Megure Midori gripped the handgun and, like a true victim, rushed out of the room with unsteady steps and slightly disheveled clothes, running toward the direction of the Mansion's main gate where Megure Jūzō might still be waiting or lingering.
Kanjuro followed behind at a leisurely pace, like a spectator about to enjoy the final act of a performance.
Outside the Mansion gate, Megure Jūzō indeed had not left. He stood frozen in place like a stone statue, his face full of anxiety, regret, and powerlessness. When he saw Megure Midori running out crying, looking as if she had suffered a great ordeal, his heart felt as if it were being twisted by a knife, and he immediately went to meet her.
"Midori! How are you?! That bastard, he did something to you..." Megure Jūzō asked urgently, his voice filled with guilt and rage.
However, what greeted him was not his wife's tearful complaints, nor the breakdown he had expected.
Megure Midori stopped a few paces away from him. She raised her tear-streaked face, which held an eerie look in her eyes, and cried out in a trembling but exceptionally clear voice, "Megure... I'm sorry... I'm... I'm no longer clean... I have no face to see you again!!"
Just as Megure Jūzō's mind was thrown into chaos by these sudden words, and he subconsciously wanted to step forward to comfort her—
Megure Midori suddenly raised the gun in her hand and aimed it at Megure Jūzō's chest. The "pain" in her eyes was instantly replaced by a cold resolve.
"So... please... just die!!"
"Bang!!"
The gunshot rang out, crisp and neat, without the slightest hesitation.
The expression on Megure Jūzō's face froze. He looked down in disbelief at the blood gushing from his chest, and then at his wife—the woman he had shared a bed with for many years, but who now seemed terrifyingly like a stranger. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end, he could only make a wheezing sound of escaping air as his body fell heavily backward.
Even in death, he did not understand why things had turned out this way.
Megure Midori looked at Megure Jūzō lying on the ground. Her hand holding the gun trembled slightly, but then, a smile of relief—even one tinged with a twisted sense of pleasure—appeared on her face. She turned and ran back into the Mansion, throwing herself into Kanjuro's arms. She looked up, her eyes filled with fanatical anticipation and the joy of someone seeking a reward for a job well done:
"Kanjuro! I did it! I killed him! Look, for you, I'm willing to do anything! Can you... stay with me forever now?"
Kanjuro held her, looking at the corpse gradually growing cold outside the door, with an incredibly pleased and satisfied smile on his face. He gently stroked Megure Midori's hair, like rewarding an obedient pet.
"Of course, my Midori. You did very well."
"From now on, you are my, Kanjuro's, woman. Forever."
Megure Midori snuggled into his arms with satisfaction, immersed in twisted love and the false happiness of receiving a promise of "eternity." She was completely unaware that she had just personally severed her last link to the world of light and fallen completely into the bottomless dark abyss. Meanwhile, Kanjuro once again consolidated his dark kingship, built upon blood and betrayal, at the cost of a life extinguished and a soul completely twisted. The news of Megure Jūzō being shot dead by his own wife, Megure Midori, swept through the entire Tokyo police force like a devastating mental tsunami and spread across the country. This was not just the death of another high-ranking police officer; it was a total desecration of police dignity, faith, and even humanity. When even the core family bond could be so easily twisted, exploited, and destroyed by Kanjuro, the air of despair nearly crushed every police officer who heard the news.
Under unbearable public pressure, internal morale on the verge of collapse, and the fear that continued confrontation might lead to the total destruction of Tokyo, the high-ranking officials of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department were forced to make the most humiliating decision—to accept Kanjuro's previously implied demand for "peace talks" and attempt to bind this demon they could not control with a written document.
Outside the Suzuki Family Mansion, the originally tense blockade had been removed, replaced by a deathly silence and oppression. An unmarked black sedan stopped at the door, and several men in high-ranking police uniforms with ashen faces stepped out. Leading them was Matsumoto Kiyochika, who clutched a document in his hand, his knuckles white from the force of his grip.
The Mansion gates opened, and Kanjuro stepped out slowly. He was still dressed casually, with a half-smiling, lazy expression on his face. Megure Midori followed closely behind like the most submissive shadow, her face showing no sign of the pain or guilt of having just killed her husband, only a numbness from being immersed in twisted happiness. Suzuki Sonoko stepped forward from the other side, naturally taking Kanjuro's arm and leaning her head gently on his shoulder, her posture intimate and dependent, as if declaring her stance to the outside world.
This scene, in the eyes of Matsumoto Kiyochika and the others, was nothing less than the most pungent irony and the most direct provocation. They forced down the anger and grief in their hearts and stopped not far in front of Kanjuro.
Matsumoto Kiyochika took a deep breath, trying hard to avoid direct eye contact with Kanjuro. He was afraid of those eyes, afraid of seeing his former self and the current bottomless darkness within them. He kept his head slightly lowered as he handed over the document, his voice dry and strained:
"Mr... Mr. Kanjuro... we have already... as you requested, stopped all confrontational actions, and... Inspector Megure, he..." He couldn't go on; Megure Jūzō's death was a wound in all their hearts that could not heal.
Kanjuro didn't immediately take the document. Instead, he first gently patted Sonoko's hand and then put his arm around Megure Midori's waist, as if admiring his spoils of war. Only then did he turn his gaze to Matsumoto Kiyochika and the document in his hand that symbolized total surrender.
"Oh?" Kanjuro's eyebrows arched slightly, his tone full of playfulness. "Is this your... treaty of surrender?" He deliberately used the harsh word "surrender."
He finally reached out and, using two fingers as if pinching something unclean, nonchalantly took the document. He didn't even read the terms carefully, merely flipping through them casually, the ironic curve of his lips becoming more pronounced.
"Tsk tsk, you Japanese people really do love this kind of formalism." He chuckled, his gaze sweeping over the humiliated and tense faces of the officers before him. "It was so in history, and now... it's no exception. Always thinking a piece of paper can buy peace?"
His words were like a whip, lashing at everyone's hearts. Matsumoto Kiyochika's head hung even lower, and the other officers gritted their teeth, not daring to talk back.
Kanjuro didn't bother to waste any more words. He casually pulled an exquisite fountain pen from his suit's inner pocket and, without even looking, signed his name at the end of the document. His signature was flamboyant, carrying an arrogance that stood above all else.
He stuffed the signed document back into Matsumoto Kiyochika's hand with an utterly contemptuous movement.
"Alright, the game is over for now," Kanjuro said indifferently. "Until I find some new fun, you can continue playing your roles of 'maintaining order.' Of course, provided that... you don't come and disturb my peace."
Matsumoto Kiyochika took the heavy "peace treaty," stained with the blood of his colleague and the humiliation of the police force, feeling as if he were holding a red-hot iron. He turned away almost impatiently, growling to his subordinates in a voice that was nearly out of tune: "Let's go!"
He didn't dare stay for a moment longer, as if a soul-devouring abyss lay behind him. Several police officers also felt as if they had been granted a general amnesty, following Matsumoto Kiyochika as they almost stumbled and fled toward their vehicles, fearing Kanjuro might change his mind at any second.
Before ducking into the car door, Matsumoto Kiyochika couldn't help but look back. Using his last ounce of courage, he shouted toward Kanjuro, his voice carrying a desperate plea:
"I hope... I hope you can keep your promise! Don't... don't kill innocent people anymore!"
Before his voice finished, he had already scrambled into the car. The engine roared, and the vehicle sped away like a startled hare, disappearing at the end of the street.
Kanjuro watched their pathetic retreating figures, an incredibly pleased yet cold smile appearing on his face. He put his arms around Megure Midori and Suzuki Sonoko and turned to walk back into the Mansion that was like a demon's den.
"Keep a promise?" he muttered to himself, as if he had heard the funniest joke in the world.
"Peace only ever exists when power is equal."
"And you... have long since lost the right to bargain."
The gates slowly closed, once again shutting out the external anger, humiliation, and pleas. A scrap of paper had not brought peace, only a brief and false tranquility before the storm.
Kanjuro's dark rule, in this extremely insulting manner, gained a certain level of official "acquiescence" in Tokyo. And the true fear and despair had only just begun to seep into every corner of the city. In far-off Hawaii, the sun, sand, and blue sea remained, but they could not dispel the heavy atmosphere inside the Kudo residence. On the living room TV screen, news footage from Japan was playing repeatedly, showing heart-wrenching scenes—how Kanjuro forced the police to sign a humiliating "treaty of surrender," how Megure Jūzō was shot by his wife, and the terror caused by that bone-chilling Valkyries of the Dark Night legion on the streets of Tokyo.
Conan Edogawa, or rather Shinichi Kudo, clenched his fists tightly, his nails sinking deep into his palms, his body trembling slightly from extreme anger and a sense of powerlessness. He looked at Kanjuro's face on the screen with that mocking smile, at the humiliated and desperate expressions of his former colleagues and seniors, and at the innocent people wailing under the dark power. A piercing pain almost tore him apart.
"Damn it... Kanjuro... that demon!" Conan's voice was hoarse, filled with pain and indignation. "Is there really no one who can stop him?! The entire country... actually bowed its head to him..."
Sitting beside him, Kudo Yusaku, the world-renowned mystery novelist, no longer had his usual composure and wisdom. Instead, his face held a deep, complex expression mixed with cold fury and a certain... realization. He turned off the TV, and the living room fell into a dead silence.
"A letter of surrender... heh." Yusaku gave a cold laugh, one that held no warmth. "The person Yukiko has always been unable to forget, after all this time, has he finally returned in this manner? That damn demon."
Conan turned his head sharply, looking at his father in shock: "Dad?! What... what did you just say? The person Mom can't forget? Kanjuro?! What on earth is going on?!"
He had never heard his parents mention any connection to Kanjuro! Moreover, the phrase "unable to forget" caused a wave of inexplicable unease in his heart.
Kudo Yusaku looked at his son's shocked and confused face and sighed deeply, a sigh that seemed to carry many years of endurance and secrets. He stood up, walked to the window, and gazed at the bright scenery outside that could not illuminate his heart. He spoke slowly, his voice low and clear, each word striking Conan's heart like a heavy hammer:
"Shinichi, there are some things it's time for you to know."
"Your mother, Fujimine Yukiko—the reason she has maintained a marriage of convenience with me all these years is that her heart has always held someone. Someone she was deeply infatuated with in her youth, someone she... has yet to completely let go of."
Yusaku paused and spoke the name:
"That person is Kanjuro."
Conan felt as if he had been struck by lightning. He jumped up from the sofa, his voice changing pitch: "Wha... what?! Mom and Kanjuro?! That's impossible!"
Yusaku did not look back and continued to drop even heavier bombshells in that terrifyingly calm tone:
"Furthermore, your sister, Mine Fujiko... she is not the daughter of your mother and me."
He turned around, looking at Conan with a complex gaze, and said word for word:
"Fujiko's biological father is Kanjuro."
"As for you, Shinichi..." A flash of imperceptible apology flickered in Yusaku's eyes, but it was mostly a calm statement of fact. "You are not Yukiko's biological son either. You were born to me and another woman. Because Yukiko could never stop loving Kanjuro, our relationship... from the very beginning, was only a nominal marriage reached for our own purposes and family pressure. Over the years, we have treated each other with respect, but that is all."
The sheer volume of information was like a tsunami, instantly submerging Conan. He stumbled back a step, bumping into the arm of the sofa before barely managing to stand steady. His mind went blank; all his perceptions were overturned at this moment.
The person his mother was constantly thinking of was actually that demon Kanjuro?
That charming, morally ambiguous sister Fujiko was actually Kanjuro's daughter?
And he... was not even his mother's biological son? The parents he had always seen as role models were actually only a married couple in name only?!
All of this was more bizarre and... cruel than any case he had ever experienced.
"How could... this be..." Conan muttered to himself, his face as pale as paper. He had always believed that although his parents were often apart, his family was still warm and complete. But now, his father was telling him that it was all a castle in the air built on lies and agreements? And the root of all this actually pointed to that demon who was currently causing a bloodbath in Japan—Kanjuro!
A huge sense of absurdity and betrayal welled up in his heart, but more than that, it was a bone-chilling coldness. He finally understood why his father's eyes were so complex and cold when mentioning Kanjuro; why his mother sometimes showed a melancholy he couldn't understand; and why his sister Fujiko's way of doing things always carried an unspeakable evil aura and... a strange obsession with certain things.
As it turned out, their Kudo family had long since had such a deep and twisted bond with Kanjuro.
Kudo Yusaku looked at his son's soul-shaken appearance, walked to his side, patted his shoulder, and spoke in a heavy tone:
"Now you understand, Shinichi. We are not just facing a powerful enemy. He is a ghost... entangled in the shadows of our family."
"And now, this ghost has returned, and he has become even more terrifying."
"We must stop him, not just for justice, but also to... end this ill-fated relationship that has haunted our family for decades."
Conan looked up at his father's determined gaze, and the confusion and pain in his heart were gradually replaced by a firmer, colder determination. The mystery of his birth, his family's secrets, the national crisis before him, and the hatred for his best friend (Heiji Hattori) were all intertwined.
Kanjuro, this demon, must be stopped.
No matter the cost.
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