Detective Conan: Death Note

The Jericho 941 pistol—a firearm designed specifically for security forces. Although not Amuro Toru's usual weapon, firing two close-range s

The Jericho 941 pistol—a firearm designed specifically for security forces.

Although not Amuro Toru's usual weapon, firing two close-range shots inside the car to end two lives required no special skill.

Just as he had resolved to do so, Jodie suddenly spoke:

"Camel, do as we discussed on the phone next."

"What?"

As time passed, the bleeding from Camel's shoulder wound worsened, the searing pain causing cold sweat to drip down, and his entire arm nearly lost strength.

Still, after a reflexive question, he immediately nodded: "Alright!"

No room for doubt.

Camel knew he wasn't the smartest, but he understood perfectly that he and Jodie were in this together—win or lose.

Jodie's face remained tense as she pressed the speakerphone button.

"All these accidents are the result of precise calculations from every possible angle,

factoring in all elements to create a mathematical model that concludes with a simple 1 + 1 = 2."

The moment Hayashi Yoshiki's clear voice emerged from the phone, Amuro Toru, already decided to kill the two and escape the car, narrowed his eyes sharply.

Could that voice be...?

Jodie didn't notice how his breath seemed to freeze in place.

She cautiously observed the road conditions around them, especially watching if Gin and his team had caught up.

"Do you understand? Not only you,

but every pedestrian, every vehicle, even traffic lights on this street,

are factored into the calculations."

A calm, clear voice carrying an inexplicable serenity.

There was no mistake—the person on the other end was the BOSS...!

Amuro Tooru suppressed the turmoil and confusion inside him but remained unable to calm down.

Why?

Why was he mixed up with the FBI?

Had he already noticed the organization and been secretly opposing it?

If he found out Amuro's true identity...

No, the most shocking thing was that he was actually cooperating with the FBI.

Amuro Toru couldn't believe it.

He had checked Hayashi Yoshiki's records—this 22-year-old had always lived in Japan, with little contact with foreigners.

Logically, he shouldn't have been noticed or recruited by the FBI.

So, was it some shared goal, or just pure empathy, that made him help these two?

The confusing shock made Amuro impatient to uncover the truth.

But now, he couldn't speak out.

"So what we must do now is clear."

"Disrupt his calculations,

make huge errors in his formula—if the numbers used in the math change,

The outcome will obviously be completely different!"

"Miss Jodie, how far is the nearest traffic light from you now?"

"Just ahead, probably less than 400 meters!"

Jodie added immediately, "It's a red light right now!"

"Good. I'll make the traffic light act weird. By the way, Mr. Camel, can you do some illogical driving at the intersection?"

"Huh?"

Camel, utterly confused, didn't understand what they were talking about.

Amuro Toru now fully grasped Hayashi Yoshiki's meaning.

He lowered his head, his gaze quietly heavy.

Doing so would indeed greatly increase their chance of escaping Cointreau's engineered accidents...

Should he gamble?

This might be the real first clash between the BOSS and Cointreau.

If it were him, maybe he could actually ruin that guy's calculations—

With this thought, Amuro Toru finally decided to risk everything and try.

The red sedan soon reached the intersection.

The vehicles waiting at the stop line started to stir as the red light's countdown approached zero.

At zero, they pressed the accelerator—but the next moment, they slammed on the brakes—

After the red light reached zero, the traffic signal glitched and stayed red.

Cars stopped on either side, confused to see the green light extend again, then slowly started moving.

At that moment, Camel's car drove from the sidewalk into the middle of the road.

He didn't fully understand what Hayashi Yoshiki meant by "illogical driving," but drifting should count, right?

Despite the excruciating pain and weakening left arm, Camel sharply turned the steering wheel and pulled the handbrake.

The red sedan violently spun a circle in the center of the road, tires screeching painfully against the asphalt.

The cars ready to move were stunned by this bizarre maneuver, stepping hard on the brakes to avoid collision.

A cacophony of horns erupted.

After spinning twice rapidly, the red sedan left ugly tire marks on the road and quickly passed through the intersection.

Gin and his team were already visible ahead.

"What the hell? Has that guy gone crazy?"

Vodka couldn't understand such reckless behavior.

Gin sneered.

He clearly knew Hayashi Yoshiki's plan, so Camel's actions seemed laughable to him—like a monkey's antics.

After hearing the plan, Gin even pitied the FBI guys...

Those rats who lost Shuichi Akai could never have guessed that everything today was a carefully scripted play directed by the very man they'd soon worship as an ally—to earn their trust!

The brewery men kept pursuing.

At this moment, Hayashi Yoshiki had returned to his own car, listening to Jodie's status report while driving out of the department store's underground parking lot.

"Good news."

"At the third traffic light, patrol cops will intercept the traffic,

so you don't have to worry; they'll let you through directly."

To gain even greater FBI trust—this was the explanation Hayashi Yoshiki gave Gin.

But no one knew that his true target was always Amuro Toru.

Sure enough...

The moment Hayashi Yoshiki's voice came through the speaker to Amuro Toru, he immediately grew suspicious of the cops.

Why were the traffic police cooperating now?

Because the incident was sudden, this wasn't a prearranged setup...

Meaning those cops were likely just patrolling nearby.

Could Hayashi Yoshiki, acting as a consultant to the special investigation team, arrange this?

But from any angle, it seemed too efficient.

Camel's car swiftly passed the intersection.

Through the rearview mirror, Amuro Toru saw the traffic cops blowing whistles and signaling for traffic to stop—forcing the entire intersection to halt.

He slowly narrowed his eyes.