Karasawa's head hung low, soft brown hair falling neatly over his face, completely obscuring his expression from those standing in front of him.
Sonoko Suzuki tugged at Ran Mouri, who had noticed the commotion and come over. She whispered excitedly, barely able to contain herself: "Is he imitating your dad? You know, 'Sleeping Kogorou Mouri'? Look at him—it's such a vibe. 'Sleeping Karasawa Akira'... That's kind of hot!"
"Sonoko…" Ran swiftly caught Sonoko's hand mid-reach as she fished for her phone, halting the fangirl before she could snap a picture.
Behind Karasawa, crouched down near his back, Conan began laying out the key points of the case.
"The killer tried to mimic the scene from the painting Divine Retribution, deliberately murdering the victim directly across from the artwork. They'd even cleared out the surrounding exhibits ahead of time. Add to that the surveillance footage showing the culprit dressed in the armor from the exhibit the entire time… That's why everyone believes the killer must be someone familiar with the museum—an insider."
"But if the killer knew the layout so well, why commit the murder in full view of the cameras?" Conan continued. "They had plenty of opportunities to do it in a blind spot or temporarily cover the lens."
Inspector Megure rubbed his chin, thinking aloud: "Maybe because they were wearing armor? They figured it didn't matter if they were on camera?"
"I think they wanted the footage," Conan countered. "To make it look like the victim, Mr. Manaka, died leaving behind a suicide note. In other words, the surveillance video was staged. Inspector, if you look closely at the note—under the name 'Kuwata'—aren't there a lot of odd, horizontal scratch marks?"
Megure picked up the evidence bag and examined it. "You're right… There are lots of scratch marks over the name. Wait—could it be?!"
"Yes. That's probably the victim's real final action. He wasn't writing that name. He was trying to cross it out."
Megure opened another evidence bag and pulled out a ballpoint pen. "But we found this pen near the body—the ink, thickness, and color match the writing. The forensic test isn't back yet, but preliminarily, it looks like it was used to write the note."
"It probably was used to write the note," Conan said calmly. "But not by the victim."
"…You just said—"
"The pen the victim grabbed wasn't working," Conan said, peeking through the ladder rungs to check the positions of everyone in the room. "When I found the pen, the nib was retracted. If the victim had thrown it aside, it's unlikely he would've bothered clicking it shut. And in the surveillance footage, the killer never touched the pen after the attack. After that, only we entered the room. The museum staff weren't called back into the hall until the police arrived.
"So that means the killer swapped the pen after the police got here—right under everyone's noses. Which means…"
Conan pointed toward the elderly, bearded man standing at the side—Director Ochiai—stretching his short arm through the gap in the ladder to guide Karasawa's hand.
Except he grabbed nothing.
Conan froze. His heart skipped a beat. He looked up—and saw Karasawa, who should have been "asleep," bracing a hand against the ladder and rising to his feet.
He's already awake?! Oh no—
Conan reflexively scrambled out from behind the ladder, ducking behind a display case before Karasawa could fully stand up. If he didn't hide in time, he'd be completely exposed.
But Karasawa didn't say a word. He didn't look confused or disoriented.
He walked straight toward Director Ochiai.
Without hesitation, he reached into Ochiai's suit pocket—using a handkerchief—and pulled out a pen identical to the one in the evidence bag.
"The refill's still retracted," Karasawa said smoothly, continuing Conan's line of reasoning as if reading from a script. "The killer must've swapped it in a rush. Probably didn't even have time to wipe it clean. So, what do you think—will we find Mr. Manaka's fingerprints on this one?"
All eyes in the room turned to Director Ochiai, each face painted with disbelief.
Except for Conan. His look of shock was aimed squarely at Karasawa.
"…You're absolutely right, kid," Director Ochiai said, leaning on his cane with a strangely serene expression. "Everything you said checks out."
The officers who had been encircling Kuwata all turned in unison, surrounding Ochiai instead. Megure frowned and took the pen Karasawa handed him. He scribbled on his notepad.
Nothing came out.
Just as Karasawa had deduced.
That paper wasn't a suicide note—it was a setup, written beforehand with Kuwata's name, to frame him.
"Can you tell us where you were at the time of the murder?" Megure asked, though he was already signaling his subordinates to ready the handcuffs.
"I was right here, wearing the knight's armor, waiting for Mr. Manaka to show up." Ochiai didn't resist. He placed his hands behind his back and gazed up at Divine Retribution. "Waiting to impale the devil before me, just like the painting."
"I rehearsed for weeks—every step, every camera angle, every possible reaction. I had to get it all right."
"So the rumors about the armor moving on its own…" Megure murmured, understanding dawning. "That was you practicing the kill."
Even though Karasawa had mentally prepared himself, he still felt deeply confused watching the culprit confess so readily.
Man, culprits in the Detective Conan universe are really committed to their theatrics.
Still, he had to stay in character. Karasawa asked helpfully, "Was it because he planned to shut down the museum and turn it into a restaurant? And you framed Kuwata because he was secretly selling off exhibits, betraying everything the place stood for?"
"Exactly. I've been the curator here since the museum opened. Every artifact is like a child to me. I couldn't let him destroy them." Ochiai's eyes scanned the room with a passionate reverence.
"But you're not some righteous knight slaying a demon," Megure said with a grimace. "You're a murderer. You're under arrest."
"The knight who kills demons ends up drenched in blood, sunk deep in mud. That's the true meaning of Divine Retribution," Ochiai replied, offering Karasawa a calm, almost knowing look. "That's why my plans unraveled in the eyes of these children. It's the punishment I deserve."
Karasawa knew exactly what he meant—the case had been cracked by both him and Conan. But aside from the two of them, no one else would notice that subtle "children."
He turned to glance at Conan, still frozen in the corner, unsure where to put his hands or feet.
The kid was sweating harder than Kuwata had when he was being falsely accused.
So Karasawa had suspected Ochiai too. That step forward he took before being "stabbed" must've been his attempt to point to the real killer…
If I'd known, I wouldn't have used the tranquilizer… I'm doomed. If Karasawa mentions what happened, Ran's definitely going to—
But Karasawa didn't say a word to Conan. He simply turned back and walked to Megure's side.
"This case is a little… dramatic. The method, the scene, the rumors—it'll definitely blow up in the press. Could I ask you… not to mention my name to the reporters?"
"Why?" Megure looked surprised. "Your name's Karasawa, right? Karasawa-kun, your deduction was brilliant. When this hits the papers, people will praise your talent. You're a natural at this. You've been a huge help—we should acknowledge you."
Kudou suddenly disappears and we finally get a new external brain—and now he wants to run away? Not happening, Megure thought.
Karasawa leaned in and whispered something into his ear.
Megure's face cycled through confusion, then shock, and finally sympathy. He gave Karasawa a gentle pat on the shoulder.
"…I understand. Alright, we'll respect your wishes. I'll make sure no one mentions your name."
Even with his identity nearly exposed, Conan couldn't help wondering what Karasawa had whispered. He wanted to know.
But as Karasawa narrowed his eyes and slowly approached, Conan's curiosity was overtaken by sheer instinct.
He backed away, one step at a time, until he was plastered flat against the wall like a dissected frog. Limbs stiff, eyes wide.
At that moment, he felt just like the victim they'd just hauled away—about to be pinned to the wall by a single, damning strike.