The three salarymen had just wrapped up their meeting. Now, they were standing beside a boxing strength tester machine, watching a burly uncle take a swing.
The man threw a punch. The machine displayed "246".
The buzz-cut guy among the trio clicked his tongue in disappointment. "So close. If it hits over 250, it plays a super cool sound effect." Then he turned to the slightly chatty colleague next to him. "Nakajima, aren't you going to give it a go?"
Jiangxia Tongzhi paused.
He remembered now—these three totally ordinary-looking nobodies were the ones who handed Tequila a bento box in the spoiler episode.
Back in college, they were in the same boxing club. Nakajima, when prompted by Buzz-Cut Bro, perked up with interest.
He slipped off his jacket and handed it to Buzz-Cut Bro, then laced up a pair of boxing gloves and did a quick warm-up. When he punched, the score jumped to 348—and just like Buzz-Cut said, the machine let out a dramatic sound effect.
At the same time the sound effect played, Jiangxia's eyes shifted subtly. He saw Buzz-Cut Bro reach into Nakajima's jacket pocket and switch two luggage locker tags.
Jiangxia recalled: These two might seem friendly on the surface, but in reality, they had some deep wife-hatred going on.
Buzz-Cut Bro had a long-time girlfriend, dating back to junior high. They'd stayed together all the way through college—until she cheated on him with Nakajima.
Nakajima and the girl eventually broke up. Not long after, she died by suicide.
No one knows what sort of bootlicking emotional gymnastics Buzz-Cut Bro went through, but somehow he reached the conclusion: Nakajima must die.
Buzz-Cut Bro, like many murder-minded citizens, didn't want to go to jail. So he waited. And waited. And now, finally, he saw his chance.
Their company was tight-knit, and everyone had the same style of briefcase. Buzz-Cut Bro had hidden a pre-assembled bomb in one of them. After the locker tag swap, he was confident Nakajima would unknowingly grab the bomb-bag, open it, and—boom—problem solved.
Jiangxia caught the sinister smirk curling at the corner of Buzz-Cut's mouth. He noted the killer aura emanating from the guy, and with a sigh, looked away.
If this were just a regular shikigami, Jiangxia might've caved to temptation and handled things personally. But Tequila was a legit member of the Black Organization. Sure, he was cannon fodder, but he was named cannon fodder.
Come on, future colleague—you got this. Good luck.
…
Nakajima had no idea he'd been marked for death.
He looked pretty pleased with himself after scoring the day's high score. As he took off his gloves, he spotted some innocent bystanders they had cut in front of earlier. One of them, Mouri Ran, was staring at the boxing machine with obvious interest.
"Wanna give it a shot?" Nakajima offered. "It's a great stress reliever."
"Stress relief?" Ran hesitated… and then an image of Kudo Shinichi, who'd been avoiding her lately, popped into her mind.
Without a word, she slid on the gloves and stepped up to the machine.
Nakajima, ever the quasi-pro, thought he'd hang around to help this cute lady correct her stance, teach her some basics—y'know, make up for the line-cutting.
But before he could even spot a flaw in her form, the slim girl twisted her body and fired off a punch.
A second later, the machine lit up and blared a louder sound than before. The score: "400".
Nakajima's tutorial smile froze on his face.
"...400?"
Did the machine just break?
The onlookers had similar thoughts. Well, everyone except Conan.
He had been standing near Ran. Now, very quietly, he tiptoed to hide behind Jiangxia and Sonoko Suzuki. He'd heard it all—especially how Ran shouted "Kudo Shinichi!" right as she delivered the punch.
Mouri Ran, feeling much better after demolishing the imaginary Shinichi, casually rotated her shoulders and peeled off the gloves.
She handed them to Jiangxia. "This really works! Wanna try?"
Jiangxia looked at the gloves, then at the machine.
Behind him, three ghosts floated in excitement. They huddled together, pooled their ghostly strength, and formed a glittery transparent energy ball that looked like it belonged in a magical girl anime. They tossed it toward Jiangxia as if giving him a buff.
Jiangxia was a little curious about his own strength. Up till now, the enemies he faced were all fodder tier. Even when he ran into superhuman types like Ran or Amuro, there was no real reason to brawl—it was all about solving the case, not flexing your biceps.
But now… here was a machine. A safe way to measure.
If he could compare himself to Ran's strength, he'd gain a clearer sense of his own force value. Next time he encountered a martial artist with murderous vibes, he could consider skipping diplomacy and go straight to "smack first, pick up the shikigami later."
He slipped on the gloves. Since this was a test, he wanted to be thorough.
He stared hard at the machine and imagined that the murderous aura from Buzz-Cut Bro had coalesced around it. He mentally calculated the amount of aura and the loss he'd suffer if he didn't hit hard enough.
Eyes suddenly gleaming, Jiangxia took a breath, twisted his body, and launched a punch so fast it brought wind with it.
The whole machine shook. A familiar sound effect rang out, followed by a faint "click."
Two seconds later, the display flashed: "400"… then crackled and went black.
The staffer monitoring the machine went pale.
Next to him, Nakajima let out a breath of relief. "Knew it. Totally busted. No way a little girl could max it out. See? Even now, after two four-hundreds, it shut down. Definitely broken."
He looked down at his own hand, conflicted. "Guess I was too rough earlier. But I only hit 348… seems this machine's build doesn't match its max setting. More for hobbyists than former pros like me."
Jiangxia nodded. Ah, so that's what happened. In that case, no need to comfort the traumatized employee. This was Nakajima's pot to carry—it had nothing to do with him or Ran.
Conan, meanwhile, looked at Ran… then at Jiangxia… then at the now-dead machine. His thoughts spiraled.
He'd always assumed Ran—who once dented a streetlight with her bare hands—was an outlier freak of nature.
But now… Jiangxia was also at that level?
And he carried a stick??
Conan stiffened.
Jiangxia had punched so many people in the past. Sometimes for over ten minutes at a time. And yet, now that Conan thought about it… they all lived. None ended up in the ICU.
His view of Jiangxia began to shift.
Sure, the guy hit hard. But apparently, he had a line he didn't cross.
Conan nodded to himself, a new respect blooming quietly in his heart—and simultaneously remembered a set of barbells he'd ordered recently.
He had seen them while shopping for soundproof earmuffs. Thinking of how useless his tiny self was at stopping Jiangxia physically, he'd added the weights to his cart to help weigh himself down during interception attempts.
But clearly… Jiangxia didn't need stopping.
And with that, Conan realized he'd just saved himself some money.
He considered picking up a mystery novel later, to soothe his fragile nerves—nerves that had been thoroughly shaken by Ran's punch.
*Goal #1: Top 200 fanfics published within the last 30 days by POWER STONES.
Progress: 17/50(approx) for 10 BONUS CHAPTERS
Goal #2: One BONUS CHAPTER per review for the first 10 REVIEWS.
Progress:1/10*
Glossary
pot – Chinese slang for "blame" or "responsibility" (e.g., "this is your pot to carry")