Detective Conan: Becoming a Tycoon in Tokyo! [2]

Shōichi’s father had once been a high-ranking government official—until he ended up in prison.

The reason was absurd: corruption.

It really was ridiculous. Wasn’t that obviously a political donation? Legal, transparent, and perfectly normal—so how had it suddenly turned into corruption?

The old policeman didn’t understand such things. All he knew was that Shōichi’s father was living quite comfortably in “prison,” his daily life unchanged—if anything, improved, with several policemen acting as bodyguards.

“Perhaps you should apologize,” the old policeman gently suggested to Shōichi.

Beside him, Miyamoto Yumi’s eyelid twitched. She turned to the old policeman. “He committed so many offenses, and you think an apology is enough?”

The old policeman didn’t seem bothered. He simply handed Yumi the stack of items he’d confiscated from Shōichi.

Even Miyamoto Yumi felt her scalp go numb in shock.

How could one person carry so many troublesome things?

She could finally understand the old policeman’s hesitation—it really was a headache to deal with.

Still, she insisted, “We have to teach Shōichi a lesson. Otherwise, he’ll definitely do it again.”

The old policeman sighed.

Why so serious? They were almost off duty—just handle it casually and move on.

It wasn’t as if anything terrible had happened. Shōichi-sama had only just returned to Japan; he didn’t know you couldn’t just pick up random cars here.

Shōichi-sama was obviously kindhearted—he just wanted to adopt a lonely car. What harm was there in that?

But seeing Yumi’s youthful determination, the old policeman didn’t want to douse her fire. Instead, he said, “You’re right, Yumi. But education doesn’t happen overnight. I’ll take it slow and help Shōichi-sama understand Japanese law. For now, let’s just have him admit his mistake.”

Miyamoto Yumi frowned but, seeing the old policeman’s seasoned diplomacy, reluctantly agreed.

“Sorry. My bad,” Shōichi said flatly.

Even his apology couldn’t exceed five words.

Naturally, that didn’t sit well. The old policeman’s eyelids twitched again—and sure enough, Miyamoto Yumi slammed the table in anger.

“Is that how you apologize?”

“I already did. What more do you want?” Shōichi spread his hands innocently. “If you’re still not satisfied, go ahead—throw stones at me or something.”

He shamelessly met Miyamoto Yumi’s furious glare.

Seeing her temper spike, Shōichi quickly added, “Don’t push your luck! I haven’t even settled accounts with you for groping me earlier!”

Old policeman: !!?

He never would’ve imagined Miyamoto Yumi was that kind of woman.

Granted, Shōichi-sama was exceptionally handsome—even an old man like him could appreciate that—but still, Yumi shouldn’t have laid hands on him!

She was a police officer, and Shōichi-sama wasn’t just anyone—this was inappropriate!

Slap!

“You’re talking nonsense!” Miyamoto Yumi slammed the table again, pointing furiously at Shōichi.

Unfazed, Shōichi stuck out his backside provocatively. “Why don’t you check my pants for fingerprints? See if Miyamoto Yumi-san’s are there.”

“You—!”

“Enough.” The old policeman cut her off.

“I deeply apologize!” He bowed low to Shōichi on Yumi’s behalf.

Inside, Miyamoto Yumi seethed.

Shōichi was the one who’d broken the law—so why was she the one apologizing?

She wanted to object, but the old policeman silenced her with a meaningful look.

She could only grit her teeth and swallow her frustration.

Because, in fact, her fingerprints were on Shōichi’s backside.

Magnanimous as ever, Shōichi quickly forgave the police once they admitted their mistake.

“Do you need us to drive you home?” the old policeman offered.

“No need, I’ll go by myself,” Shōichi replied immediately.

He feared Yumi might volunteer—then halfway there, kick him off the bike.

Smiling, Shōichi cheerfully waved to Miyamoto Yumi and walked out of the station.

Watching his retreating back, Miyamoto Yumi ground her teeth so hard they almost cracked.

You’d better not fall into my hands again. If you do… if you do…

She stopped mid-thought, realizing bitterly she couldn’t actually do anything to him.

Unless Shōichi committed a truly serious crime, he was untouchable.

...

While Yumi fumed, Shōichi happily hummed a tune and stepped into a bar.

“A glass of juice, please.”

A burly man in black approached, smirking. “Coming to a bar just to drink juice?”

“In Japan, you can’t drink or smoke until you’re twenty. Of course I follow the law,” Shōichi replied, taking the glass from the bartender and sipping.

The taste was disappointing.

“Hello, I’m Karasuma Shōichi,” he said, extending his hand.

“Karasuma?”

That surname carried far too much weight within their organization.

“Heh, Vodka, Cointreau’s just talking nonsense,” a blond man said, strolling over with a glass in hand.

Gin set his drink down on the table. “Has Miyano Akemi been dealt with?”

“Handled. She won’t show up before you again,” Shōichi said.

“And the money?”

“Deposited into the bank.”

Gin regarded him with a faintly amused smile.

Stealing money from a bank and then immediately depositing it back—only Cointreau could pull that off without leaving a trace.

Shōichi raised his glass and clinked it against Gin’s.

“However, Miyano Akemi only managed to get 800 million yen.”

Gin frowned. How dare Miyano Akemi deceive him? Or… had this brat pocketed the rest?

Catching the suspicion in Gin’s eyes, Shōichi snorted. “With my status, do you really think I’d care about such pocket change?”

Gin thought it over. Shōichi’s family was a famous zaibatsu. As a key member of a financial dynasty, two hundred million yen really was nothing to him.

But what Gin didn’t know was: a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

If you didn’t care about two hundred million yen, how could you ever accumulate a fortune?

Shōichi handed Gin a bank card. “You can withdraw it with this. But money laundering always causes losses—you won’t get the full 800 million.”

“That, I understand,” Gin said.

Shōichi nodded. Once again, he’d managed to squeeze a tidy profit from the organization.

Gin looked at him thoughtfully. “Since the Boss put you in charge of dealing with traitors and spies, I’ve been spared a lot of work.”

He still suspected nothing.

The Boss probably thought Gin’s killing instincts were too strong—afraid he’d end up wiping out half the organization—so he’d split the workload.

Gin assumed the Boss just wanted to lighten his load by assigning him a capable subordinate.

“No, no,” Shōichi said. “My main job is handling finances. As for traitors, spies, or any of that other dirty work—don’t ask me. I don’t have the time.”

“Oh?”

“I’m a bank employee with limitless prospects,” Shōichi said, voice dripping with contempt. “I’m not a rat crawling through the gutters like you. Why would I dirty my hands with violent work that ruins my image?”

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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!