Conan: What alias? That's my struggle!

Madeira was right in front of me.

Unfortunately, the poorly made vodka didn't know that.

He was still talking to himself.

"You know Madeira, boss, he never blinks an eye when he kills."

"Last time there was a new guy, I just glanced at him a couple of times, and the next day nobody saw him again. I'm afraid if I partnered with him, I'd end up as pieces sinking into Tokyo Bay."

It's just a rumor, but so many people believe it. Lin Ye was too lazy to explain; Madeira's style was clearly to sell out others piece by piece.

Organs are very valuable.

Especially the organs of teammates.

"Don't worry." Lin Ye tapped his fingers lightly twice on the steering wheel. He was making a decision. A decision that could lead to his horrific death.

"Vodka," he said, his voice still very low.

"exist!"

"There are no Madeira today."

Vodka paused, taken aback. "Huh?"

"It's just you and me." Lin Ye looked at him, her silver-white hair gleaming coldly in the sunlight. "Today's mission is just you and me."

Vodka blinked, then nodded vigorously. "Understood, boss."

Lin Ye turned back to look ahead. A few withered leaves had fallen onto the windshield, trembling gently in the wind. His calves were still weak, and his back ached a little, but his hands were steady, and his voice was steady. He gripped the steering wheel, thinking about what he had to do today—the tropical amusement park.

Shinichi Kudo, a blunt instrument, medicine.

"What does what Gin did have to do with me, Madeira?" Lin Ye glanced at the rearview mirror, where the person in the mirror had Gin's face.

A face devoid of any warmth.

He then stepped on the gas, and the Porsche drove off the bumpy road and onto the main road.

Vodka's car followed behind like a loyal tail. Lin Ye gripped the steering wheel, pondering a question—if Shinichi Kudo saw this face, would he think he was seeing the real Gin? Yes. Because this face was Gin's face.

He had the exact same features, the exact same expression, the exact same eyes. If he used that face to knock Shinichi Kudo's head off, then the sin would fall squarely on Gin's back.

Shinichi Kudo will remember this face for the rest of his life.

This is the effect he wanted.

Whether it's a case of "switching the prince for a cat" or letting Gin attract this wave of hatred and karma—Lin Ye doesn't know if he'll succeed, but he feels he should give it a try no matter what.

The Porsche entered the Metropolitan Expressway, and the Tokyo skyline unfolded on the left, the skyscrapers appearing as if gilded with a thin layer of gold in the morning light. The vodka car followed behind, the two cars maintaining a fixed distance, one in front of the other, like two beads on a line.

Lin Ye glanced at the black sedan behind him in the rearview mirror, picked up his phone from the passenger seat, and dialed Vodka's number. The phone rang once and was answered.

"Boss?"

"I'll repeat today's task again." Lin Ye's voice was very low, using Gin's emotionless tone. "You tell me."

Vodka didn't suspect anything. Gin never repeats himself, but he makes his men repeat himself—it's a test, and also a habit.

Vodka cleared his throat and began his report.

"Today's transaction is with Murakami Heavy Industries, whose president is Masao Murakami. He is 63 years old and started from scratch. On the surface, he is in the shipbuilding business, but in reality, he has been smuggling arms since the 1980s. His clients are mainly several armed groups in Southeast Asia, and some of his weapons have also ended up in the hands of yakuza groups in Japan."

Vodka's voice was very steady, as if he were reciting a document he had already memorized.

"Three months ago, the organization arranged for someone to infiltrate Murakami Heavy Industries' Osaka headquarters and obtain their smuggling records for nearly three years. We have the negatives, a total of thirty-six, which record every transaction between Masao Murakami and Southeast Asian buyers—the time, place, amount, type of goods, and transportation route are all included."

"If these things are handed over to the Metropolitan Police Department, Murakami Masao will never be able to get out of prison again. He's desperate to get evidence of his crimes."

That's the mission of Tropical Paradise; nothing particularly special.

Lin Ye didn't speak, but tapped his fingers lightly twice on the steering wheel. Film. The technology of this era was still at the stage of recording intelligence with film.

He thought of his old smartphone and then of the characters in the Detective Conan world who always used flip phones, and suddenly felt a subtle sense of unreality.

Vodka continued, "Murakami Masao contacted the organization about two weeks ago, offering 100 million yen to buy back these negatives. 100 million is the asking price. Boss, do you mean to see how much he brought with him first? If it's less than that, have him call someone to deliver it on the spot. If it's more than that—"

"Just kill him," Lin Ye finished speaking for him.

"Yes." Vodka's tone was completely flat, as if he were talking about what to have for lunch. "After the transaction is complete, take the negatives and cash with you. Leave Murakami Masao's body where it is and let the police investigate. In the end, the police will at most find out it was a case of double-crossing, but they won't be able to trace it back to the organization."

Lin Ye gripped the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

One hundred million yen, arms smuggling, extortion, and silencing.

As a model worker, Gin and Vodka were doing this kind of task to earn operating funds for the organization. This kind of task was actually a routine operation in the Black Organization. They had done it countless times. That's why Vodka's tone was so calm, as if he were reporting on an ordinary business negotiation.

However, Vodka was unaware of this.

This mission is unlike any he has ever undertaken before. It could be said that this mission will change the course of the entire world.

It's not about Masao Murakami's life or death, nor about where the 100 million yen went, but about the angle at which the baseball bat fell and the moment the pill was swallowed.

The moment that high school student turned into an elementary school student.

The Porsche exited the highway and turned onto the road leading to Tropical Paradise. Brightly colored "GG" signs began to appear on both sides of the road, depicting roller coasters, Ferris wheels, and a cartoon mouse dressed in a suit. The Tropical Paradise sign was faintly visible in the distance, its large red and yellow lettering particularly striking in the sunlight.

"Where is Masao Murakami now?" Lin Ye asked.

"It's already at the tropical park," Vodka said. "He came today with his granddaughter, ostensibly for a family trip, but actually he hid the cash in what we thought was a safe place. The transaction took place in a secluded area inside the park, where there are no security cameras and few tourists go."

"Did he come alone?"

"He brought two bodyguards. Both are retired self-defense officers, and I've heard they're quite skilled." Vodka's tone carried a hint of disdain. "But they're probably no match for us."

Lin Ye did not respond.

He wasn't worried about the two bodyguards.

He was thinking about something else.

Shinichi Kudo went to the hospital to investigate a case today.

Will you come to the tropical park again?