Dr. Ogawa had a nagging feeling he'd seen Jangxia Tongzhi somewhere before.
Then, as Jangxia started talking, the memory clicked—this kid had been in the newspaper not long ago.
This might actually be a chance to get a free detective.
That hopeful thought lit a fire in Dr. Ogawa, and he suddenly perked up:
"It was delivered to the front desk by someone who called himself 'Mr. Tanaka.' There's always a pot on August 3rd."
But it wasn't just flowers. Starting two years ago, every month, "Mr. Tanaka" had been sending old toys to the doctor. And 1 million yen. Every. Month.
To date, the total had reached 25 million yen.
Dr. Ogawa had always just thought of these as gifts. He has a 5-year-old son—getting toys wasn't that strange. As for the money... well, anonymous cash drops are definitely weird, but honestly, who's going to say no to money falling from the sky?
He never thought too hard about it.
That is, until this month, when the delivery came with something new: a letter signed "Tanaka Taro."
The letter said: "25 million has been paid. I'm coming to take what I deserve."
There was a faint sense of menace in the wording. Enough to make the good doctor sweat bullets and run for help.
After some questioning by Mouri Kogoro, Dr. Ogawa suddenly remembered—he had an oil painting in his office worth over 20 million yen. Maybe "Mr. Tanaka" was eyeing that?
So now, the whole gang had come to the hospital to investigate.
…
Mouri Kogoro stood on the hospital steps, glaring at Dr. Ogawa as he explained the situation. That familiar stench of "someone stealing my case" hit his nose.
He was not about to get upstaged by the juniors again.
Clearing his throat importantly, Kogoro cut into the conversation:
"Sending the same flowers every year doesn't sound like a hobby—it probably has symbolic meaning."
Jangxia nodded in agreement.
"Morning glories do have some interesting flower language: 'the end,' 'love's bond,' and..."
He suddenly dropped his voice.
"'I'm entangled with you.'"
Ran Mouri: "!" Wait—is it someone who died during surgery…?
Mouri Kogoro gave her a knowing nod. "The first two meanings are common, but the last one—did you just make that up?"
"Nope," Jangxia replied casually. He pulled open a flower petal and fished out a hidden greeting card.
"I've received morning glories before, and there was a note tucked inside just like this. It didn't have a name—just said 'I'm entangled with you.'
"And afterward, I really was entangled for a while. So it kinda stuck in my memory."
Conan: "…"
Why are all your life experiences so weird…
Also, "was entangled"—past tense. Like it got resolved somehow?
Should we go dredge Tokyo Bay and see if we can find cement blocks with your fingerprints on them?
Mouri Kogoro stroked his chin, getting analytical.
"Sending flowers every year rules out the 'end' interpretation. As for the other two—'love's bond' or 'I'm entangled with you'—those both sound kind of... ambiguous."
His mistress-hunting senses tingled. He turned sharply to Dr. Ogawa:
"Are you being blackmailed by a mistress?"
Dr. Ogawa shook his head vehemently. "I've never cheated!"
"Flowers usually mean either gratitude or love," Jangxia mused. "But if you're trying to say thanks, it's odd to keep hiding your identity. That angle can probably be ruled out. As for love..."
He gave Dr. Ogawa a long look.
Dr. Ogawa, startled, shook his head even more emphatically.
"Okay, let's rule that out too," Jangxia said, withdrawing his gaze.
He raised three fingers, then dropped two.
"There's actually one more use for flowers—offerings."
"Usually, people bring chrysanthemums or lilies on death anniversaries. But recently, a lot of folks just choose flowers the deceased liked, or ones that bloom in season."
Jangxia added calmly, "Morning glories bloom mostly in summer: July, August, and September. That includes August 3rd."
Dr. Ogawa was visibly pale.
Someone had been giving him funeral flowers every year... while he was still alive.
No matter how you sliced it, that felt hostile.
Before, he'd thought the worst-case scenario was having to return the 25 million yen.
But now...
Now it felt like this "Mr. Tanaka" was after his life.
Dr. Ogawa turned to Jangxia as if he were a heavenly angel come to save him.
As expected of a newspaper-famous detective—he'd pieced together all of this just from a few questions.
Maybe if they kept chatting for another hour, Jangxia would just unmask "Mr. Tanaka" on the spot.
Motivated by that thought, the doctor was fully ready to hire this genius on the spot. Name your price.
Then he heard Jangxia say:
"Since 'Mr. Tanaka' is still sending you toys, his motive might be related to a child. Try to recall if you have any shared connection involving a child."
"Child…"
Dr. Ogawa's expression shifted. Clutching the flowerpot, he bolted for the archives.
His sudden movement startled Mouri, who reflexively followed.
In a flash, the stairs were empty.
Jangxia watched them go, adjusted his collar, and strolled downstairs at his own pace.
Instead of heading home, he turned into a nearby park.
As soon as they entered, Xiaobai—who'd been silently reminiscing about hot pot—suddenly sat up straight and stared in a fixed direction.
Jangxia followed its gaze and soon came to a kindergarten.
On the bench outside, a middle-aged man sat alone, radiating murderous intent.
Jangxia stared for a second.
Yep. Called it.
—