxia sipped tea, face as peaceful as a buddhist statue. Across from him, a detective flipped open a notepad, sighing at this frequent witness.

"I heard a weird cracking sound," Jiangxia explained mildly. "It was late, so at first I thought it was just the wind through the tunnel. But then it got louder—like something heavy brushing the train. So I got up to check…"

He paused, eyes drifting toward the corridor, where a ghost or two still lingered to mop up the mess.

All in a night's work for a corpse picker.

*Goal #1: Top 200 fanfics published within the last 31 - 90 days by POWER STONES.

Progress: 32/60(approx) for 10 BONUS CHAPTERS

Goal #2: One BONUS CHAPTER per review for the first 10 REVIEWS.

Progress:4/10*