Conan Kidnapped
At Venti's words, Vodka and Kir found themselves nodding along in silent agreement, quietly wiping away a tear for their own misfortune. Couldn't he have said it any better — this was the first time either of them had ever met a person so insufferable to be around. There were moments when they genuinely wanted to poison Glenlivet, the Wanderer, into silence for good.
Compared to him, even Gin seemed easy to get along with. At least he never spat out cutting, pointless insults.
"As for his mother, she's a minister of Inazuma — something of an old friend of mine, actually. Ah, a shame she never quite learned how to raise a child."
That was a topic Venti could sink his teeth into. He set his wineglass down and launched into a torrent of words without so much as a breath: "Remember how I told you the Tsaritsa's lady made off with my Gnosis? Well, you probably didn't know this, but Inazuma's minister lost hers too — and it was the Wanderer himself who schemed and strong-armed it right out of her hands. Truly a filial child, that one."
Venti shook his head and sighed in exaggerated lament, utterly indifferent to the black expression spreading across Glenlivet's (the Wanderer's) face. Then, brushing the matter aside, he pressed on: "Still, Inazuma's minister is far more capable than I ever was. Even without her Gnosis, it barely affects her — she remains Inazuma's minister in name and in truth, and her subordinates obey her every word.
Not like me, huh... Ah, at this point hardly anyone even remembers what my face looks like..."
At the end of it all, Venti heaved a long, theatrical sigh of sorrow and drained the wine from the glass before him in one swallow.
Setting down the empty glass, he gazed absently at the tabletop, his eyes gone slightly hazy. He paused for a moment, then seemed to snap back to himself all at once, reaching for another glass and lifting it carefully to his lips for a delicate sip.
Kir heard all of this and stole a discreet glance at Glenlivet (the Wanderer), suddenly feeling a little better about her own situation. If the man had shown no mercy even to his own mother, then it stood to reason he wouldn't hesitate to stab the occasional collaborator in the back either.
As for Gin, he couldn't have cared less about the shifting currents of Venti's mood. All he wanted was to pry out more of the intelligence that interested him.
After all, if what Venti said was true — if there wasn't a grain of exaggeration in it — then it only proved how useless the man was, unable even to keep his own subordinates in line.
"Sounds like Glenlivet has a decent enough background. So how did he end up leaving your Teyvat Syndicate?"
No sooner had the question left Gin's mouth than Glenlivet (the Wanderer), who had been listening all this while, finally lost his seat at the table. Paying no mind to the looks from Vodka and Kir, he shoved back his chair and strode out without a single word.
"Aniki..." Vodka turned to Gin in silent inquiry. When his brother showed no reaction whatsoever, eyes still fixed on Venti as he waited for an answer, Vodka understood: Glenlivet was to be left alone. He straightened back up in his seat.
"Didn't I tell you the Fatui have a terrible reputation? They'd sell out their own people without blinking..." Venti waved a hand airily, answering in a tone that was half truth, half fabrication. "One of the Fatui Harbingers — the Doctor — double-crossed the Wanderer, and the two became enemies. He had no wish to keep working for Snezhnaya, and the other divisions all had sour relations with the Fatui, so naturally he had nowhere left to stay..."
While Venti and Gin traded questions and answers in this back-and-forth fashion, far away the group escorting Tsunetsuka Kei home had arrived at their destination.
On the way to the Tsunetsuka residence, Conan had kept his head down, thoughts churning.
He found the case at the Mouri Detective Agency riddled with suspicious points. Had the man who abducted Miss Tsunetsuka really killed himself? And if not, then why had no gunshot residue shown up on her at all?
Whatever the truth was, Conan silently lifted his eyes toward the passenger seat. One thing was certain — Tsunetsuka Kei was carrying a great many secrets.
Upon arriving at her home, Conan launched straight into his old reliable routine — a desperate need to use the bathroom. Left with no alternative, a reluctant Tsunetsuka unlocked the front door and let everyone inside.
The interior was a complete shambles, wreckage strewn from wall to wall. The television was still on, broadcasting footage of the incident that had just occurred at the Mouri Detective Agency.
Mouri Ran had just been about to call Kisaki Eri to let her know she was safe when her phone rang — Sera Masumi.
On the other end of the line, Sera fired off anxious questions about the situation at the agency, but strangely, Ran found that Sera's words kept cutting in and out, impossible to make out.
The moment Amuro Toru heard this, his expression changed. A wiretap — the realization struck him instantly, and he stepped forward and yanked the phone out of Ran's hand, killing the call.
While he was explaining the situation to the group in the living room, Tsunetsuka Kei excused herself on the pretext of gathering her things and slipped out of the room.
But the moment she reached the entryway and laid a hand on the door to leave, she was stopped — called out to, all by himself, by the audacious little Conan, who insisted on trailing after Miss Tsunetsuka under some flimsy pretext or other.
In the living room, Mouri Kogoro, Mouri Ran, and Amuro Toru remained blissfully unaware of what was unfolding at the door. They began sweeping the house for listening devices, and before long had unearthed a staggering pile of them. Immediately afterward came an even greater shock: a corpse, already beginning to rot, hidden inside a suitcase in one of the rooms.
Only then did Mouri Kogoro notice that Tsunetsuka Kei had left the house with Conan in tow.
A moment later, a text message arrived on his phone — from Tsunetsuka Kei herself.
Do not call the police. If you do, the boy dies. Cooperate, and I'll release him tomorrow afternoon.
Affixed to the end of the message was a photograph: Conan, unconscious, his glass of juice drained to the bottom — the sleeping drug already doing its work.