Curator Ochiai was not the owner of the pavilion.
The pavilion belonged to someone else—a rich guy, probably. Ochiai was just a hired hand, a working-class cadre with feelings. The kind of security guard who falls in love with the gold in the vault he's guarding. A doomed, sentimental love.
If turning the museum into a hotel is a pot, then at least half the pot belongs to the guy who sold the building in the first place.
But Curator Ochiai's rage was laser-focused on Boss Manaka.
…This is the danger of walking around with a poisonous tongue buff in the Detective Conan universe.
While Jiangxia calmly explained things, the curator's eyes slowly widened beside him, looking like twin copper bells.
Unclear if he was furious or just finally realized Jiangxia was accusing him of murder.
Sensing that the moment was ripe, Jiangxia pulled out his phone and waved it at the curator.
The low-res screen played a short clip: the curator picking up a pen—an action that had slipped through the cracks of his Perfect Plan™.
Jiangxia straightened his tone: "Turn yourself in. Stop clinging to false hope. Everything you tried to hide? People saw it."
Curator Ochiai stared at the screen. The last shred of confidence inside him quietly crumbled.
…It hadn't even been an hour.
He'd been planning the murder for a week. Going over the details, rehearsing every move.
And then bam, Jiangxia just crushed it in five minutes.
Conan, eavesdropping nearby, was also thunderstruck.
Usually, when he solved a case, he would build his argument step by step, backing every claim with airtight logic.
But Jiangxia? Just skipped to the ending like he'd pressed fast-forward.
…Also—was the curator actually the murderer?
Conan went over the facts again in his head, but still couldn't figure out how Jiangxia came to that conclusion.
He wanted to ask—but his pride as a young man stopped him.
Then, after wrestling between his self-esteem and burning curiosity, Conan remembered something critical: he was currently a first-year elementary school student.
…So what if a grade schooler asked a high schooler a question?
With sudden clarity, Conan perked up and walked over to Jiangxia, putting on his best innocent bear child expression: "Um, can I see your phone?"
Jiangxia: "…"
Kudou-san, what's with that voice all of a sudden?
He looked at Conan with mild suspicion, but eventually replayed the video and handed over the phone.
There was nothing scandalous on this device.
When dealing with the Organization, Jiangxia used a separate black-and-white phone. No risk of Conan's snooping emails popping up mid-investigation.
The video ended quickly.
Conan stared at the now-black screen, piecing together the puzzle in his mind.
Then he rubbed his chin and exclaimed, "Ahh—I get it now! That note the police found? The curator wrote it and placed it there himself. The pen that the victim was holding couldn't even write. So that so-called 'dying message' was totally fake—planted in advance by the killer to frame someone!"
Curator Ochiai looked at Conan and, for a second, questioned the entire trajectory of his life.
—Jiangxia was at least a high schooler who looked smart.
But…
How could even a grade schooler see through his genius setup?!
His revenge, his art, his carefully constructed narrative—
Was it just… a toddler's drama?
Conan returned the phone to Jiangxia and was about to say thank you in his most obedient voice—
When a sigh suddenly echoed through the room. A sigh of defeat, heavy with life experience and melancholy.
Both of them turned around, confused.
They were shocked to see that, in the span of just a few seconds, Curator Ochiai looked ten years older.
The curator gave them a long look, then muttered, "Thanks for helping me recognize the truth about myself."
Then, under the double "???" of the boys, he shuffled off in the direction of Inspector Megure and turned himself in.
Megure had initially assumed that someone named Huotian—an employee—was the killer.
He definitely hadn't expected the curator himself to show up out of nowhere and confess.
Ochiai briefly explained his method. Said even kids could see through it. That the police would've figured it out eventually, so better to end it with dignity.
Megure felt a little guilty. He didn't ask many follow-ups.
He glanced toward the direction the curator had come from, and saw Jiangxia and a small boy with glasses standing together.
So he naturally assumed that "child" meant Jiangxia.
Looks like I've found another talented high school detective after Kudo Shinichi, he thought.
…
The police quickly escorted the curator away.
The rest of the team began to leave too.
Jiangxia trailed after them, walking in the direction of Inspector Megure.
When Megure looked at him with confusion, Jiangxia said, "I'll give my statement."
Megure was startled.
Every other detective he'd met would go full speed solving the case. But the second it came time for paperwork, they'd vanish like smoke.
After so many like that, Jiangxia's behavior hit him right in the feels.
Brother Jiangxia is too cooperative, he thought. All detectives nationwide should learn from him!
Of course, Jiangxia didn't actually like giving statements.
But after the crime scene was processed, the body had been bagged and taken to the police station.
Which meant the shikigami was also at the station now…
Once the ghost's obsession was resolved, it would stop clinging and possibly wander off.
Jiangxia really didn't want to be late and miss it.
And so, he silently joined the police overtime squad.
The moment he stepped out of the exhibit hall, a camera flash hit him in the face. A swarm of reporters had gathered at the entrance.
Homicide stories were very hot news in this world.
Jiangxia wasn't good with the media. Nor with the nosy extras who liked to insert themselves into drama.
After ten minutes of fending them off, he finally made it to the station as planned.
While Jiangxia gave his statement, the ghost baby took one look around and then sneakily slipped away, crawling stealthily toward the morgue.
Jiangxia watched it slink off and wanted to say, You don't need to be so extra.
Even if it walked there while banging a gong, the police wouldn't be able to see it.
…Sigh. It's probably been watching too many dramas lately.
Glossary:
pot: Slang for blame or responsibility. As in "taking the pot" = taking the blame.
cadre: A loyal worker or official, often used mock-seriously or sarcastically.