"Talk. Now."
Fujino held the photo of his parents in front of Numabuchi Kiichiro's face, the tip of his wooden sword pressed against the man's temple.
"Do you recognize these two people or not?" he growled menacingly.
"I... I really don't know..."
Fujino's eyes narrowed.
"Start counting down from one thousand by sevens!"
He punctuated the command by rapping the bokken sharply against Numabuchi's forehead.
"Nine hundred ninety-three... Aaah!"
A series of agonized cries echoed through the woods.
When Numabuchi inevitably passed out from the pain, Fujino splashed another bucket of cold water on him, forcing him awake.
"I suggest you start talking,"
Fujino said calmly, pressing the bokken against Numabuchi's chest.
"Otherwise, the pain will continue..."
"I really don't know!"
Despite being a hardened killer, Numabuchi couldn't help the tears of desperation welling up. This masked man kept demanding to know if he'd killed the strangers in the photo. Every time he said no, he was beaten senseless and forced to count backward from a thousand by sevens. And the worst part? The beatings left no visible marks. Pass out, get woken by cold water, repeat. Even prison wasn't this cruel!
"You don't know?"
Fujino frowned, shoving the photo back in his face.
"Do you recognize the people in this photo? Did you kill them or not?!"
"No... I really didn't!" Numabuchi sobbed.
"I've never even been to Tokyo! Please, just let me go!"
Fujino stroked his chin thoughtfully. After intense interrogation, the man hadn't revealed anything. Two possibilities remained: either Numabuchi possessed an iron will and refused to talk, or he genuinely knew nothing.
'Did I actually get the wrong guy?' Fujino wondered silently.
Then, he resumed the beating.
Midnight... The sounds of suffering continued, intermittent yet unending, like the croaking of crows in the dead of night.
"Okay, looks like he really doesn't know anything."
Fujino finally lowered the bokken, staring at the broken man on the ground, a frown creasing his brow.
"Damn it. So he didn't kill them?"
He'd initially leaned towards the 'stubborn refusal' theory. But the torture he'd inflicted... even a trained spy probably couldn't withstand that. It seemed he really had been mistaken.
Still, Fujino reminded himself, this guy is a murderer. He's destroyed countless families.
"Consider tonight's punishment... settling the debt for those innocent lives you took,"
Fujino murmured, gazing up at the full moon, his thoughts swirling.
The next morning, Numabuchi Kiichiro, a high-priority fugitive, was discovered tied up outside the Kyoto Prefectural Police Headquarters.
He was bound in intricate red rope knots (kinbaku style), his pants were wet, and he was muttering incoherently:
"Batman... Batman! It wasn't me! Let me go!"
The police had no idea what "Batman" or "It wasn't me" referred to. All they knew was that a notorious serial killer was finally caught. Commendations and bonuses were surely forthcoming. All in all, a good result.
That same day, Fujino took the Shinkansen back towards Tokyo.
Why the Batman disguise? Simple. Defusing a bomb on a bullet train had already drawn far too much attention. Capturing Numabuchi Kiichiro, a known associate (or escapee) of the Black Organization, would make him stand out even more. The tallest tree attracts the wind.
Fujino understood the need for discretion.
Meanwhile, in a traditional Japanese courtyard house in Kyoto.
"I knew it! I knew I wasn't mistaken..."
The brown-haired girl from the train station sat on the wooden veranda, excitedly reading a newspaper article:
[Shinkansen Explosion Averted! High School Detective Bravely Defuses Bomb, Saving Hundreds of Lives...]
After a moment, her brow furrowed.
"He comes all the way to Kyoto and doesn't even bother to visit me... My dear detective... have you really forgotten our promise from back then?"
The girl pouted dramatically, puffing out her cheeks like a spurned lover. Did he really forget?
Her gaze drifted towards the falling autumn leaves, a wistful look in her eyes.
The newspaper crumpled slightly in her hand as a dark aura of resentment seemed to emanate from behind her.
Beika Town, Mouri Residence.
"Achoo!"
Fujino, in the middle of sipping miso soup, suddenly sneezed, nearly spraying the soup across the table.
"Hey! Kid!"
Kogoro Mouri, sitting opposite him, barked gruffly.
"Don't sneeze while you're eating!"
"Sorry..."
Fujino bowed his head apologetically.
"Senpai, are you catching a cold?"
Ran asked, concerned, ignoring Kogoro's outburst. Her 'worried about the stray kid' expression was back.
"It's that time of year, fall turning into winter... Flu season..."
"Maybe I caught a chill last night..."
Fujino mumbled, recalling his 'Batman under the moonlight' escapade.
Think I got splashed with some of that cold water. Could he really be getting sick again? He'd just recovered from the last cold.
"Fujino, you're really weak!"
Conan chimed in from the side, having just finished a bowl of rice, fixing Fujino with his usual deadpan stare. After yesterday's events, his opinion of Fujino had slightly improved. He wasn't quite as annoying as before. But still... why is this guy eating dinner at Ran's house AGAIN?! A familiar sense of unease prickled at Conan.
"How many times do I have to tell you? It's Fujino-oniisan!"
Fujino reached over and ruffled Conan's hair again with that knowing smirk. Yep, definitely feels like petting a Shiba Inu.
"Right... Fujino... o... nii... chan!"
Conan forced out through gritted teeth. Endure! For now! One day, I'll make him pay for this... with interest!
"Thank you so much for dinner... Sorry for imposing."
Standing at the Mouri's doorway later, Fujino bowed politely to Ran.
"If I were home alone, I definitely wouldn't eat this well..."
"It's no trouble at all!"
Ran waved dismissively.
"It's just setting one extra place! Fujino-senpai, if it's convenient, you're welcome to come over for dinner every night!"
"Ahem..."
Fujino coughed, feeling the intensity of a certain jealous glare burning into his back.
"Wouldn't that be... inappropriate?"
"Nothing inappropriate about it, Fujino, my brother!"
Kogoro Mouri slurred from his spot in front of the TV, clutching a beer can, already half-drunk.
He gestured vaguely towards Fujino.
"My house is your house! Come whenever you want! Dinner? Breakfast too, if you want..."