Chapter 117: The Detective Who Reads the Heavens to Know Fortune and Misfortune
The moment Gin finished his sentence, several men in black nearby narrowed their eyes, displaying a range of expressions—some disdainful, others expectant. They wanted to see for themselves the enemy Gin called a "monster."
Gin sensed their arrogance, but he said nothing. That was the Organization's style; words were useless.
The Organization had no official name. Members only knew the codenames of executives, all named after alcohols corresponding to their nationalities. Because the executives universally favored black trench coats, they were dubbed "The Distillery" or the "Black Organization" by others.
The structure was simple and flat: three tiers consisting of nameless "small fry" peripheral members, formal members with codenames, and the Management. Yet, this simplicity was deceptive. The top-level managers were shrouded in mystery. For instance, some high-ranking executives and key research staff like Shiho Miyano knew the Big Boss was supposedly Renya Karasuma.
But knowing a name meant little. Given the timeline, if Karasuma were alive today, he would be a centenarian. Whether the Boss was truly the original Karasuma, or if the name was a mere codename for a successor or even an entire faction, remained unclear.
The Distillery was riddled with moles. In the original story, despite Conan and major intelligence agencies knowing Karasuma's name, they never managed to uproot the Organization. This was likely due to the "fishing" tactics of global agencies, who coveted the Distillery's research.
In the original work, the APTX poison had already shown successful rejuvenation in mice during Shiho's experiments. In human trials, four subjects successfully regressed in age—one of whom was an American intelligence agent.
Add to that Edogawa Conan (Shinichi Kudo), who was running wild and leaving his identity exposed to members of various national agencies, such as Bourbon (Japanese Public Security) and Shuichi Akai (FBI). If the world's power players knew the truth, then Conan was essentially a "Humanoid Spirit Treasure"—a living advertisement that kept the Organization safe. As long as Conan didn't drop dead from health issues, nations were willing to turn a blind eye to the Distillery's crimes, encouraging them to "contribute to the future of human civilization."
Or perhaps the world powers had long known the Organization's full face, and the "Karasuma" behind the curtain had established a web of interests with various governments through endless cycles of negotiation and compromise. The Distillery's crimes, the moles' personal vendettas, and Conan's heroics might just be tiny ripples in a grand game played by the elites.
Regardless of those high-level games, the formal members were the backbone. Their management structure was advanced; rather than a simple criminal syndicate, it resembled a "Military Company" with a heavy American underground flair.
Peripheral members were everywhere, in every industry. As long as they had talent and the Organization had leverage over them, they were utilized. If a candidate showed potential, they entered the formal evaluation process.
Formal members specialized in fields like sniping or heavy ordinance. They were scattered globally, assembling only when Management issued a task. Tactical specialists would draft a plan, the Organization would provide the requested firepower and logistics, and the mission would commence. Once complete, the team dissolved instantly, leaving peripheral members to clean the "tail." Rewards were then distributed in waves.
This special-forces-style workflow was efficient, secretive, and utterly devastating to conventional criminal groups, who often died without knowing who hit them.
The only flaw: the "Sharp Knife" (the executive) had to be flawless. If not, the mission failed.
That was where Gin came in. As the "Cleaner," he audited failures. If it was an act of God, fine. If it was human error—peripheral or formal—Gin handled it. Usually through "dismissal." Not the corporate kind, but the kind that sent "high-quality sinners" to the afterlife to boost Hell's administrative stats.
Because the Distillery was special, failures were often caused by moles. This led Gin to spend most of his time hunting traitors, to the point where he looked at everyone with suspicion.
As a result, any formal member who was still alive and hadn't received Gin's "notice" was inevitably arrogant and eccentric. Gin tolerated this because the Organization needed their talent. Of course, the more Gin had to tolerate their attitude at the start, the harder his finger pulled the trigger if they failed.
As the team prepared to depart, Bourbon (Rei Furuya/Toru Amuro) suddenly spoke:
"Gin, you say this monster is unfathomable. But he surrendered, and now he's escaped alone. Isn't that suspicious? Shouldn't we reconsider the plan? After all, our primary objective isn't actually this 'monster.'"
As a double agent for Japanese Public Security, Bourbon naturally looked for an opening to interfere with the Organization's escalation. Typically, while mission orders were absolute, the method of execution was flexible; with the right logic, there was room for manipulation.
Gin glanced at him. His eyes were cold but lacked killing intent; he shared the same doubt. Having fought Mo Yu once, he had felt that overwhelming evil. As a criminal, Gin had no religion, but in that moment, he felt he had seen a "God"—an Evil God made of sin, ruling over slaughter and darkness.
No matter how young and green Shinichi Kudo looked, Gin preferred to over-estimate him. He dared not underestimate him. This was the warning from his Stand, the Black Dragon.
However, the Boss's orders were absolute. Gin was prepared to face that "Evil God" again to reclaim his pride. While Shiho Miyano had been studying him, he had been manically analyzing data on the "Savior of the Police Force."
Thanks to the media, Shinichi's life was an open book. Gin confirmed that while the boy was green, he was a genius, not a fool. His surrender was likely a plot, and his escape was even more irregular.
But Gin was also smart enough to know that over-thinking was useless. Even if it were a trap, an isolated Shinichi was a better target than a Shinichi surrounded by police in a hospital. The sacrifice of a few members was a price worth paying for the prize.
Gin spoke: "Intelligence says the Die isn't in official hands. Hunting that monster is our only choice..."
Nations had moles in the Distillery, but the Distillery had peripheral members in the government. They had known about the "Evidence" (the Die) early. When they went to steal it from Megure, it had vanished, only to reappear on the desk in Shinichi's jail cell. No one touched it. When he was moved to the hospital, it appeared on his nightstand.
This proved the Die chose its owner. The Organization realized they had to hunt Shinichi to get it. Or, more bluntly, as per the Boss's orders: If we can't have it, destroy it.
Bourbon wanted to argue further, but Gin waved him off. "Enough. We move. Bosse's orders."
Bourbon shrugged. He had already sent his intel up the chain; now he could only act as the situation developed.
The Distillery mobilized in full force. Gin sat in his Porsche with Vodka driving. Vodka noticed Gin's strange expression while smoking.
"Boss, it's just a high-schooler. With the Organization's power, there won't be an issue. Or... are you worried about traitors jumping out?"
"Traitors are just jumping clowns. They underestimate our resolve. It's just... never mind. It's not important."
Gin blew out a cloud of smoke, his eyes piercing the distance. The Organization's power was already in play: peripheral members in the government had initiated traffic control and lock-downs around Shinichi's location. Surveillance was hijacked. Local gangs funded by the Organization were already moving in for the initial cull.
Gin wasn't heading to the scene yet; they were going to a logistics hub to arm themselves. The cache included everything from light ordinance to armored vehicles and attack helicopters.
This was the Organization's resolve: an all-out War of Hunting against a high school detective on Japanese soil, consequences be damned.
On the other side, Shinichi Kudo—still pursuing the spies—felt a tremor in his heart.
As Moriarty's heart beat within him, the "Sinful Blood" granted him supernatural senses. He looked up. In the distance, he saw illusory dark clouds sweeping across the sky. Within the clouds, countless Yokai and demons peered out with murderous eyes, brandishing weapons at him!
"They're fast. And it's quite a show. After today, many people will realize what the Fifth Divergence actually brought..."
Shinichi muttered to himself. The vision was illusory for now, but not for long. The massive darkness of killing intent was crossing the boundary into reality. People across the city were already looking up, noticing the clear sky being blotted out by something invisible as the light dimmed.
Mo Yu commented: "The Hundred Demons' Night Parade. The killing intent is so fierce it's flipping the Yin and Yang. The Distillery's style is decent, but not 'potent' enough. They should at least toss a few thermobaric bombs to say hello. This little scheme? Who are they looking down on!"
Shinichi didn't respond. He stared at the omens. Perhaps it was the "Sinful Blood," or his detective's intuition, but he began to reverse-engineer the Distillery's plan.
He saw "policemen demons" tied with puppet strings, throwing hooks into the distance—the police moles forming a net. He saw shackled, tattooed "gangster ghosts"—the underground syndicates involved. The clues in the omen made him confident, yet he found it ironic. He never thought he'd become a detective who could read the stars to predict his own doom.
Shinichi refocused on the car ahead. Under the Stand's power, the sedan was reaching impossible speeds. If not for the driver's human limits and traffic, it would be creating sonic booms.
Shinichi lowered his eyes. The angina, which had faded, spiked with violent intensity!
In the distance, the sedan's engine let out a sudden roar and died.
Driving beyond the limit leads to engine failure. A very reasonable occurrence.
The car swerved and rolled to a stop by the curb. Shinichi pulled up on his motorcycle. Under the driver's terrified gaze, he pulled open the passenger door and sat down.
"Nearest police station, please. Thank you."
The leader of the spies was silent—not just because of Shinichi's presence, but because the pitch-black humanoid was now sitting in the back seat. The other two spies were trembling like quail.
"The... the car is broken!" the leader stammered.
Shinichi snapped his fingers. "I think the car is fine."
The engine roared back to life instantly.
"Drive faster, please."
Shinichi stared at the leader. The boy's sclera were vanishing, replaced by a pitch-black abyss that seemed to swallow everything. The driver, paralyzed by primal fear, slammed the pedal to the floor.
Soon, they saw a roadblock with "traffic police" ahead. The driver panicked. "What do we do? We can't get through!"
Shinichi glanced ahead. "What do you mean? The road is wide. With your ability, you can just drive over it."
The driver didn't understand. Suddenly, his rat-headed Stand was enveloped in black qi, let out a howl of agony, then turned vacant. It activated its ability.
The driver's limbs moved against his will. He stomped the gas and yanked the wheel upward. The car was wreathed in light, and like a living thing, it leaped high into the air, soaring right over the roadblock.
"When you feel awe and fear toward me, you submit. Your sins become my claws and puppets. But don't worry—I have no interest in building a criminal empire yet. Just drive. You'll be free when we reach the station!"
As a detective, Shinichi was used to explaining things to his "victims." The concentration of all criminal techniques naturally included the manipulation of other "Evils."
End of Chapter
Like this story Leave a review ; it would really help me out a lot.
Want to Read Ahead in Advance?
Join my Patreon!
+75 Chapters
Support me in
Patreon.com/BestElysium