Detective Conan: Becoming a Tycoon in Tokyo! [1] & Synopsis

“Mr. Sumitomo Shōichi, why is it that every corporate executive who competes with you ends up murdered under mysterious circumstances?”

Sumitomo Shōichi: “Heaven itself is spoon-feeding me.”

“Mr. Shōichi, there have recently been multiple explosions destroying several buildings. Is your construction company connected to these incidents?”

Sumitomo Shōichi: “The police are incompetent—it has nothing to do with me.”

“Numerous business leaders have received threats from terrorist organizations lately. Could this be related to the security firm you recently registered?”

Sumitomo Shōichi: “That’s a malicious setup.”

“Everyone says your success comes solely from family backing.”

Shōichi: “Nonsense! Clearly, it's all thanks to Conan!”

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Screech~

“Hello—please pull over. You were speeding. Three points deducted.”

Miyamoto Yumi tapped lightly on the car window, took out a pen, and wrote a ticket. Just as she was about to tear it off and hand it over, a thousand-yen bill drifted out of the window.

“Keep the change.”

After saying that, the man in the car tried to roll the window back up.

“Hold it!” Miyamoto Yumi slammed her hand down on the glass; her eyes had already taken on a distinctly unfriendly glare.

You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?

Miyamoto Yumi said coldly, “I meant three points off your driver's license! Don't think you can fool me.”

At her words, Sumitomo Shōichi went “Oh,” and calmly took the thousand-yen note back from her hand.

“Driver's license? I don't have one,” Sumitomo Shōichi said, then tried again to roll the window up.

By now Miyamoto Yumi was already pulling at his car door. “Great—so you're driving without a license!”

In all her years as a traffic officer, Miyamoto Yumi had never encountered anyone this arrogant.

“What do you mean ‘driving without a license’? Why do you have to put it so rudely?” Shōichi protested. “I wanted to get one, but they said there was something wrong with my head and refused to let me take the test. What could I do about that?”

“Get out of the car!”

Miyamoto Yumi yanked on Sumitomo Shōichi’s car door.

Shōichi looked indignant at the rough treatment of his vehicle. “Could you be gentler? This car is brand-new, fresh. You won't find another one like it in all of Tokyo.”

“Acquired?”

“Well, maybe not exactly acquired. More like—I picked it up.”

“Picked it up? Sounds more like you stole it,” Miyamoto Yumi said, producing her handcuffs.

This was already more than a simple speeding stop.

Offended by the Japanese female officer’s implication, Shōichi retorted, “You really say the most unpleasant things! What's stealing? I saw the poor car sitting there all alone, lonely, so I took it out for a walk.”

He was a compassionate man—full of empathy for cars.

“Do you have a health insurance card?”

“What's that?” Shōichi asked blankly.

“How about a Basic Resident Register Card?”

“I've been alive nineteen years and never heard of such things,” Shōichi said.

Miyamoto Yumi pressed him roughly against the car door and cuffed him.

Great—he's even an undocumented resident.

“Wait! Why do you smell like alcohol?” Miyamoto Yumi suddenly sniffed.

Shōichi struggled. “I ate some alcohol-filled chocolates.”

“Really?”

“I always tell the truth,” Shōichi said confidently.

Miyamoto Yumi produced a small black electronic device. “Blow into this,” she ordered.

Obediently, Shōichi leaned forward and inhaled—breathing in.

“Alcohol content exceeds the limit.”

“You're lying!”

Shōichi panicked. Wouldn't he know if he'd had that much to drink?

This cop was twisting facts! Now that she had him cuffed, next would be forced confessions through torture. He absolutely wouldn't yield to this evil policewoman.

With a cold face, Miyamoto Yumi said, “Then blow into it again.”

Once more, Shōichi took a deep inhale into the device.

“Alcohol content exceeds the limit.”

Furious, Shōichi yelled, “You're not even trying anymore, are you? I clearly just inhaled into that thing!”

Didn't expect that, did you? I tricked you—let's see how you explain your slander.

“Heh.”

Miyamoto Yumi sneered, clipped the radio back onto her belt, and mockingly said, “That was my walkie-talkie! What, you claim you're sober, yet you can't even recognize a radio?”

Didn't expect that, did you? I tricked you right back.

Shōichi fell silent.

“I thought you ‘always tell the truth’?” Miyamoto Yumi taunted.

In a small voice, Shōichi mumbled, “Actually, sometimes I also like to tell little lies.”

“Hmph. Come with me to the station.”

Dragging the squirming Shōichi to her motorcycle, Miyamoto Yumi planned to take this once-in-a-lifetime freak back to the precinct.

Shōichi squirmed and twisted, stubborn as a mule.

“Can we skip the station? My dad’s in there too. We have some issues. If I go, we’ll end up fighting,” Shōichi explained.

Miyamoto Yumi frowned. “Your dad's a policeman?”

How could a police officer raise a son like this? His father was definitely negligent.

“Nope. He's in prison,” Shōichi stammered.

If I go in too, we'd be cellmates—awkward.

Miyamoto Yumi’s mouth twitched. Great—so criminality ran in the family.

“Do you have another guardian?”

“Yeah, my aunt. Her business card is in my pocket,” Shōichi said.

Miyamoto Yumi reached toward his pocket.

“Not that pocket. The one on my butt,” Shōichi corrected.

Expressionless, Miyamoto Yumi reached toward his backside.

Unexpectedly, Shōichi twisted away, shouting, “Hey! Why are you touching my butt!?”

“Behave!” Miyamoto Yumi slapped him sharply.

A humiliated look crossed Shōichi's face. He had no choice but to endure being bullied by this cruel traffic cop.

Miyamoto Yumi finally got Shōichi onto her motorcycle.

Speeding, no license, drunk driving, car theft, undocumented resident status, a father ‘studying’ in prison—this guy's list of offenses was impressive.

Miyamoto Yumi had been a traffic cop for many years and had seen it all.

But she'd never seen anyone like this.

...

At the police station, an old officer felt his scalp go numb as he examined the items confiscated from Shōichi.

All Miyamoto Yumi had to do was bring this troublesome kid in. He, however, had much more to worry about.

From the pile of IDs and Shōichi’s own statements, the officer pieced together some details about his identity:

Half-Chinese and half-Japanese, dual citizenship (British and American), graduated from the California Institute of Technology at nineteen, now working in Japan at a major company.

Not just any company—Sumitomo Bank, the famed zaibatsu bank.

Working in the Zaibatsu’s exclusive vault—his influence and connections were obvious.

While in Europe he'd joined vegan and environmental clubs and become a distinguished member.

In the US he'd frequently taken part in social activism, rubbing shoulders with celebrities.

He'd been involved with movements like Black Lives Matter, minority rights advocacy, feminist activism—complicated ties everywhere.

These connections alone made one’s scalp tingle, yet Shōichi was only nineteen—still underage in Japan, where adulthood began at twenty.

Even more worrying: among the IDs was a medical certificate for “mental illness.”

He was even mentally ill!

How was he supposed to punish him?

If they treated this kid harshly at the station, countless voices from abroad and at home would immediately criticize them, creating endless trouble.

And that was just Shōichi alone—not yet considering his family background.

He'd already checked: Shōichi's family in Japan was extremely influential. Not someone a mere police officer like himself could afford to offend.

Well, there was no need to dig further—just the surname said it all.

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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!