Detective Conan: Becoming a Tycoon in Tokyo! [28]

"Haibara, how’s the script I wrote?" Shōichi handed over the screenplay he’d spent all night working on.

Haibara gave it a glance—utter garbage.

The story structure was a mess, the dialogue didn’t flow, and the prose was about as refined as a dull carving knife—completely devoid of literary flair.

"Hmm, it’s excellent. The story’s gripping, the plot twists are masterful—truly a great script," Haibara murmured softly.

If they actually filmed this trash, it would be a guaranteed flop.

Haibara had just discovered a new method of revenge.

Driving Shōichi to bankruptcy—and maybe to jump off a building—did sound like a pretty satisfying outcome.

"I plan to cast Okino Yōko as the female lead."

"Very good," Haibara nodded.

An idol who’d never acted before as the lead? A spectacular failure was practically guaranteed.

"And I’ll get the director from that horror movie we watched last time," Shōichi added.

"Great, he’s a very talented director," Haibara said.

A random horror director—yeah, no chance this would end well.

Fueled by Haibara’s praise, Shōichi’s confidence shot through the roof.

Still, the script needed work, so he had the company hire several screenwriters to polish his draft.

The screenplay’s title: Ring.

It was 1996. Shōichi remembered that Suzuki Kōji’s novel Ring wouldn’t be published until 1997, so technically, this wasn’t plagiarism.

As for whether Suzuki was already working on it… well, that could be the legal department’s problem later.

Once the script was finalized, Shōichi went with Gin to meet the director he’d chosen.

When Nakata Hideo shook hands with him and realized who his new boss was, his legs wouldn’t stop shaking.

Oh no—I’ve met a real monster.

Shōichi’s reputation preceded him: ruthless, murderous, and untouchable thanks to his ties with the police and Mouri Kogoro. No one had ever managed to pin a single murder on him.

To stay alive, Nakata kept his mouth shut and just nodded to everything Shōichi said.

Shōichi didn’t care about art anyway. After a few perfunctory words—mainly to hurry the shoot and get the film released ASAP—he dismissed the director.

Then he poured apple juice into a wine glass and turned to Gin. "Does the Organization still have money?"

"Huh?"

Swirling his glass, Shōichi went on, "Without our own cinema chain, we’ll just keep getting pushed around. I’m planning to buy some theaters—does the Organization want to invest?"

He’d been expanding recklessly lately, and his finances were stretched thin.

His biological father had stopped showering him with cash, and Sumitomo Bank’s loans were too small. The Organization was his only option.

After all, he was one of their most loyal codenamed members. Asking for help in tough times was perfectly reasonable.

Gin frowned, visibly annoyed. "Business isn’t my department."

He was getting sick of Shōichi.

The guy was supposed to launder money quietly, not drag the Organization into filmmaking and theater investments. What did he think this was—a venture capital firm?

Shōichi softened his tone. "Come on, it’s all for the Organization’s benefit. If we own our own theater chain, it’ll make operations easier."

"Think about it—the Organization’s sitting on piles of dirty money. We need stable ways to launder it. Cinemas are perfect for that, and they’re profitable, too. More funds, less need for threats."

It was a lawful society, after all.

Threats, kidnappings, and bank robberies—better to cut back on those.

Gin frowned, thinking it over. "Would anyone even sell to you?"

"Of course," Shōichi said confidently.

Thanks to the economic downturn, cinema attendance this year had plummeted—one of the lowest points since the Japan Motion Picture Producers Association was founded.

Theaters weren’t doing well.

But that wasn’t even the main reason.

The main reason was divine assistance.

Shōichi fully believed in the power of gods now. Worst case, he’d just have Conan-kun pay a visit to the theater owners—after a mysterious death or two, any property could be bought.

"This is the last time," Gin said at last.

"Good," Shōichi replied cheerfully.

Gin really was great—not like his useless father, who wouldn’t even invest in his son’s startup.

Once the Organization business was done, he’d hire Gin as his personal bodyguard.

To show his gratitude, Shōichi drained his apple juice—earning a look of pure disgust from Gin.

...

Before 2000, Japan’s box office stats were distribution-based.

That meant the distributors’ earnings weren’t the same as the total ticket sales.

The system undervalued Japan’s film market, sure—but it had its perks.

Like opacity.

Distributors could tweak or hide numbers as they pleased. That was exactly why Shōichi was desperate to build his own distribution network.

It wouldn’t be easy, especially without family backing.

But he had Conan-kun.

"Gin, I’m off to toil for the Organization’s noble cause," Shōichi said, stretching as he stood.

Gin shot him a look but said nothing.

Shōichi smirked, grabbed a carton of milk from the bar, and left.

Now that he’d wrung some gold coins out of Gin, he wouldn’t have to see that sour face for a while.

This time, he felt genuinely motivated.

He’d handed the construction business to Miyano Akemi and was personally overseeing the entertainment division—mainly because he still hadn’t found a decent secretary.

Dragging along Haibara, who kept insisting she wanted to go to school, Shōichi went to meet Okino Yōko.

"I’ve secured your film’s female lead," he told her.

Okino Yōko sat nervously, hands clasped in her lap, listening.

"The movie’s called Ring, directed by the renowned Nakata Hideo, with a screenplay written by me. It’s going to be an incredible horror film," Shōichi said proudly.

Yōko looked increasingly uneasy.

She was terrified that his idea of a “horror film” was one of those cheap, sleazy ones that relied on nudity to sell tickets.

She glanced anxiously at the child beside him.

If he’d brought a kid, surely it wasn’t that kind of movie… right?

Seeing her nervousness, Shōichi reassured her, "By the way, your pay is 100 million yen."

"How much!?" Yōko gawked at him.

Even Japan’s top actresses didn’t command that kind of salary. An idol with zero film experience? No way.

Was he bluffing? Or did he have some other agenda?

"Relax," Shōichi said with a smile. "Our company takes good care of its people."

---

T/N: such a good boss...

This is a fan translation of 柯南：我在东京当财阀 by 倒霉的菜狗. Rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!