Detective Conan: I'm a Boy, But They Treat Me Like a Big Sister — Chapter 89

Chapter 89: The National Idol’s Reliance

Kogoro Mouri was busy nodding and humming with exaggerated seriousness at the glossy photographs scattered across his desk when the agency door swung open once again.

A man in his early thirties hurried inside. He wore a sharp, tailored suit, but the frantic sheen of sweat dampening his sideburns ruined any illusion of professionalism.

“Miss Okino! Why did you come up by yourself? I was just finishing parking the car downstairs when…”

He choked on the rest of his sentence, his eyes widening as he took in the assorted group gathered in the room.

“This is my manager, Eiichi Yamagishi,” Yoko Okino introduced, her voice quiet.

Eiichi quickly adjusted his glasses, offering a stiff, apologetic nod to the detective. “Mr. Mouri. As I said, I was just parking the car. I also want to officially entrust you with Yoko’s matter, but I must insist that this investigation be kept strictly confidential.” He wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “If the media catches wind that a national idol is being targeted by a stalker, the resulting circus will be disastrous.”

Kogoro puffed out his chest, slapping a hand against his suit jacket. “Rest assured! Absolute confidentiality is what I, Kogoro Mouri, do best!”

Ran walked over with a fresh tray, gently placing a steaming cup in front of the idol. “Please have some tea, Miss Okino.”

“Thank you.” Yoko reached out, lifting the porcelain cup with both hands. Even so, the liquid inside rippled violently from the tremors in her fingers.

Eiichi stepped closer to the desk, lowering his voice to explain the grim reality of the situation. “It’s been going on for about two weeks now. It started with minor things—misplaced items, strange phone calls. But then, the day before yesterday… an earring that didn’t belong to her appeared right beside her bed.”

“Were there any signs of the door lock being tampered with?” Kogoro asked, dropping his usual goofy demeanor for a rare moment of professional gravity.

“None at all. The property management reviewed the hallway surveillance footage, but nothing suspicious was captured.”

“Could it be that a spare key was used?”

“There are only two spare keys for Yoko’s apartment,” Eiichi replied, shaking his head. “I hold one, and the agency keeps the other in a secure lockbox. There is no record of either going missing.”

Kogoro leaned back in his leather chair, crossing his arms and falling into deep thought.

Or, more accurately, he fell into a theatrical performance of pretending to be in deep thought.

From his spot on the sofa, Tōhō Getsukai cast a sidelong glance at the older man.

Yeah, there it is. The classic Mouri detective face, Getsukai mused inwardly. He looks like he’s unraveling a grand mystery, but in reality, he’s probably just trying to figure out the best moment to ask for an autograph.

Knowing the plot inside and out, Getsukai didn’t even need to deduce anything to know the truth behind the stalker. But since the request was specifically for the detective agency to handle, there was absolutely no reason for him to step up and steal the spotlight.

Yoko set her teacup down with a soft clink. She pulled her hands into her lap, her fingers interlacing so tightly her knuckles turned white.

“Actually… there’s one more thing,” she whispered, her voice fracturing.

The room went completely silent.

“In my apartment’s bathroom… a towel had been used. And then… it was folded back neatly on the rack.”

At the confession of that deeply violating detail, the national idol’s fragile composure finally shattered.

“I’m really scared…” She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving. “I don’t know what I’ll see every time I open my front door… I can’t sleep at all at night…”

Her eyes were bloodshot, and tears spilled freely over her cheeks.

Eiichi hurriedly fumbled through his pockets, pulling out a tissue and holding it out to her. Yoko reached for it, but her hands were shaking so violently that the tissue slipped from her grasp, fluttering toward the floor.

Getsukai hadn’t intended to move.

But at some point, Yoko had shifted from her seat across the low table, gravitating directly toward his side. She leaned into him, almost instinctively seeking out the one presence in the room that radiated absolute, unthreatening safety.

Long silver hair, a faint, soothing citrus scent, and a beautiful face that held zero trace of aggression.

Before he could react, Yoko grabbed his hand.

A pair of cold, trembling hands wrapped desperately around his fingers, holding on like a lifeline.

“Sorry… I…” she choked out, fresh tears welling up.

“It’s alright.”

Getsukai didn’t pull away. When a girl on the absolute verge of a psychological breakdown leans toward you, brushing her off would be nothing short of cruel.

Besides… Yoko Okino’s hands were incredibly soft. Her nails were neatly manicured, and her skin carried the faint, pleasant scent of expensive hand cream.

Yep. A genuine, top-tier beautiful girl’s hand. Ten out of ten tactile experience, Getsukai noted with deep inner satisfaction.

Instead of retreating, Getsukai gently squeezed back. He let the natural warmth of his palm seep through her icy skin, his thumb lightly brushing the back of her wrist in a soothing rhythm.

“Don’t worry,” Getsukai said, his voice a soft, melodic murmur. “Although Uncle Mouri usually looks a bit unreliable, he actually knows exactly what he’s doing when it comes to serious cases.”

Yoko looked up at him.

Her eyes were rimmed red, heavy tears clinging to her long eyelashes, and her soft lips trembled slightly. The sheer destructive power of seeing a national idol drop all her defenses and reveal such raw vulnerability would be enough to make any otaku across Japan drop dead from cardiac arrest on the spot.

But to Getsukai, a beautiful face… somehow looked even more captivating when crying.

Wait… focus. That’s not the point right now.

“Thank you…” Yoko sniffled, turning her face slightly to hide her messy tears. “You… your voice is so gentle. I feel so at ease staying near you…”

She was already leaning halfway against Getsukai’s shoulder. Watching the scene unfold, Kogoro suddenly felt a deep, inexplicable wave of depression wash over him.

Meanwhile, Ran stood frozen by the kitchen door, her lips unconsciously pushing out into a pout.

It wasn’t that she lacked empathy; she completely understood that Miss Okino was terrified out of her mind and desperately needed a sense of security.

But why was it that every single time a girl got scared, they instantly glued themselves to Sister Tōhō?

Kogoro cleared his throat loudly, attempting to wrestle back control of his own office. “Well, Miss Okino! I will head over to your apartment right this instant for an on-site investigation! Securing physical evidence at the scene is the most crucial part of any case!”

Eiichi nodded in immense relief. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Mouri. My car is parked just downstairs.”

Yoko stood up slowly, but her fingers remained locked around Getsukai’s hand.

She turned back, her reddened eyes looking up at him with a pleading, desperate expression. “Um… Miss Dongfang… could you come along too? If you’re there, I think I…”

The request was incredibly blunt, especially considering it was directed at someone she had known for less than ten minutes.

But Yoko didn’t care about social etiquette anymore. For the past few days, she hadn’t even been able to fully trust her own staff. Yet, this silver-haired stranger made her feel like the suffocating dread in her chest could finally recede, as long as he was nearby.

Getsukai looked down at her pleading face, then shifted his gaze toward the kitchen, where Ran was still aggressively pouting.

“Go ahead, go ahead,” Ran said, turning her head away with a quick, dismissive huff. “Miss Okino really needs company right now, and Sister Tōhō is the absolute best at comforting people.”

While her words sounded generous, her fingers were secretly crushing the fabric of her apron in a death grip.

She was truly a kind girl, but she was also a massive, obvious jealous jar.

Getsukai let out a soft chuckle. “Then how about Ran and Haibara Ai come along too?”

“Okay, okay, okay! I’ll go too!” Ran replied instantly, her pout vanishing in a millisecond.

Ai Haibara calmly set down her half-eaten pudding bowl. She slid off the sofa, padded silently over to Getsukai’s side, and naturally reached out her small hand to grip the fabric of his trouser leg.

“Wherever Sister goes, I go,” the little girl stated flatly.

Yoko blinked down at the strawberry-blonde child. “What a cute little sister…”

“Thank you for the compliment,” Haibara replied, her tone completely devoid of any actual gratitude or emotion.

With the party assembled, the group headed downstairs.

Eiichi took the wheel while Kogoro immediately claimed the passenger seat. In the back, Ran, Yoko, and Getsukai were squeezed tightly together on the leather bench. As for Haibara, she was currently sitting comfortably on Ran’s lap.

Just as the engine rumbled to life and the car began to pull away from the curb, Getsukai caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye.

Down at the street corner, right next to the Mouri Detective Agency, several small heads were peeking out from behind a concrete utility pole.

A skinny kid, a stocky kid, a little girl with a headband, and one…

A certain brat wearing oversized black-rimmed glasses.

The Detective Boys, all present and accounted for.

Conan adjusted his glasses, the lenses flashing white as he stared intently in the direction of the departing car.

Getsukai smoothly withdrew his gaze, staring straight ahead.

Alright, the shrunken version of Shinichi Kudo has arrived at the scene.

With the God of Death himself tailing them, the case was guaranteed to be solved sooner or later. Getsukai didn’t need to lift a finger. He just needed to do his job—sit back, relax, and take excellent care of the beautiful girls surrounding him.

Beside him, Yoko’s hand quietly crept across the leather seat. Her fingers brushed against his, before her pinky slowly, hesitantly hooked around his own.

Getsukai glanced down at their joined hands.

The national idol Yoko Okino. The absolute dream girl of practically every man in Japan.

And right now, she was secretly hooking his pinky finger, her eyes still red from crying, clinging to him for dear life.

Nice. This trip is definitely worth it.

From Getsukai’s other side, Ran let out a quiet, distinctly unhappy huff, wrapping her arms around Haibara and hugging the little girl just a bit tighter.