Conan: What alias? That's my struggle!

Lin Ye's idea seems a bit avant-garde.

In reality, it makes perfect sense.

It's not logic, it's a pattern.

Kogoro Mouri's first suspect is never the real culprit. Since Lin Ye isn't the killer, following this pattern, Kogoro Mouri will definitely identify him.

Lin Ye didn't know why he was so sure, but he was just sure. In this world of science fiction, some things really don't need evidence.

All you need is movie-watching experience.

At that moment, Kogoro Mouri had already squeezed through the crowd and was talking to a police officer. His voice was so loud that it could be heard throughout the entire corridor.

"I'm Detective Kogoro Mouri, and I'm quite familiar with Inspector Megure. Is it alright if I look into this case?"

The officer was clearly hesitant, but didn't stop him. Kogoro Mouri's name certainly carried weight in the Metropolitan Police Department, even though this guy wasn't particularly famous yet.

But he is, after all, a senior member of the police force. In the Japanese workplace, where seniority is paramount, disrespecting a senior can easily lead to being ostracized.

"Okay... alright..."

For the sake of his career, the police officer ultimately chose to back down.

Lin Ye shrank back behind the office door. He didn't want to be seen by Kogoro Mouri right now, not out of fear, but because of the trouble.

Once Kogoro Mouri notices him, he'll be dragged into the case, questioned, suspected, and identified. Lin Ye knows all about the process.

But he didn't want to go through that process.

Kogoro Mouri had already started wandering around the corridor. He walked to the nurses' station and asked a few questions. He walked to the storeroom door and peeked inside. He walked to the doctor's office door and his gaze swept in.

Lin Ye was no longer at the door. He had retreated to the innermost corner of the office, leaning against the window, holding a medical record in his hand and pretending to read it.

Fortunately, Kogoro Mouri didn't come in.

The guy turned around and walked towards the other end of the corridor.

"What happened?"

Officer Shiratori was giving instructions to a police officer in the corridor when he caught a glimpse of a figure that shouldn't be there.

Kogoro Mouri was standing next to the nurses' station, holding a small notebook in his hand, nodding as he looked at it, as if confirming something. He was wearing a wrinkled dark blue suit, his tie askew to the left, making him look out of place in the white hospital environment.

The white bird walked over and stood in front of him.

"Mr. Mori, what are you doing here?"

Kogoro Mouri looked up, saw Shiratori, and flashed a wide grin. "Yo, Officer Shiratori, long time no see. I was running errands near the hospital and heard there was a case here, so I came to check it out."

Shiratori's expression remained unchanged, but his tone was colder than usual. "Mr. Mori, the case is still in the preliminary investigation stage and does not require assistance from outside personnel at this time."

"I know, I know," Kogoro Mouri waved his hand. "I'm not here to cause trouble, I'm here to help. I just looked around and found some things that you police officers might not have noticed."

Shiratori glanced at him. The current Kogoro Mouri wasn't yet the household name detective he was; in the Metropolitan Police Department's files, he was merely a former detective, now a private investigator, who had solved a few minor cases without any particularly outstanding achievements. Shiratori had initially intended to let him leave directly, but the words "found something" made him hesitate.

"What did you discover?"

Kogoro Mouri pulled something from the inside pocket of his suit and handed it to him. It was a black notebook, A6 size, with worn edges, showing it had been flipped through many times. There was no name on the cover, but when he opened the first page, a name was written in blue ballpoint pen in the lower right corner—Kenichi Miyagi.

Instead of reaching out to take it, Shiratori took out a pair of white gloves from his pocket, slowly put them on, and then took the notebook from him.

"Aren't you wearing gloves?" Shiratori asked, her tone clearly showing disdain.

Kogoro Mouri looked down at his hands, as if only then realizing the problem. "What does it matter? The important thing is the clue!"

Shiratori didn't reply, but lowered her head and opened her diary.

The date on the first page is three months ago. The handwriting is neat, and every word is written carefully. The content is short, only a few lines.

"Dr. Hashimoto stole another surgery from me today. I saw the patient first, and I did the pre-operative consultation, but right before the surgery, he told the patient, 'I'll feel more at ease if I do it.' Of course, the patient chose him. Who wouldn't want the head of the department to perform their surgery?"

Shiratori turned to the second page.

"Dr. Hashimoto said at the meeting today that my surgical plan was not mature enough and asked me to go back and revise it. I revised it three times, but he didn't even look at it and used the first version directly. He just doesn't want me to go into surgery."

Page 3. Page 4. Page 5.

Every page contained similar content: surgery being robbed, plans being rejected, being scheduled for the worst time slots on the duty roster, being excluded from the department's core projects. Shiratori turned the pages one by one, his expression unchanged, but his reading speed grew slower and slower.

When he turned to the middle, a passage made him pause.

"I brought up the topic of promotion to attending physician with Dr. Hashimoto today. He said I wasn't qualified yet and told me to wait another year. I asked him when that was, and he glanced at me and said, 'When I think you're capable.' I remember that look very clearly; it wasn't an evaluation, it was a warning."

Shiratori continued flipping through the pages. The diary entries changed in the last few pages. They were no longer just simple records and complaints; there was something else in them.

"This can't go on. I need to prove myself. Next time I have the chance, I'll show everyone what I'm capable of. What Dr. Hashimoto can do, I can do too, and I can do it even better."

"Today's case was very challenging. I mentally reviewed the surgical plan, and it was more reasonable than the one Dr. Hashimoto performed yesterday. It's a pity I didn't get the chance to perform it. But I'm ready."

The date on the last page was yesterday. The handwriting was neater than on any of the previous pages, each character written with extra force, the pen tip almost tearing through the paper.

"Today is the most important day of my life. Dr. Hashimoto let me perform the surgery. I don't know why he suddenly changed his mind, but I don't care about the reason. I proved myself on the operating table. The nurses said I did better than Dr. Hashimoto. This is not flattery; I can see it in their eyes. From today onwards, everything will be different."

This concludes my diary entry.

The last sentence has no period, as if the writer stopped writing there and never had a chance to finish it, perhaps due to some unforeseen circumstances.

"That's a very useful clue, thank you, Mr. Mori."

Shiratori closed the notebook.

He looked up at Kogoro Mouri.

His expression remained calm, but his eyes were more somber than before, as if he had some reasoning in mind, though the reasoning still revolved around suicide.

Unfortunately, some people disagree with this view.