I'm in Detective Conan, and I start with the Grand Theft Auto system.

Inside a temporarily requisitioned house on Moonshadow Island.

The lights were a stark white.

A wooden table and two chairs.

Kogoro Mouri was handcuffed to a chair, his face bruised and swollen, with a dried bloodstain at the corner of his mouth. He looked like a loser who had just been carried off the boxing ring.

Sitting opposite him was a man in a black SAT combat uniform, without a helmet, revealing a sharply defined face with cold eyes that seemed to cut into Kogoro Mouri's face like a knife.

"I'll ask you one more time." The SAT member's voice wasn't loud, but each word seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth: "What's your relationship with that terrorist?"

Kogoro Mouri struggled to open his eye, which wasn't swollen, his voice hoarse as if sandpaper were rubbing against wood:

"I'm really not his accomplice... I was kidnapped... I'm a detective, my name is Kogoro Mouri, you can find my name in the Metropolitan Police Department's system..."

The SAT player didn't listen to him finish speaking.

He stood up and punched Kogoro Mouri in the stomach.

"Ugh—!" Kogoro Mouri arched up like a shrimp whose vital spot had been stepped on, his stomach churning, and a trickle of bitter liquid mixed with gastric juice seeped from the corner of his mouth.

Before he could even catch his breath, the SAT team member coldly added, "You're not an accomplice? Then why did he give you money?"

"There were so many people there, and he didn't give anything to anyone else, but he threw millions of yen at you!"

"Tell me, why is that?"

Kogoro Mouri gasped for breath, his mind a complete blank, but he managed to squeeze out a sentence: "I...I don't know either...He just threw it at me...I didn't do anything..."

The SAT player's gaze grew even colder.

He punched Kogoro Mouri in the ribs again, then a third, then a fourth—each punch landing squarely, the dull thuds echoing in the small room.

The SAT member, while hitting you, said, "Still being stubborn. You're an accomplice of that terrorist! Otherwise, why would he throw money at you? It's clearly because you two didn't split the loot properly, and he abandoned you!"

Kogoro Mouri was so badly beaten that he slumped back in his chair, spitting out a mouthful of bloody saliva. His vision was beginning to blur, but he knew in his heart that he couldn't admit it.

He was a former criminal investigator, so he knew all too well the routines of this kind of interrogation.

Violent interrogations in Japan are no secret; beatings, forced confessions, and coerced guilty plea are commonplace in grassroots investigations.

Moreover, this incident has escalated to such a great extent—so many SAT special forces members have died, yet the leader of the team hasn't even caught a glimpse of the terrorists. Someone from above must be held accountable.

He is now the perfect scapegoat: an eyewitness to being "throw money" at the scene by terrorists, a suspicious middle-aged man with no alibi.

As long as he signs the statement, then the other party cannot be considered incompetent.

With the accomplice caught, SAT suffered heavy losses but at least gained something, so everyone was happy!

Besides, Kogoro Mouri will have to spend the rest of his life in prison with the charge of being an "accomplice to a terrorist."

He absolutely could not admit it, not even if he gritted his teeth.

Seeing his stubborn resistance, the SAT team members' anger burned even brighter, and they became increasingly violent.

He stopped asking questions and mechanically repeated the motion of throwing punches, pounding Kogoro Mori's abdomen, ribs, and chest with one punch after another.

Kogoro Mouri's cries grew fainter and fainter until they finally turned into a muffled groan.

His head grew heavier and heavier, and the light in front of him became dimmer and dimmer, as if someone were turning the brightness knob in the room round and round.

Finally, his head lolled to the side, and he completely lost consciousness, slumping into the chair like a bag of cement thrown into a corner.

The SAT member, panting heavily, shook his reddened fist, glanced at the unconscious Kogoro Mouri, but neither helped him up nor called for help.

He turned his head and cast his gaze upon the figure in the corner of the room that had always been overlooked—Conan.

Conan sat on a small stool, not handcuffed, but his face looked grim.

During the nearly twenty-minute interrogation, he witnessed firsthand how Kogoro Mouri was punched unconscious, one punch after another.

His hands were clenched into fists and placed on his knees, his knuckles white, and his lips were pressed into a thin line.

He never imagined that these SAT members could be so despicable and shameless!

The SAT member walked up to him, squatted down, and forced a smile that Conan thought was uglier than crying.

He said in a deliberately gentle tone, "Little friend, don't be afraid. Uncle isn't hitting you, Uncle is just asking questions."

As he spoke, he pointed to the unconscious Kogoro Mouri, "Tell your uncle, is that person in cahoots with that bad guy?"

"Don't be afraid. As long as you tell the truth, your uncle will protect you."

Conan looked at his hypocritical face and cursed inwardly—bastard, he can't catch anyone himself, so he wants to push Uncle Mori out as a scapegoat.

Although he often thought Kogoro Mouri was unreliable, lecherous, and prone to making mistakes while drinking, that was between him and Kogoro Mouri.

He'd rather frame Kogoro Mouri to protect himself? No way.

Conan raised his head, looking directly into the eyes of the SAT member. Although his voice still carried a touch of childish naiveté, his tone was unusually firm:

"Uncle Maori wasn't one of his accomplices. He was kidnapped."

The smile on the SAT player's face froze for a moment.

He didn't stand up, but the temperature in his eyes suddenly dropped a few degrees, and his voice became lower: "Little friend, I told you, all you need to do is say 'yes.' Understand?"

"Otherwise, you'll end up like him!"

"You don't want to get beaten up, do you?"

Conan's stubbornness flared up. He stiffened his neck, looked directly into the other person's eyes without backing down, and repeated, word by word, "Uncle Mori is not an accomplice. I will not wrong him."

The SAT player's face darkened completely.

He didn't say anything more, but instead raised his hand and slapped Conan hard across the face.

The sharp crack was particularly jarring in the small room.

Conan's glasses were sent flying off his face by the slap. They spun twice in the air before landing on the ground with a thud, a corner of the lens shattering.

His head suddenly tilted to one side, and he tumbled off the stool, his head hitting the concrete floor with a dull thud. He then lay motionless on the ground.

The SAT player was stunned for a moment.

He quickly crouched down and reached out to check Conan's breath—thankfully, he was still breathing.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

If we were to kill this brat, we'd be in big trouble.

He wasn't afraid of killing prisoners, but killing a minor, especially in an interrogation room, would be a different story. If that got out, he wouldn't just have to take the blame, he'd be in jail himself.

He stood up, looked at the unconscious adult and the unconscious child on the ground, and scratched his head in frustration.

He knew he didn't have time to continue the interrogation—his superiors could come to check on the situation at any moment, and he couldn't pry these two men open their mouths in the limited time he had.

He could only kick the table leg angrily, making a loud bang.

Damn, it was so close.

If he had more time, he would have a hundred ways to get Kogoro Mouri to sign the agreement, so that he could avoid some trouble.

But now, he has no choice but to stop.

The SAT member bent down, picked up the broken pair of glasses from the floor, glanced at them, tossed them onto the table, then turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

The room fell silent again.

The fluorescent light tube emitted a faint humming sound, illuminating the two motionless figures lying on the ground.

After a while, Conan's finger twitched.

He wasn't actually knocked unconscious.

That slap really hurt his face!

But Conan decisively chose to feign unconsciousness, otherwise he would have continued to get beaten up!

He opened his eyes, watched the SAT member leave, and secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

I managed to get away with it.