Chapter 3: Arrival in Japan
New York - Late Evening
That night, Natsukawa sat in his darkened apartment, communicating with the IRS through an encrypted dark web channel.
Neither side showed their faces. Both voices were digitally processed, resulting in mechanical, distorted tones that barely sounded human.
Natsukawa added his own layer of obfuscation—vocal techniques he'd mastered years ago that altered his pitch and timbre, making his voice significantly deeper. Two layers of distortion were enough to prevent voice analysis software from identifying him. It was essential to maintaining his reputation as "Twilight," the ghost operative who left no traces.
"Twilight, you're certain this mysterious organization—the one using alcohol codenames—is active in Japan?"
"Confirmed. I encountered one of their operatives, codename Gin, about five years ago. He was operating in Japan at the time. It's very likely one of their primary bases of operations, possibly even their headquarters."
Silence on the other end. Muffled voices in the background—they were consulting with someone else.
After a moment, the mechanical voice returned. "Interesting. According to intelligence we've... acquired... from the FBI, they do indeed have significant activity in Japan. An FBI agent who infiltrated the organization mentioned Japan repeatedly in his reports."
Natsukawa nearly laughed out loud.
FBI intelligence? The United States had separation of powers for a reason—each agency operated independently. Under normal circumstances, the FBI would never share classified intel with the IRS.
Under normal circumstances.
Of course, if the FBI Director suddenly found himself under investigation for tax irregularities, well... that changed the equation considerably.
As for which FBI agent they were referring to—did that even need to be asked? Obviously Shuichi Akai, the bureau's so-called "Silver Bullet." Poor bastard. He'd risked his life infiltrating the Black Organization, gathering intelligence over years of deep cover work, only to have his superiors trade it away as a bargaining chip to save their own asses.
Natsukawa wondered idly if Akemi Miyano was still alive. He hadn't seen any reports about a billion-yen heist in Kogoro Mouri's recent case files. Maybe that particular tragedy hadn't happened yet.
Then again, maybe it was better if those two had broken up. The whole situation was uncomfortable when you thought about it too hard.
Akemi's mother, Elena Miyano, and Akai's mother, Mary Sera, were sisters. Which made Akai and Akemi first cousins.
The relationship was doomed from the start. Though apparently Akemi loved him until the very end, and even after a thousand episodes, Akai still seemed oblivious to how messed up the whole situation was.
Damn you, Gosho Aoyama, Natsukawa thought with amusement. All you ever write about is your childhood sweetheart obsession.
He shook his head, pushing aside thoughts of tragic romance and complicated family trees. They were still in a meeting. Focus.
"As per your request, we'll prepare weapons and ammunition as soon as possible," the mechanical voice continued. "Though I must admit, I didn't expect 'Twilight'—the so-called King of Spies—to need us to supply basic equipment."
"Because if I buy them myself, I have to pay taxes on the purchase."
Dead silence.
The IRS had no comeback for that. The irony was too perfect.
The voice coughed twice, clearly embarrassed. "Right. Well. Find leads on the Black Organization as quickly as possible. Report any information about their business operations immediately."
"Understood."
"The funds and equipment will arrive Saturday. I'll send you the coordinates. And Twilight? Don't waste our time. Find those leads."
The connection cut immediately.
Natsukawa leaned back, considering. The IRS's urgency was palpable—they'd clearly gotten more intelligence from the FBI, enough to significantly increase their estimate of the Organization's assets. They were practically salivating over the potential tax revenue.
Not that he cared about any of that. Money had never been his primary motivation. If he really needed cash, there was always the Twilight Mansion to consider.
That legendary structure must have cost billions to construct. The entire exterior was covered in gold leaf—worth a fortune by itself. Add in all the gold and treasure supposedly hidden inside, and the wealth was staggering.
Plus, the mansion shared his codename. That had to mean something, right? Destiny, perhaps.
Tokyo, Japan - Beika Town - Two Days Later
Natsukawa, Frank, Bond, and Anya strolled through the quiet residential streets of Beika Town. Anya sat perched on Bond's back like a tiny princess riding a white steed, taking in the unfamiliar scenery with wide eyes.
"Papa, where's home? Anya is sooooo tired."
"How can you be tired? You've been riding Bond the entire time." Natsukawa glanced back at the massive dog. "If anyone should be complaining, it's him."
Bond whuffed in agreement, his expression suggesting he had opinions about being used as transportation.
"Hmph! Bond isn't being nice at all," Anya said, though her grin betrayed her amusement. She buried her face in Bond's thick fur and promptly fell asleep.
Natsukawa had purchased a house directly across from the Mouri Detective Agency—a modest three-story building with a small interior courtyard. Japan's economy was struggling at the moment, which meant real estate prices were reasonable. Paying in cash upfront had sealed the deal quickly.
He'd considered a villa but ultimately decided against it. They weren't exactly a large family—just him, Anya, and Bond. A huge house would feel empty and impersonal. This was better. Cozy. Livable.
Frank would be staying in Japan too, but he'd gotten his own place—a villa on the outskirts of town that suited his taste for space and privacy. He'd originally planned to hire a housekeeper but abandoned the idea given his profession as an information broker. Too risky.
"We're here!"
The moment the words left his mouth, Anya snapped awake with miraculous timing. She launched herself off Bond's back and made a beeline for the front door—
THUD.
—running face-first into said door with impressive force.
Natsukawa sighed, scooping up his dazed daughter with the cartoon spiral eyes. "You know, opening your eyes while running is generally considered good practice."
He unlocked the door and gestured for Frank to remove his shoes. "House rules. No shoes inside."
Interior - Natsukawa Residence
The first floor was about a hundred square meters—spacious, with just an entryway, living room, kitchen, and bathroom. Minimalist and functional.
The second floor mirrored the dimensions but contained three bedrooms: one master suite with an attached bathroom, and two smaller bedrooms sharing a common bath.
The third floor was Natsukawa's favorite feature. It housed a study with its own bathroom, but the rest of the space was open-air—a rooftop terrace perfect for evening relaxation.
The building was really more like two-and-a-half stories, but that suited him perfectly.
He could already picture himself up here on quiet evenings—maybe grilling, maybe just drinking tea and watching the city lights. The railing was originally quite low, but he'd specifically requested a higher safety fence installed. With Anya and Bond around, he couldn't risk either of them accidentally tumbling off the edge.
"Not bad," Frank said, looking around critically. "Just missing a woman's touch."
He was only half-joking, but Anya took the comment completely seriously. Her eyes snapped open—apparently she'd been faking unconsciousness—and she immediately latched onto Natsukawa's leg.
"Papa! Get Anya a mama!"
She deployed her secret weapon: maximum cuteness. Big pleading eyes, trembling lower lip, the works.
Natsukawa's eye twitched. "Anya—"
"The phrase is 'find me a mama,' not 'get me a mama,'" Frank interrupted, crouching down to Anya's eye level. "If you say it that way at school, the other kids will laugh at you. There's a big difference between those words."
Seeing the little troublemaker's confused expression, Natsukawa sighed. Had adopting her been the right choice? Though with language skills like that, she definitely needed to go to school and learn proper grammar.
Third Floor Terrace - Early Afternoon
The midday sun was intense. Natsukawa shielded his eyes as he walked to the railing and looked across the street at the Mouri Detective Agency.
From this vantage point, he had a perfect view of the second-floor windows. Through the open glass, he could see Kogoro Mouri sitting at his desk, deeply engrossed in his "work."
If Natsukawa wasn't mistaken, that "work" involved either horse racing broadcasts or Yoko Okino variety shows.
The simple life of a middle-aged man, he thought with amusement. Though I really don't understand why he drove away such a beautiful wife. If I were him, I'd do everything possible to bring her home.
Poor Ran. Taking care of the household, cooking for three people, managing her studies, all while her mother lived separately and her father drank himself into a stupor. Add Conan into the mix, and the girl barely had time to breathe.
"Hmm?"
Inside the agency, Conan suddenly looked up from his homework. Something felt... off. He turned toward the window.
"What's wrong, kid? Is the window making it too cold in here?"
SLAM!
Kogoro lurched up from his desk and slammed the window shut with enough force to rattle the frame.
Am I imagining things? Conan stared at the empty third-floor terrace across the street, an inexplicable sense of unease settling over him.
"It's nothing, Uncle Kogoro. It was a little chilly, but closing it completely might make the ventilation bad."
"You worry too much, brat."
The perpetually drunk detective turned around and yanked the window back open, nearly pulling it off its hinges.
"DAD! What are you doing?!"
Ran's voice carried from the kitchen, sharp with exasperation. She'd heard the commotion even over the sound of cooking. That window was going to break one of these days if he kept manhandling it.
"I told you not to drink so much, but do you listen? No!"
She sighed and returned to preparing dinner.
Natsukawa Residence - Rooftop
Natsukawa sat on the ground, a slight smile playing across his face.
Impressive, Conan. I was only watching for three seconds before he detected me.
No wonder he was Gosho Aoyama's golden child—his plot armor was significantly better than that poor phantom thief who spent half his screentime being tormented by a teenage witch.
"Papa, you shouldn't sit on the floor! The ground is cold!"
Anya had somehow escaped Frank's persistent grammar lessons and appeared at his side.
"Anya, this is Japan now. I think it would be more appropriate if you called Natsukawa 'Dad' or 'Otou-san' instead of 'Papa.'"
Frank's hidden teacher persona had fully awakened. As someone who'd also grown up in an orphanage, he felt a natural kinship with Anya and genuinely wanted to help her integrate into Japanese society.
"If Anya calls you 'Dad,' will you get her a mama?"
"Anya, how many times do I have to tell you? It's 'find' not 'get!'" Frank pressed his palm to his forehead in despair. He'd just explained this five minutes ago, and she'd already forgotten.
The legendary spy "Twilight"—brilliant, calculating, deadly—had somehow ended up with a daughter who couldn't grasp basic grammar.
Even adopted children shouldn't be this challenging!
At that moment, another aspect of Frank's personality awakened. His eyes blazed with determination.
"I, Frank, will make Anya into a properly educated young lady if it's the last thing I do!"
Thirty Minutes Later
Frank sat on the floor, cradling a bottle of whiskey, his glasses askew.
"It's impossible," he muttered, taking a long drink. "She's unteachable. We're doomed."
Natsukawa patted his shoulder sympathetically. "Welcome to parenthood."
Some battles, Natsukawa reflected, simply couldn't be won.
[End of Chapter 3]
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