87: Chapter 87 Shinichi Kudo's Enlightenment

The news of the US military lifting the siege on Tokyo spread like a gust of wind, dispersing the smell of gunpowder that had shrouded the city, but it could not disperse the haze in the hearts of the public.

Just as the tank track marks on the streets had yet to be washed away by the rain, videos began to spread crazily across the global internet—

In the footage, US soldiers were brandishing batons, chasing and beating protesting citizens on the streets of Shibuya. An old man was kicked to the ground, students were pinned to the ground and beaten. The dull thuds of the batons falling and the screams transmitted through the screen were shocking to witness.

"Good guy, that's three strikes a second!"

On a major country's social media platform, a comment was quickly pushed to the top, followed by hundreds or thousands of likes and replies.

"The details are fully fleshed out—one strike to the leg so you can't run; one strike to the head to make you dizzy; the last strike to the mouth, not even a chance to beg for mercy!"

"Is the US treating Tokyo like their own playground? Playing a reality show of 'Running Man' with the public, but the props are a bit too hardcore."

"I feel sorry for the Tokyo citizens for three seconds. This isn't maintaining order; it's clearly a public execution."

Schadenfreude-filled teasing, righteous accusations, cold-eyed analysis...

Global netizens focused their gaze on this eastern metropolis, exposing the atrocities of the US military and the cowardice of the Japanese government under the sun.

UNESCO issued a statement condemning the "excessive use of force," and the foreign ministries of several countries also expressed "grave concern" over the actions of the US soldiers.

The pressure of public opinion was like an invisible net, choking Washington and Tokyo.

This was also why General White was so quick to accept the "step down" from the Japanese government—he needed to quell the international community's anger as quickly as possible, even if the price was to temporarily restrain his edge.

Just before leaving, however, this greedy general still planted a nail: two full-strength US military regiments, carrying tanks, armored vehicles, and heavy weapons, were stationed in the western suburbs of Tokyo and Yokohama Port under the name of "assisting in maintaining order."

Anyone with a discerning eye could see that this was not "maintaining order," but clearly two garrisons that could strangle Tokyo at any moment.

White's plan was shrewd:

As long as there was chaos in Japan, as long as the public protests did not stop, he had a reason to let these two regiments "play a greater role," and thereby squeeze more benefits from the pockets of the Japanese government.

...

The streets of Tokyo gradually returned to their usual hustle and bustle. Trams resumed operation, shops opened their doors, and office workers crowded onto platforms, bowing their heads to scroll through their phones.

But observant people would notice that there was an unspeakable tension in the air—in the police boxes on the street corners, the police's service weapons had been replaced with heavier models;

Beside the security scanners at the subway entrances, there were more plainclothes Public Security Officers;

Even the elderly playing chess in the park would subconsciously lower their voices when chatting, avoiding words like "US military" or "government."

What was most surprising was that the protest marches that had been suppressed by the US military had actually resurfaced within a few days.

This time, the public's slogans were no longer "Expel the US military," but directed straight at the Japanese government—"Incompetent Cabinet step down," "We want the truth, not scapegoats," "Refuse to be puppets for the US."

Clearly, someone had leaked the truth about the "execution of 13 Public Security Officers."

Although there was no hard evidence, the rumors on the streets were already enough to ferment—

People guessed that those who died were scapegoats, guessed that the cabinet had traded lives and money for survival, and guessed that so-called "justice" was nothing more than a fig leaf for power transactions.

"Action!"

At the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department headquarters, Chief of Police Hakuba's order carried unquestionable toughness. This time, the cabinet did not count on the US military again, but directly ordered: forced clearance.

Thousands of police officers flooded the streets, holding shields and batons, dividing and dispersing the protesting crowds.

There were no gunshots, no bloodshed, only silent pushing and dragging.

The public's anger was shattered in front of the police line. Some were pinned to the ground and handcuffed, some were stuffed into police cars and taken away, while more people, pulled by friends and family, watched their companions disappear into the flow of traffic with flashing police lights, their eyes filled with despair.

This clearance was more chilling than the suppression by the US military—the perpetrators were no longer outsiders, but the police of their own country.

...

On the second floor of the Mouri Detective Agency, the curtains were drawn tightly, the television was muted, and the screen was playing footage of the protesting crowd being dispersed.

Mouri Ran sat on the sofa, her hands tightly clutching the corners of her clothes, her knuckles turning white.

These past few days were like a nightmare: the US military tanks driving past the window, the gunshots from the streets, the casualty numbers constantly scrolling on the news, and the police clearance just seen...

Mouri Ran only now realized that the Tokyo she had lived in since childhood, the city full of sunshine and the scent of cherry blossoms, had seemed to turn into a strange battlefield overnight.

"Dad, why did they arrest those people?"

Mouri Ran's voice trembled, "They just wanted the government to give an explanation..."

Mouri Kogoro slouched in his chair, clutching a beer can in his hand, his face full of exhaustion.

He wanted to say "This is politics," he wanted to say "The common people cannot fight against the officials," but in the end, he just sighed:

"Ran, some things... are not for us to manage."

Conan Edogawa sat on the carpet to the side, seemingly playing a video game, but in reality, his peripheral vision never left the TV screen.

His fingers jumped mechanically on the buttons, but his mind was rapidly replaying the fragments of the past few days—

The government's panic after the US military shooting incident, General White's ultimatum, the "execution scene" photos flashing by on the news...

Especially those photos.

As Kudo Shinichi, his sensitivity to detail was far beyond ordinary people.

The "Public Security Officers" in the photos were wearing ill-fitting uniforms, their standing postures were as stiff as marionettes, and one person even had a serial number tattoo on their wrist that only death row inmates would have...

These flaws combined in his mind like a puzzle, finally pointing to a cold conclusion: scapegoats.

"Exquisite gray..."

Conan murmured, remembering what his father, Kudo Yusaku, had once said, as well as what Lin Long had said to him.

That was back when he hadn't turned into Conan, when he once pestered his father and asked, "Why can some bad guys get away with it when the evidence is conclusive?"

Kudo Yusaku put down the pen in his hand, touched his head, and said:

"Shinichi, this world is not just black and white. Many times, the truth is like an exquisite gray, mixed with interests, compromises, and helplessness. You must learn to accept it, but never agree with it."

At that time, he only half-understood, feeling that his father was talking about profound principles.

Until this moment, watching 13 lives being used as chips in a transaction, watching the government use lies to cover up the truth, and watching the public's anger being crushed by power, he truly understood what a heavy reality lay behind "exquisite gray."

"So... this is the adult world."

Conan's eyes became complex, with shock, anger, and a trace of bewilderment.

He had always thought that as long as he found evidence, he could reveal the truth and bring bad guys to justice.

But now he found that when the opponent was the entire state apparatus, a complex network of power, the truth was often the cheapest thing.

He suddenly remembered Lin Long.

That man who was always smiling, the man who would make his father's expression change slightly when mentioned.

Before, he couldn't figure out why his father stopped him from investigating Lin Long, even warning him to "stay away from that person."

Now he seemed to understand a little—Lin Long was like a ghost in this "gray world," well-versed in rules, playing with power, and his own "sword of justice," which was sharp and exposed, probably wouldn't even have the chance to be unsheathed in front of him.

"Conan, what's wrong?" Mouri Ran noticed his strangeness and asked with concern.

Conan looked up, quickly concealing the emotions in his eyes, and showed an innocent smile: "Nothing, Ran-nee-chan. Just felt it's so noisy outside."

Mouri Ran touched his head and sighed: "It will get better... it definitely will."

Her voice was very soft, more like comforting herself.

...

In a villa on the outskirts of Tokyo, Kudo Yusaku put down the newspaper in his hand, which carried the news of the government "stabilizing the situation."

He looked out the window, the distant sky was dyed orange by the sunset, but it felt indescribably oppressive.

"Yusaku, is everything okay with... Shinichi?" Kudo Yukiko walked over, her face full of worry.

"Don't worry, he is staying well at Mouri Kogoro's house, nothing will happen."

"Yusaku, I'm just worried that Shinichi won't be able to accept the cruelty of reality."

Kudo Yukiko said softly with a worried look.

"Some things, he will understand, and he will learn to accept them."

Kudo Yusaku's voice was low, "Some growth must be personally experienced to be understood."

It wasn't that he didn't want to protect his son, but he knew that on the path of a detective, one would sooner or later have to face these "grays."

Not to mention that Kudo Shinichi was already in big trouble.

Rather than letting him be crushed by reality later, it was better to let him see the truth of the world now—justice might be late, but the game of power would never end.

"Is there any movement on Lin Long's side?" Kudo Yukiko asked.

Kudo Yusaku shook his head: "Like a dormant snake, there is no movement for the time being. But the more this is the case, the more careful we must be."

Kudo Yusaku had seen many smart people and handled many tricky cases. But when encountering such a tricky character as Lin Long, Kudo Yusaku was still a bit helpless, not knowing what to do.

It was mainly because Lin Long's power was too great. There is a saying: in the face of absolute power, all schemes and tricks are futile. The relationship between Kudo Yusaku and Lin Long was just like that.

No matter how smart he was, no matter how well he planned.

But when it came to Lin Long, he could mobilize the army with one phone call. No matter how well you planned, you couldn't beat the army.

...

In the monitoring room of Lin Family Manor, Lin Long watched the dispersed protesting crowd on the screen, then switched to the screen of the Mouri Detective Agency, looking at Conan's thoughtful side profile, with a playful smile at the corner of his mouth.

"It seems our little detective has finally grown up." Lin Long said softly, picking up his teacup and taking a sip.

The Ghost stood by, handing over a report:

"BOSS, the two US military regiments have completed deployment and are debugging heavy weapons. On the cabinet side, the Minister of Economy, Trade and Industry has begun contacting the Zaibatsu, preparing to share the 1 billion US dollar compensation."

"As expected."

Lin Long put down the teacup, "Greed and fear are always the best catalysts."

"It seems those Zaibatsu are going to suffer a huge loss, but it's expected. How can a small Zaibatsu compare to a warlord?"