This was outrageous.
Inspector Megure Juzo slammed his palm against the table, veins bulging on his forehead as anger surged through him.
He could not understand what the higher-ups were thinking.
They had gathered nearly all the influential figures of Tokyo into a luxurious manor, hosting a so-called "ball."
A ball?
In truth, it was nothing more than a desperate conference.
One after another, members of the powerful class had died under mysterious circumstances, and the Metropolitan Police had been utterly unable to stop it. Fear had finally pushed them to abandon pride and summon everyone—politicians, tycoons, religious figures, and so-called experts—to "discuss countermeasures."
As if discussion alone could stop death.
Megure's team had been invited as well, which only made the situation more uncomfortable. The police officers present felt like they were sitting on hot coals.
By contrast, Kudo Shinichi couldn't care less.
He stayed far from the center of attention, quietly occupying a corner table, eating and drinking without concern.
Inspector Megure was taking all the heat anyway—none of this would fall on him.
For similar reasons, Takeda Mitsue also remained on the fringe.
Once celebrated as the "Goddess of the Lower Town," she had long since fallen from grace. Though she had been invited, she was clearly treated as an afterthought—an old relic included merely to fill a seat.
She wasn't alone in that.
The hall was filled with famous names: shrine maidens claiming divine bloodlines, onmyoji heirs, religious leaders wrapped in prestige.
Takeda Mitsue looked at them calmly.
None of them possessed real ability.
They were exactly like her former self—living off words, reputation, and illusion.
The only difference was that they had backing, while she had none.
That was why they were respected occultists, while she had been labeled a fraud.
The hierarchy was cruel, but clear.
"Good evening, Kudo-kun. Granny Takeda."
A gentle voice interrupted their silence.
Yukinoshita Haruno approached with a flawless smile, holding a glass of wine. She looked entirely at ease, as if she belonged among the elites—yet she stood deliberately at the edge.
Haruno knew her position well.
The Yukinoshita family might be influential in Chiba, but in Tokyo? They were still outsiders.
Over there stood the true giants—zaibatsu heirs, cabinet ministers, ancient families.
She had no intention of humiliating herself by forcing entry into their circle.
Instead, she chose the margins.
And here, at the margins, sat two extremely valuable connections.
Kudo Shinichi.Takeda Mitsue.
Perfect.
After exchanging pleasantries, the three began to talk.
Takeda listened quietly as Haruno and Kudo spoke.
"…So even you, the 'savior of the Metropolitan Police,' can't determine the killer's method?" Haruno asked softly.
Kudo frowned."…At present, no. The deaths follow a pattern—but that pattern breaks halfway through."
Haruno's eyes darkened slightly.
That was bad.
The victims so far had been upper-middle class. One more step upward, and families like Yukinoshita's would be within reach.
No wonder the powerful were panicking.
Takeda Mitsue finally spoke.
"Young man," she said calmly, "have you considered that your initial framework might be wrong?"
"Impossible," Kudo replied instinctively—then paused.
…Was it?
Takeda continued, pulling out an old compass-like instrument.
"The deaths don't follow criminal logic. They follow sequence."
"Inoue. Kawaguchi. Seiichiro."
"In our terms, they correspond to Jia, Yi, Bing."
"The next group would be Ding, Wu, Ji."
She traced the compass lightly.
"The next to die will be Geng."
Kudo stared at her.
Haruno felt her scalp tighten.
This was nonsense.This had to be nonsense.
Yet—
Against all logic, Kudo handed Takeda a list of names.
Haruno nearly choked.
You're believing this?!
Moments later—
A roar exploded from the center of the hall.
"WHAT DID YOU SAY!? Yamamoto Shiro is dead!? WHEN!?"
Inspector Megure's voice silenced the entire ballroom.
The name echoed like a gunshot.
Haruno's blood ran cold.
Takeda Mitsue slowly lowered her compass.
Kudo Shinichi's pupils contracted.
This wasn't coincidence.
From Haruno's perspective, something terrifying crystallized in that instant.
This old woman wasn't guessing.
She wasn't improvising.
She was seeing something.
Haruno swallowed hard.
The laughter, the wine, the music—all felt distant.
For the first time that night, she felt true fear.
And deep in her heart, a single thought surfaced:
If this is real… then Tokyo is already standing at the edge.
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