Conan: I'm a zaibatsu in Tokyo

Zheng Yi began writing on the third day after Takahashi's body was buried.

He wants to compile a collection of his works.

"I want their dying words to be heard," Zheng Yi said.

As he spoke, he even radiated a Buddha-like light, so bright that Ai couldn't open her eyes.

He titled his collection of works "The Last Words of Seven People".

Although three of them were imprisoned, Zheng Yi treated them as if they were dead.

The cover is pure black, with seven cracks printed in the center, each crack containing a name.

Those seven companions who once wrote side by side also met with the same tragic end.

In the book, Zheng Yi wrote a preface for each person, calmly describing their creative state in the final moments before their death.

The first chapter is Matsumura.

In the last paragraph of the preface, Matsumura's last words are written:

"Zhengyi is not the sinner, we are..."

Chapter Two is about Takeda.

“I am deeply sinful, not only because I killed Matsumura, but also because I once framed a very respectable person.”

Chapter Three is about Sakurai.

"I wanted to ruin you, but I ruined myself instead. That money... I didn't spend a single penny of it."

Zheng Yi also wrote a note: "She burned all the transfer records before she died. But the fire did not burn this letter. Some sins cannot be completely burned away even by fire."

Chapter Four is about Hashimoto, followed by Ishimoto, Oyama, and Takahashi.

After finishing the preface, Zheng Yi said softly, "I always feel like something is missing."

"You're still short of my share, aren't you?" Ai said to Masakazu.

Seeing the deaths of the seven people, Ai felt a pang of sympathy.

Masayuki glanced at Ai, and the look made Ai's whole body tremble.

"You're not really going to write about me, are you?" Ai took a step back.

Zheng Yi looked Ai up and down and said, "The seven of them are all writing my autobiography, and so are you. It's perfect to include you."

"Of course, you definitely won't be killed by Conan."

"No way!" Ai shouted. "Your collection of works is called 'Last Words,' don't include me in it!"

"Alright." Zheng Yi sighed.

Ai firmly opposed it, and Seiichi couldn't force the issue.

Ai looked at Masakazu, hesitant to speak.

These seven people are either dead or in prison.

All I did was say bad things about you. Why are you targeting me like this? You can't even rest in peace after death. You kill someone and then try to destroy their spirit.

Their minds are smaller than a pinhole.

After writing all of this, Zhengyi began to publish it.

Each book is numbered and includes a negative of a group photo of the seven people, with the following text written on the back:

"The one who is alive is the one who writes."

Of course, what Shoichi meant was that Ai, who is alive, is the one who wrote the autobiography.

I hope everyone will not overthink things.

Zheng Yi frowned as he looked at the printed book, but said nothing.

"I feel like sales will be good," Zheng Yi said.

Ai nodded as well.

It's definitely good.

Those seven people are all highly skilled writers, and they're writing autobiographies for you, a 'controversial figure.' I'm sure there will be many people curious and wanting to read them.

Not to mention, all seven of them got into trouble.

Combined with the rumors about Zheng Yi, wow~
They're going to sell out fast.

……

Tokyo, a late-night editorial office.

The air was filled with the smell of stale coffee and a sense of oppressive fear.

At either end of the long table sat the editors-in-chief of two rival newspapers.

On the table lay a book with a black cover.

The gold lettering resembles streaks of dried blood—"Seven Kinds of Death".

"Heh, you just said to have some backbone, and then you turn around and start fawning over Zheng Yi. You've really lost all shame," the man said sarcastically.

“Ha,” the woman said, “Likewise.”

Then, the two fell silent.

The woman spoke again, "Have you read that collection of works, 'Seven Ways of Death'?"

The man didn't look up, but stared at the book cover, nodded, and his voice was so soft it seemed a gust of wind could dissipate it:

"I saw it. Just last night. I didn't sleep all night."

"This isn't a book!" The woman slammed the book down on the table with a loud bang.

"This is clearly a... a threatening letter written with a corpse!"

"Seven kinds of death, there's really no attempt to cover it up."

The man reassured her, "Don't get so agitated. The publisher said it's a printing error."

"The real name is 'The Seven Last Words,' but it was accidentally printed as 'Seven Kinds of Death.'"

The woman's lips twitched.

Is there really such an absurd error?

Of the four characters, only one was correct.

This is just fooling idiots!
The woman stood up and paced back and forth in the small conference room.

“Those seven guys…” the woman said in a low voice, “I died a terrible death.”

Although three are still in prison.

But the woman felt that they weren't really alive.

The man looked up; his eyes were dark-rimmed, clearly indicating he had also been quite frightened.

“The scariest thing isn’t that he killed them.” The man’s voice trembled.

"The most terrifying thing is that he published their posthumous works."

He reached out and gently touched the black cover with his fingertips, as if touching the skin of the dead.

"Have you ever thought about this? Before those seven people died, they were all writing articles exposing the dark secrets of Zhengyi. They thought they were weapons to attack Zhengyi, but little did they know, they were coffin nails prepared for them by Zhengyi."

“He killed them, and then used their final accusations as material for his book,” the man said.
"Zhengyi squeezed every last drop of oil from them and turned it into a best-selling book!"

"What is this? This is utterly inhuman!"

Cold sweat beaded on the woman's forehead.

"He is telling all of us: You can curse me, you can write bad things about me, as long as you are not afraid of death."

If you die, you will only become a chapter in his book, something for others to talk about.

The meeting room fell into a deathly silence.

The neon lights outside the window flickered, reflecting on their pale faces.

The man picked up the book.

The man's voice trembled slightly, "This isn't publishing his posthumous work; it's clearly showing off his spoils!"

"Look at this cover, these seven cracks, don't they look like seven wounds? Each one contains the name of a dead person!"

Tanaka swallowed hard, beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead. "What's even more terrifying is the content. Did you read Matsumura's preface? 'Shoichi is not a sinner, we are.'"

“I’ve dealt with Matsumura before. How could a selfish and self-serving guy like Matsumura write such words of repentance before he dies?”

This is Zheng Yi using Matsumura's words to whitewash himself.

Not only that, Zheng Yi also said that they were the sinners, and that Zheng Yi himself would never commit a crime.

He is the god of Tokyo!
“And Takeda.” The woman turned to that page, pointing to the passage, her fingers trembling. “【My own sins are grave, not just killing Matsumura.】” This passage conveyed the same meaning as the one above.

Do you think that scoundrel who plagiarized would care about his sins?

Stop joking.

The woman took a deep breath and said:
"The most terrifying part is Sakurai's annotation: 'Some sins cannot be completely burned away, even by fire.'"

Zheng Yi said that no matter what you do, no matter how subtle you are, he will find out.

The man and the woman fell silent at the same time.

Both of their newspapers had previously been subtly criticizing Zheng Yi.

After a long while, Suzuki trembled as he picked up the accompanying negative of the group photo of the seven people, turned it over to the back, and read the small print:

"The one who is alive is the one who writes."

The woman's voice was filled with despair: "That sentence is exactly what he's saying!"

"He is the only survivor and the only judge."

He killed everyone, then squeezed their blood and flesh dry and wrote it into this book.

He is the true 'writer,' he wrote this masterpiece with their lives!

The man shivered, nearly dropping the book from his hands.

"Then we..." the man swallowed hard, and asked with difficulty, "Our previous reports..."

The woman stated firmly, "All negative reports about Zheng Yi must distance themselves from us, and several editors must be fired to demonstrate our stance."

She stood up, straightened her slightly disheveled collar, and a resolute look flashed in her eyes, yet it also revealed endless sorrow.

"Not only that. We're going to publish an editorial."

"editorial?"

“Yes.” The woman walked to the window and looked down at the bustling city below.

"The title is 'The Lone Walker in the Dark - On Mr. Zhengyi's Loneliness and Greatness'."

"We should praise him, praise him lavishly. We should also praise this collection of works to show our support."

The man looked at the woman.

The sadness in her eyes somehow had a strangely comical quality.

You've written about this kind of thing so many times, how can you still feel sad?
The man clutched his chest and said, "What about our conscience?"

"Conscience?" The woman turned her head and looked at him as if he were a dead man.

When did you have that kind of thing?

"Cough cough."

The man coughed and said in a low voice, "Then do as I say."

He carefully placed the book in a beautiful box and kept it safe.

I sighed inwardly.

I have to be an obedient dog again.

Looking back, how spirited we were when we were fiercely criticizing Zhengyi in the newspapers.

So many big shots' scandals are not reported, but Zheng Yi doesn't care about this.

Moreover, other newspapers were also writing about it, and those newspapers sold so well, yet Zheng Yi didn't cause them any trouble. Even men can't resist that.

At first, he genuinely believed he was concerned about the country and its people.

The man started reading the book again.

He discovered that the seven authors shared a remarkably consistent line of thought.

When writing Zhengyi's autobiography, he did not explicitly describe how Zhengyi killed people.

But through various means of leaving blank spaces, it makes people unable to stop thinking in that direction.

Moreover, the book contains many cases that even he, the newspaper owner, was unaware of.

"It turns out there are many things that Zheng Yi did, but the outside world knows nothing about them," the man said softly.

In the past, these things would definitely have been reported to boost sales.

But now, he doesn't have that guts anymore.

……

Beika Town, the Mori Detective Agency.

In the living room, the television was playing the morning news, with the headline prominently displayed:

"The collection of works, 'The Last Words of Seven Men,' caused a sensation in society, and Mr. Zhengyi was praised as a breath of fresh air in the literary world."

Conan sat on the carpet, holding an open book titled "Seven Ways of Death."

Xiao Lan sat cross-legged next to him, holding a cup of hot water in her hands.

"Isn't this the Seven Ways of Death? Conan, you didn't buy a bootleg copy, did you?"

Conan shook his head and said, "Brother Zhengyi said it's a printing error."

Xiaolan nodded.

It's just that this incorrect name is a bit strange and a bit scary.

Moreover, can Zheng Yi be called a "breath of fresh air in the literary world" simply because he compiled and published the works of seven people?
Xiaolan didn't understand.

But thinking that Zheng Yi will become a literary celebrity in the future, I can ask Brother Zheng Yi for his autograph.

Conan pushed up his glasses: "Those writers used every means to smear him during their lifetime, even going so far as to fabricate lies."

But after their deaths, Mr. Zhengyi not only did not take advantage of their misfortune, but also funded the publication of their posthumous works.

He turned a page and pointed to a bookmark tucked inside the book, a photocopy of a note Zheng Yi had personally written to the editor:

Regardless of any past grievances, the works themselves are innocent. Allowing these words to endure is the greatest respect we can show to the creators.

"Wow..." Xiao Lan exclaimed, "Brother Zhengyi is so magnanimous! Those people treated him like that, yet he still helped them publish their final work."

Conan nodded.

Zhengyi has always been a very good person and is friendly to everyone.

Those who smear him are really going too far.

“There are still some people who are smearing Brother Zhengyi, saying that he killed those writers,” Xiaolan said.

Conan shook his head, his face displaying the unique expression of a detective.

"From the perspective of criminal psychology, if Zheng Yige were really the murderer, he would never have published this book; he would have simply let those people disappear without a trace."

Now that the book is published, even more people will be discussing those things.

If Zheng Yi is the murderer, then with so much discussion and even investigation, it is absolutely impossible to hide it.

"Yes, yes!" Xiaolan nodded vigorously.

Conan, however, wore an expression of deep agreement: "So, the deaths of those writers were just mutual killings, and had nothing to do with Zheng Yi."

They committed wrongdoings and were thus punished by Heaven.

Conan picked up the morning newspaper he had just bought from the newsstand, his eyes behind his glasses gleaming with a light beyond his years.

"Conan, is there anything special in today's news?" Ran asked.

Conan didn't answer immediately, but gently unfolded the newspaper and pushed it in front of Ran.

The front page of the newspaper prominently featured a familiar name.

The title is: "The Seven Men's Last Words Shock the Literary World; Mr. Zhengyi is Praised as a 'Guardian of the Light of Humanity'".

"Look, Ran-neechan." Conan's voice carried a hint of pride.

"Brother Zheng has finally won over these newspapers and media outlets."

Xiaolan picked up the newspaper and quickly scanned the articles.

The article describes in detail how Zheng Yi is magnanimous and doesn't care about others' slander.

Even after the deaths of seven writers who had smeared him, he disregarded past grievances and compiled and published their posthumous works, and wrote a preface full of humanistic care for each of them.

Xiao Lan said with a smile, "Now, those schemers have nothing to say."

Those newspapers have always loved conspiracy theories to boost sales.

Now even the newspapers believe Zheng Yi is a genuinely good person, and conspiracy theories are no longer plausible. (End of Chapter)