Chapter 32: Learning Karate Is a Great Idea

Gao Mo returned to the main hall, feeling somewhat perplexed and struggling to grasp the true meaning behind the curator’s words.

The only thing he could be certain of was that the old curator no longer held any malice toward him—not even his "Death Mark" could be triggered. Was it simply because the curator found him diligent, responsible, and appreciative of art? Gao Mo recalled more details from the original case. It seemed... not entirely impossible. In the original story, the curator’s excessive love for his art was his undoing; he used a suit of armor to commit murder and moved paintings in advance, all out of fear that blood splatter would ruin the masterpieces. His motives for killing and framing others were entirely driven by these works of art.

"The Devil and the Knight..." The curator was likely speaking of himself.

It was fortunate that Gao Mo had been working hard and treating the art with genuine care that day. Otherwise, the outcome might have been very different. The curator might have saved him, but he would have just as easily framed him for the murder of Mr. Manaka, just as he had framed Kubota in the original timeline.

As he untangled the implications, Gao Mo’s expression grew complex. This was especially true when he looked at Iijima, who was emerging from the other exhibition hall. The supposedly dangerous curator had saved him, yet this "senior" colleague, who appeared so honest and simple, had sabotaged him several times—and nearly killed him the second time.

This world felt as though it had shifted from a teenage adventure to an adult thriller. From the moment he was resurrected until now, everything—from the physical dangers to the moral landscape—felt brimming with malice toward him. Even Rei Furuya repeatedly triggered his premonition of death, though his true intentions remained a mystery. The Mouri family, at least, had remained unchanged—a small blessing amidst the misfortune.

"Kurosaki," Iijima said, his expression turning unnatural under Gao Mo’s gaze. He quickly asked, "Have you seen the curator? Mr. Manaka said he was coming over earlier..."

"The curator is in the Hell Exhibition Hall."

"Oh, I see. I'll go look for him then. I'll leave the hall in your care... call me if anything comes up."

"Understood."

Gao Mo watched calmly as Iijima walked away. He grew more wary of this "senior," no longer offering the same courtesy he had shown earlier.

Compared to the morning, the afternoon traffic in the gallery had picked up slightly, though it was hardly bustling. With only a scattering of visitors, it was easy to keep an eye on everyone, and there were no unruly children prone to causing trouble.

"Kiddo Kido?"

A voice full of surprise suddenly boomed behind Gao Mo. Kogoro Mouri, having just stepped out of the restroom, spotted Gao Mo patrolling with his hands behind his back. He called out tentatively, looking completely bewildered. "What are you doing here?"

"Shh!" Gao Mo’s heart skipped a beat as he hurriedly pulled the mustachioed man aside.

"I’m working part-time. How could you even recognize me?" He began to doubt his own skills; his disguise technique was at least level one...

"It would be strange if I didn't!" Kogoro grumbled, his brow twitching. "We just met two days ago. If you’re going to disguise yourself, at least try a different mustache! Don't forget who I am; I am a famous detective..."

"Got it, got it. I’m an employee of the gallery now. Remember to call me Kurosaki." Gao Mo interrupted Kogoro’s posturing, feeling helpless. However, seeing him again brought a sudden sense of relief. The feeling of security had returned.

"Why are you alone?" Gao Mo scanned the area, failing to see Ran or Conan.

"They’re inside," Kogoro replied, looking utterly dejected. He had hoped to spend his rare days off watching television at home, but his daughter had dragged him to this art exhibition. The memory of Ran shattering the office cabinet door with a single punch flashed through his mind. Ran, smiling sweetly: "Are you going or not?"

Kogoro’s gloom deepened into annoyance. "That girl, Ran... I don't know who she takes after. Whenever things don't go her way, she... I never should have let her learn karate."

"Learning karate is a good thing," Gao Mo said, feeling even more reassured. His "Danger Perception" was not infallible; he could sense danger but not always pinpoint its source. If his Hawkeye vision failed to spot something, he would be in extreme peril. The incident in the Hell Exhibition Hall had taught him a lesson—one could not afford to be careless, even about what was happening overhead. Having a bodyguard nearby was definitely safer.

"Dad!" Ran hummed a tune, returning to the main hall in high spirits. "See? I told you it was worth coming. The paintings here are so interesting!"

"Y-yes, they are," Kogoro said, sweat beading on his forehead as he forced a smile.

Conan, trailing behind Ran, looked entirely uninterested and listless. His eyes only brightened when he spotted Gao Mo—he recognized him, but they shared a tacit understanding not to acknowledge it.

"And who is this gentleman?" Ran asked, eyeing Gao Mo with curiosity, her head tilted as if trying to recall something. "I feel like I’ve..."

"I’m the curator’s assistant, Kurosaki," Gao Mo introduced himself proactively. "Let me know if you need any assistance."

Thankfully, the level one disguise wasn't entirely useless.

"O-okay." Ran nodded blankly. She wanted to say more, but her father pulled her away. Only Conan lingered near Gao Mo.

"Big Brother Kido, what are you doing? Why are you working at an art gallery?" Gao Mo’s methods were truly unpredictable—one moment he was a wealthy family’s butler, the next a gallery employee, and he was also a washed-up extra actor... even Conan couldn’t make sense of it. "Are you investigating a case?" Conan asked, probing.

He actually wanted to ask about the Black Organization and how Gao Mo knew his true identity—he wondered where he had slipped up. Professor Agasa, the only other person who knew, would never speak of it. But his house had been searched—someone clearly wanted to confirm whether he was dead or alive. After all, the disappearance of a famous high school detective without any news reports was suspicious.

As he pondered this, Conan’s eyes widened, and his small frame began to tremble. To be safe, he hadn't stayed at his house, but he had taken clothes he wore as a child when he first shrank. If someone was digging, they might connect the dots.

"Big Brother Kido, I..."

"Don't overthink it," Gao Mo said, his hawk-like eyes catching the five different expressions flitting across Conan’s face. "No one has discovered the hidden effects of that drug yet. Shrinking is an extremely low-probability event." Barring any accidents, the developer of the drug, Sherry—later known as Haibara Ai—had already recorded Kudo Shinichi as dead. Otherwise, the Black Organization would have come knocking long ago.

"Big Brother Kido, how do you know all this?" Conan’s complexion improved slightly. "Was it you who searched my house?"

"You'll know in time." Gao Mo chose to play the part of the riddle-maker; otherwise, the questioning would never end. "Regardless, be careful. Just don't drag the Mouri family into this." Gao Mo gave a final warning, ruffled Conan’s hair, and walked straight toward a group of tourists attempting to cross the barrier to touch the paintings.

Conan, usually one to resist, didn't seem to care about his hair for once. He stared blankly at Gao Mo’s retreating back, lost in thought.

...

"I love all the works here; they are like my children..."

On the other side of the hall, the curator, summoned by Iijima, happened to run into the Mouri father and daughter and began enthusiastically introducing the gallery’s collection. As he spoke of art, he transformed into the image of a happy old man. Much like Ran’s deceptive, delicate appearance, it was hard to imagine the terrifying physical strength hidden beneath the curator’s frame.

Gao Mo, having just stopped the unruly tourists, turned to see the curator’s eyes full of reminiscence and reluctance, as if he were saying goodbye to his children. His once-sturdy frame seemed to have hunched over quite a bit.

The main characters were all here. Was the murder going to happen today?

Gao Mo felt the flow of fate. A shadow seemed to loom over the art-filled gallery. Should he stand by and watch, or...