Chapter Two: How Is There a Sherlock Holmes Here Too?

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On an ordinary night, an extraordinary man stood before the map at the corner of Mihana Town. The shifting neon lights bathed him in a mysterious glow, casting flickering, colorful highlights along his silver hair, imbuing him with an air of inscrutability. His tall, upright figure was outlined by a black shirt and an ivory single-breasted vest, while sapphire cufflinks and a tie pin added a subtle touch of nobility. The man rested his chin on his hand, his brows furrowed deeply with an unshakable solemnity.

Damn it, I’m lost.

After leaving Akako’s basement, Morai wandered for half an hour, forced to admit that he had indeed lost his way. He then found the map at the crossroads and synchronized with it, only to regretfully realize that his confusion seemed to deepen.

I should never have aligned with this map. It’s obvious: the longer you linger before a map, the less you know the way. The remaining memories are mostly just disorienting illusions of being lost...

Now I’m hopelessly lost too! Should I ask for directions...? Damn it! I’m a respected mathematics professor and the future kingpin of crime—how could I not know my way?

"...When Sherlock Holmes first met Watson, he deduced from the lines on his palm that he had served in Afghanistan. Look, just like this gentleman here."

A voice suddenly sounded beside him. Morai turned to see none other than the so-called "Heisei Era Sherlock Holmes" from the news.

Dressed in a royal blue suit, Mr. Holmes grabbed Morai’s hand, glanced at it confidently, and asked, "Sir, you must be a teacher, am I right?"

"Shinichi, you’re being quite rude..." A young woman standing beside him, wearing a pale yellow long dress and a pearl necklace, looked embarrassed. What caught the eye was her hairstyle, which resembled long horns.

‘Is that how future hairstyles look...? I heard that in the Far East there’s a ghost tribe with horns on their heads and immense strength. Could this be some kind of homage?’

Suppressing a smile, Morai chuckled lightly. "It’s nothing much. I have indeed taught before. How did you figure that out?"

"Simple. On your right hand, only the index finger, thumb, and one side of the middle finger are dry and rough, while the other fingers and your left hand are not. That’s likely from prolonged chalk use." Letting go of his hand, Shinichi smiled. "Also, you’re probably one of the guests invited to tonight’s banquet at the Susuhane residence, currently troubled by being lost. Am I correct?"

Susuhane family? Who are they?

Though puzzled, Morai’s expression remained composed, and instead he wore an intrigued look. "How do you know that?"

Shinichi replied confidently, "Black shirt, ivory single-breasted vest, sapphire tie pin and cufflinks. Such formal attire near the Susuhane estate—hard not to think of tonight’s banquet there. And you’ve been pondering the map for quite a while. Besides being lost, I can’t think of any other reason."

"Bravo!" Morai couldn’t help but applaud. Just when he was worried about having nowhere to go tonight, this was like finding a pillow when drowsiness struck. He’d get a meal first and worry about the rest later.

"As you see, I am indeed lost. You two must also be guests at the Susuhane banquet. Could you perhaps guide me?"

"And how do you know we are guests tonight?" Shinichi asked, curious.

"Firstly, you are both dressed formally as well. Secondly, the Susuhane banquet hasn’t reached a level of notoriety where any passerby on the street would know about it, right?" Morai placed his right hand over his chest and gave a slight bow.

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"As you can see, I am Sherlock Morai, former university mathematics lecturer residing in Japan. Thanks to your help, I truly don’t know what I would have done tonight otherwise."

...

The Susuhane estate.

Having successfully fooled the doorman with a blank sheet of paper disguised as an invitation through sleight of hand, Morai now filled his stomach simply, holding a glass of wine as he chatted idly with Shinichi Kudo.

"...Some people seem born with a certain mission in life, like Holmes. A genius mind, extraordinary agility, a certain level of combat skill and luck. Most importantly, a relentless obsession to pursue the truth without regard for personal ties. Emerging suddenly, tenaciously clinging on, single-handedly destroying the absolute core of the professor’s criminal empire—the professor himself—perishing together at the Reichenbach Falls, as if born solely to bring him down."

"Without regard for personal ties? Did Holmes and Professor Moriarty once have a friendship?" Ran Mouri, who had quietly listened to the conversation since introducing herself, couldn’t help but ask.

"Ha! Many Holmes fans don’t know this, but Morai, you did," Shinichi exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "In 1872, Sherlock Holmes received tutoring from Professor James Moriarty, enabling him to enter Christ Church, Oxford."

"But before justice, that brief teacher-student bond meant nothing. Holmes must have wrestled with himself and strengthened his resolve to forsake personal feelings for the sake of justice and righteousness. That is why he remains the greatest detective in history!"

"He was quite gifted, actually. Judging by his meticulous scientific reasoning and enthusiasm, with a professor’s guidance, given a few decades, he might have even approached Poincaré’s level, and British mathematics wouldn’t lag behind France’s." Morai shook his head in disagreement, taking a sip of wine. "Yet he insisted on pursuing detective work and ultimately perished alongside his mentor."

...Has Mr. Morai taken fictional characters too seriously?

And isn’t he French? Wouldn’t he be proud that the French mathematical community outshines the British?

Shinichi chuckled awkwardly, sidestepping the question. "He didn’t actually perish with the professor. He hid on a large rock by the falls..."

"For me, the story ended at the Reichenbach Falls," Morai’s tone suddenly turned cold. "Holmes, swept up by the will of the masses, emerging from the abyss... The cheers of the crowd surrounded him, yet that Holmes was merely a marionette of humanity. How much of his will was truly his own? The story after the Reichenbach Falls is pure padding."

...A fundamentalist, indeed. Shinichi awkwardly held his empty cup, unsure how to respond.

Morai took a fresh glass from the waiter’s tray and asked sideways, "Kudo?"

"Juice, thanks. In Japan, one must be 20 years old to drink alcohol."

Morai shrugged regretfully, handing Shinichi a glass of orange juice.

Who’s this Susuhane anyway? That old man in the wheelchair is slow—still not finished after all this time? Morai thought.

He had long sensed something off about this banquet.

One of the evening’s key figures, the general manager of Yatsubishi Bank, Yamazaki, took advantage of Mr. Susuhane’s speech and quietly slipped away from the crowd.

Shortly after, Mr. Susuhane himself also secretly left, pushing his wheelchair through the same exit. Morai saw all their subtle exchanges of glances.

The conflict between a bank manager and a wealthy man inevitably revolves around money, so the subject of their covert discussion was obvious.

Secret deal? Coercion? Or murder?

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“Bang!”

The gunshot rang out, shocking all the guests!

“Pft!”

Morai spat out his drink.

No way, that’s so crude! Such a loud sound—are they afraid no one will notice otherwise?

Surprise flickered in Morai’s eyes as he, along with the other guests, looked upstairs. Shinichi immediately dropped his glass and dashed up the stairs, while some guests already called the police.

The remaining men split in two: half followed Shinichi upstairs, the other half stayed behind to protect the women.

...Are Japanese people not afraid of gunshots at all? What if someone sees the killer’s face and panics, firing a shot?

Morai followed the group upstairs, inwardly scoffing.

As the only locked door was broken open, the scene inside was revealed.

The balcony doors were wide open, curtains fluttering in the evening breeze. Cold moonlight shone on the corpse’s horrified face, a patch of carpet soaked with blood.

Shinichi gestured for the restless crowd to stay calm, donned gloves, and carefully circled around the body toward the balcony. After surveying the surroundings, he shook his head regretfully: no sign of the murderer.

...No traces of climbing up or down either. Shinichi thought, and the nearest place someone could have fled to was about ten meters away.

In other words, this is a...

Locked-room murder!

Morai, watching Shinichi’s expression grow increasingly grave as he examined the crime scene, allowed a faint smile to curl his lips.

The Heisei Era Sherlock Holmes...

Just the right amount of boredom tonight.

Do you possess the ability worthy of that title?

Let me test your mettle.