Kazawa's words were quite cryptic—somewhat like a riddle and kind of punch-worthy.
But Conan's dad, Kudo Yusaku, was a top-tier riddle-talker himself—always vague and never speaking like a normal person. Conan had long adapted to this kind of style. His mind quickly came up with several interpretations.
"Is it because of your case?" Conan soon made the connection and thought Kazawa meant that justice had failed in his case. So he took the opportunity to ask about the case, hoping to find something he could use to persuade him to come back to the right path. "You still haven't told me in detail what really happened."
"I was planning to organize it into a document for you. Lately, I've been trying to recall and think through all the details. But if you're interested in hearing it now, I can talk." Kazawa paused to recall for a moment, then told Conan the biggest problem, "You'll need to investigate a lot, because I don't know who the plaintiff is, don't know who the witnesses are, and I don't know the police or judge who handled it. I'm the person involved, but you could say I know absolutely nothing about the case."
"...Huh?" Kazawa's one sentence completely baffled Conan.
Kazawa rubbed his chin. "Unbelievable, right? But I really don't know. I can roughly describe what they looked like, but I doubt that'll help much."
Then Kazawa told him the entire course of the case.
Conan listened with a twitching eyebrow. But when he looked down at Kazawa's shoes—today he was wearing a pair of cloth sneakers, soft and smooth with zero aggression—he couldn't help but recall how Kazawa had just kicked a several-centimeter-thick metal door and left a dent.
"Your physical skills… I couldn't tell which discipline you've trained in, but your level seems pretty high. Are you sure you just gave him a push, and he only got a scratch on his forehead?" he asked tactfully.
With Kazawa's strength, if he could kick in a door, sending someone flying three or four meters should be easy...
"Kickboxing." Just as Kazawa finished, he noticed Conan giving him a strange look. His eyes moved from Kazawa's feet to his hands—as if to say, then wouldn't your arm strength be even more powerful than your legs? Kazawa quickly added, "But I hadn't learned kickboxing back then. Maybe I was a bit strong, but I really didn't cause serious injury. After he fell, he even got back up to point at me and yell..."
Conan reluctantly accepted his answer and asked another question: "You haven't been learning kickboxing for long either? You seem pretty skilled."
"Just practical experience." Kazawa had already prepared for this and answered calmly.
"You... fight a lot?" Conan's train of thought hit a snag again.
"Quite the opposite. I used to be a model student." Kazawa knocked him on the head. "Feels like you're thinking something pretty rude… I stayed in detention for over two months. If I hadn't picked up some skills, I probably would've been beaten to death."
This was the excuse Kazawa prepared for his cheat-level kickboxing skills… Of course, this excuse wouldn't fool Amuro Tooru. If Amuro saw Kazawa fight twice, he'd definitely feel it was familiar. That's why Kazawa had to pretend to be weak in front of him.
Thankfully, the one tailing him was Akai Shuichi… those two would never casually share intel, so the risk of exposure was low.
But what Conan heard made him even more concerned: "You were violently interrogated in jail?"
"No. I guess they didn't want to leave any evidence. It's just that there happened to be punks and thugs locked up in the same cell with me every day. And it just so happened that we'd get into conflicts." A slight phantom pain made Kazawa subconsciously rub his ribs.
The worst injury the original body had suffered was a possible rib cartilage bruise, which hurt for more than half a month.
Conan stroked his chin, deep in thought. Then maybe Kazawa really didn't know anything about the case. From the final documents and legal process, this case—despite being a wrongful conviction with all the evidence and witnesses being fake—still strangely followed proper legal procedures.
Conan: "…" Great, the more he listened, the less he felt he had the grounds to stop Kazawa from being extreme. It was thanks to over a decade of solid moral education that this guy still turned out to be kind of a decent person.
"All right, no use talking in circles. Wait until you've got the means to investigate, then we'll think about it. Maybe I'll even recall more details by then." Seeing the elementary schooler silently hanging his head the whole way, Kazawa figured this level of mental strain probably wasn't great for his growth, so he patted his shoulder comfortingly. "Come on, go pick something you like."
"Huh?" Only now did Conan realize Kazawa had brought him to a bookstore in the shopping street. Then he belatedly remembered that Kazawa had indeed used "buying books" as an excuse to borrow him from the Mouri house this morning.
"You said you wanted to buy books, didn't you? Go have a look." Kazawa gently pushed Conan toward the display shelf filled with new releases.
When Conan looked up, right in front of him was a newly released mystery novel. He couldn't help but grab one, only to suddenly remember and shake his head: "No, no, I can't. I don't have any money on me to buy books." He sounded a bit down.
Ever since he shrank, he couldn't carry much cash without raising suspicion. Though he still had savings, he couldn't exactly ask Kazawa to take him to the bank just to buy a book…
"It's fine, I'll pay for it." Kazawa, truly not short on money, waved his hand and grabbed a hardcover Agatha Christie Collection and Selected Works of Edgar Allan Poe from the shelf and handed them to Conan.
Just by looking at the thickness and quality of the bindings, you could tell they weren't cheap. Conan waved his hands repeatedly: "No no no, this really isn't appropriate..."
But then he saw the covers of the books and remembered their earlier discussion about Murder on the Orient Express, pausing in thought.
"Well, since we used this as an excuse to come out, wouldn't it be weird to go back without any books? It'll look like we were just fooling around." Kazawa didn't mind at all. He glanced at the price tags and shoved the books into the boy's arms. "If anyone asks, just say I bought them and am lending them to you. That way, it'll also be easier to find a reason to come out again next time."
Books in Japan were quite expensive. A royalty rate of 5–15% could already make writers rich. Kazawa strongly suspected that one reason why Japanese authors were respected and held in high regard was that it was actually a high-paying career.
But no matter how expensive, how bad could it be? Kazawa could spend over a million yen a night crafting new masks—what's a few books in comparison? If he runs out of cash, he can just go beat up some shadows—er, that is, uphold justice to earn some!
Conan stood there hugging the books, lowering his head to smell the strong scent of ink. He felt a little touched.
Ever since the day he shrank, he could clearly feel that he had become a voiceless child—no one believed what he said, no one listened to what he did. It had been a long time since he felt like he was being treated as an equal and respected by someone older. And Kazawa even worried that he'd get scolded for not bringing a book home…
And…
Conan looked closely at the price tags on the three books and hugged them tighter.
He really gave him a lot, huh!
Maybe he had overthought things. Kazawa had just been through some sudden hardships, it was normal for his mood to be a bit off. But look—he's helping solve murder cases, helping look for missing kids—even if his mindset is a little off, he really is… still a good guy!