What appeared before their eyes was a huge football field.
Two football teams were competing fiercely on the field, and at the top of the auditorium—large enough to accommodate tens of thousands of spectators—a blond man in a suit and leather shoes sat in a transparent box.
Using her scope to lock onto the blond man's head, Chianti confidently pulled the trigger.
The brass shell flew out, and a bullet instantly pierced the glass of the box—only to land harmlessly in the popcorn bucket to the right of the blond man.
Chianti clicked her tongue in displeasure.
He, too, had failed to hit the target when he aimed just moments earlier.
As the two snipers turned off the simulator, Vodka commented, "Looks like six hundred yards is their limit."
"We'll get it with more practice!" Chianti snapped back, then turned around and noticed Hayashi Yoshiki.
"Oh! Cointreau finished training already?"
"Thanks for your hard work."
Hayashi Yoshiki smiled, raising a hand in greeting.
That small gesture was enough to make Chianti visibly excited. She promptly set her gun down and hopped off the aiming platform.
The taciturn Cohen helped her pack the rifle.
"So? Even if it's just a simulation, it still hurts when you get hit, right? Tsk tsk... you sure you can handle it?"
Chianti walked over and gave Hayashi Yoshiki a few hearty slaps on the shoulders.
Vodka, watching this, quietly wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.
"Cointreau killed his opponent in just over 40 seconds. It probably would've been even faster if he hadn't taken time to observe."
Chianti's jaw dropped.
She had also undergone close-combat simulation before. But as a sniper, her performance wasn't stellar—it had taken her over four minutes, and she'd barely escaped with simulated "serious injuries."
"Did you bring a gun?"
Hayashi Yoshiki just smiled without answering.
Though he hadn't used a gun, the dagger he did bring was a significant advantage. But the Black Organization didn't care about the means—as long as it killed, that was enough.
"When's the book signing?" Cohen asked as he approached.
He had heard that Hayashi Yoshiki's new novel had already been submitted to the publisher and was looking forward to it.
"Still more than ten days to go… but in my current condition, it may not be wise for you to attend."
His aura visibly dimmed.
"I'll sign a copy for you."
"No, that's different."
"…If necessary, just use a disguise."
Cohen accepted without hesitation.
Upon hearing Hayashi Yoshiki mention "disguise," Gin couldn't help but glance over.
"Don't get too close to that woman Vermouth."
"Don't worry. I know my limits."
Gin didn't press further.
He wasn't worried that Hayashi Yoshiki would side with the intelligence team because of Vermouth—after all, Vermouth and Rum were not exactly aligned.
She operated more like a third party within the organization, granted special status by the boss that allowed her to bounce between factions.
"By the way," Vodka added, "there's still nothing unusual about Odagiri Toshiro, whom you asked me to monitor. Even his online activity checks out."
"Thanks for the report."
Hayashi Yoshiki wasn't surprised.
The task force's investigation into the accidental murder cases had hit a wall.
All the task force could do was follow up quickly after every incident, yet each investigation yielded no connection to the real killer.
They were accumulating more and more data, but it was all bloated and pointless.
The only meaningful conclusion they'd drawn so far was that the murderer was definitely using the internet to gather information—and faster than the police.
Even content that was deleted within seconds of being posted couldn't stop him.
"Wait a little longer…"
Odagiri Toshiro is a man who detests evil.
Based on Hayashi Yoshiki's observations, a man like him—with zero tolerance for criminals—might end up doing something drastic.
Maybe... just maybe... there's still one more chance.
A group of elementary school students followed Professor Agasa to a cake shop.
Haibara Ai looked at Conan, who wore a sullen expression.
"Still thinking about the school festival?"
Ever since that day, he had been restless.
A mysterious figure had impersonated Kudo Shinichi—and then disappeared without a trace.
Conan was no fool. He didn't believe the impostor had shown up just to help him clear up Ran's suspicions.
He feared the person was testing something… and likely a member of that organization.
Haibara Ai, observing his troubled expression, chose not to offer comfort.
In fact, she had asked Cointreau about that incident.
"Don't worry about it."
It might even have been orchestrated by him. After all, she still remembered that time someone disguised as her showed up on the Haido rooftop.
As they approached the cake shop, they ran into Sato Miwako, along with Ninzaburo Shiratori and Takagi Wataru.
"Officer Sato? Why are you here with the kids?"
"Just happened to bump into them," Sato smiled.
"They helped out last time, so I thought I'd treat them to cake."
"That's nice of you..."
"What about you guys?" she asked.
"We received some strange intel," Takagi replied with a smile.
"Someone called HQ saying there's a bomb in this restaurant."
"Yeah. The last two were on this exact date—seven and three years ago. So we came to check it out."
"Seven and three years ago…?"
Conan murmured the keywords, his brain suddenly sparking with unease.
But before he could speak—
A thunderous explosion rocked the air.
The group turned in horror to see Shiratori's car—engulfed in flames, belching black smoke.
"OFFICER SHIRATORI!!!"