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536 – Buried Beneath the Cherry Blossom Tree Lies Sweetie
🕑 Added 2025-09-21 15:00:16 +0000 UTCEven before opening his eyes that morning, Kyousuke could already feel the shift in temperature—the faint chill brushing against his nose and cheeks.
‘It must be raining,’ he thought silently.
Though late April was supposed to be the height of Japan’s mild spring, the country’s peculiar climate often flipped expectations.
The winter cold, which barely made itself felt back then, lingered instead into spring.
On dry days it was bearable, but whenever rain fell, the temperature would plummet from a pleasant twenty degrees straight down to single digits.
Confident though he was in his body, Kyousuke’s instincts—honed by years of living in Hokkaido—kicked in.
He obediently slipped on long pants and a thick cotton jacket.
Not his school uniform, just sturdy casual wear, the kind thick enough to double as a makeshift shield if wrapped around an arm.
A brand from back home, known for durability.
Without that assurance, people up north would’ve frozen to death long ago.
When he pulled open the curtains, the dim sky made him want to crawl back under the covers for a second round of sleep.
It was early morning, yet the heavens looked as though dusk had already settled in, heavy with clouds that seemed ready to drip water any moment.
Kyousuke chuckled at his own foolish thought—of course it was raining.
The downpour was heavy, streaking the world into blurred lines.
A southern wind blew, though his house shielded the window from its force.
The one to suffer was the cherry tree he had enchanted—“Just as expected of you.”
The blossoms he’d painstakingly coaxed into full bloom had already been beaten down, scattered across the ground.
He regretted forgetting to invite Megumi yesterday to see them.
Then again, wasn’t this fleeting beauty exactly what appealed to the Japanese sense of aesthetics?
The petals didn’t wither naturally; they fell at their most radiant, torn away by wind and rain.
How fortunate, then, to be a tree in the Hojou household.
Not only did it enjoy the honor of a thousand-year-old tree—complete with a name, no less—but even when other blossoms had withered, it alone could flourish twice in a season.
How could it not be proud?
Like Conan the “Kid Reaper” who introduced himself with “I’m Edogawa Conan, a detective” (so shamelessly self-absorbed), Kyousuke’s tree could boast too: “My name is ‘Just as Expected of Me.’ I’m a famous tree.”
Yes, that was it.
He decided he’d add the tree as a side character in his manga—planted in Professor Agasa’s yard, its roots hiding seventeen or eighteen lab mice from old experiments.
One day, the Junior Detective League would come visiting, catch a whiff of something foul, and immediately suspect a corpse was buried underneath.
Cornering Professor Agasa, they’d demand answers.
The old man, flustered and stammering, would only make himself look more suspicious.
The reckless little detectives, true to form, would knock him down, lock him in the shed, and set Genta and Mitsuhiko to digging.
Instead of a body, they’d find nothing but mouse skeletons.
Disappointed, the kids would apologize, only to scold Agasa for acting so shady in the first place.
Lying on the sofa with an ice pack pressed to his bruised head, the professor would laugh weakly and confess that he’d been too lazy to dispose of the mice properly.
But then—Conan, who had honed his “Hawaiian lava-staring eyes” into the sharpest in the world, would notice something wrong.
Why did Agasa’s eyes dart nervously to the pit beneath the tree? His expression wasn’t embarrassment—it was relief.
‘There’s only one truth!’
Agasa was still hiding something.
Realizing this, Conan would snatch the shovel from Genta and dig deeper.
Agasa panicked, but the Junior Detective League pinned him down with their usual reckless enthusiasm.
As Conan dug, Ai Haibara froze.
The professor’s face now carried a look she knew too well—a look she’d seen countless times in the Organization.
It was the expression of someone whose real secret was about to be uncovered.
Cold dread gripped her, her body stiffening.
What else lay buried beneath the roots of “Just as Expected of Me”?
The shadow of the tree loomed over her, suffocating.
“What the hell is this nonsense!? Weren’t you the one who said Professor Agasa was supposed to be an ally? Since when did he go full dark villain? And what’s this about ‘legal child’? How can that even be legal!?”
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Eriri shouted in outrage.
“Ahem, well, maybe what’s buried down there isn’t a person,” Kyousuke replied smoothly. “What if it’s a dog? Suppose Agasa accidentally hit it with his car. Afraid of revenge from the owner, he buried it secretly.”
“No way! Nobody’s going to kill someone just for a dog. If it were Momotarou…” Eriri faltered, then puffed her cheeks.
“At most I’d demand they set up a memorial tablet for him at home. A story shouldn’t stray that far from reality—especially not in a mystery manga! Even with drama, there’s a limit.”
“Hmm, Eriri, you’re still too young. This is the world of Conan—where logic takes a back seat to melodrama.” Kyousuke’s eyes gleamed mischievously.
“Can’t you just see it? The culprit collapses to his knees, sobbing: ‘Every day I sit in the yard, I can see Sweetie running toward me, smiling,
but when I reach out, all I touch are tears… I regret it every day. Maybe if I hadn’t been so absorbed in work, Sweetie wouldn’t have left me…’
Then—bam! The twist. It wasn’t neglect at all.
Agasa ran Sweetie over, buried him under the cherry tree, and turned him into fertilizer!
Sweetie, who loved chasing falling blossoms, so lively and playful, now nourished the very flowers he adored. So whenever petals land on my head, I can’t help but wonder—where is Sweetie now?
Can he still see the blossoms?
The tree blooms brighter than ever… and that only makes my grief worse. Once, I even fainted from crying too hard.
But who could’ve guessed? The tree’s brilliance is thanks to Sweetie himself… turned into fertilizer, feeding the blossoms he loved most! Uwaaaahhh…”
Kyousuke painted the scene so vividly that entire panels of manga seemed to take shape in his mind.
All that remained was to put pen to paper.
Eriri’s instincts told her something was off—come on, even if someone loved their dog like family, that wasn’t enough reason for murder.
But her train of thought was quickly derailed by Kyousuke’s fake sobbing.
“And then, at that very moment, our great detective—the grim reaper elementary schooler—spoke in a gentle, almost merciful tone: But have you ever thought… the cherry blossoms falling onto your head might actually be Sweetie’s way of comforting you?”
The criminal froze.
His tears stopped cold, his face blank with shock.
And then a breeze swept by, scattering cherry blossoms painted in gold and crimson by the setting sun.
“Sweetie! Sweetie!! Is that you, Sweetie?! Did you come to see me?!”
The man clutched the petals in trembling hands, dropped to his knees, and wailed to the heavens.
Even though Kyousuke couldn’t carry a tune to save his life—he’d still lose to Yamauchi Sakura’s singing from ten years ago—right now, his dramatic flair was off the charts.
He played the scene with such conviction that Eriri couldn’t help but be swept away, her big blue eyes shimmering like the rain-heavy sky outside, tears threatening to spill.
This girl’s heart was far too soft.
Just moments ago she was insisting no one would ever commit murder over a dog, yet with a few dramatic words from Kyousuke, her rationality had flown clean out the window.
Thank goodness she’d met him—the kindest man in the world or else she’d probably be tricked and discarded by someone less forgiving.
And seeing his one-person audience so moved only boosted Kyousuke’s confidence in his new project.
If he could get Eriri to fall for a story he made up on the spot, imagine what the real melodrama in the original work could do.
“Sweetie? Who’s that?”
A sudden voice came from the doorway.
Startled, Eriri quickly rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, not daring to turn around.
Who would ever cry over some silly manga?
Normally she only humored Michiru and the others by tearing up at anime or novels—out of respect, of course!
“Good morning, Shouko,” Hojou said with a smile.
“Good morning, Kyousuke-kun,” Nishimiya Shouko replied softly, her expression as gentle as ever.
“It’s a little dog buried under ‘Truly Impressive, That’s Me’,” Eriri blurted, perking up the instant she realized it was her anime-watching partner.
Watching anime required three essentials: Coke, chips, and Shouko. (Fine—chips could sometimes be swapped out for homemade snacks from Michiru.
And the Shouko slot could be substituted by any unlucky resident of the dorm she managed to wrangle. Lately, Hojou Kasuko had been filling in.)
“Eh??” Shouko blinked, stunned.
For a second she thought her hearing aid had glitched.
“Don’t tell me… because of the rain the body was exposed?”
The cool, icy voice came from behind her.
Kasumigaoka Utaha had appeared, frowning, her stunning face as cold as her tone.
“Wha—??”
Eriri looked even more shocked than Shouko, scrambling backward across the bed.
The sight made Hojou Kyousuke laugh inwardly. Not a single shred of doubt that Utaha could actually do something like this, huh?
“My apologies,” Yamauchi Sakura said heavily as she emerged from the hallway. “I failed to supervise Momotarou properly. He must’ve gotten lazy digging the hole.”
Now three girls stood in the doorway, all dressed neatly in their school uniforms, their serious expressions making them look less like classmates and more like a strike team disguised as JKs.
Meanwhile, Eriri sat cross-legged on Hojou’s bed in her fluffy bear-print pajamas, a tiny figure that from behind really did look like a little polar bear—small, pitiful, and helpless.
“Y-you-you…” Eriri stammered, pointing a trembling finger at Utaha.
She’s going to eat me, isn’t she? Eat me and steal the cuteness she lacks?!
One look into those sultry crimson eyes and Eriri’s imagination went into overdrive—she conjured up forty-three different kinds of non-human monsters who preyed on pure, cute high school girls.
Thirty-one of them matched Utaha perfectly.
“Now, Eriri, you have two choices,” Sakura declared coldly.
“W-what choices…?” Eriri whispered, terrified.
“First, you stay here until Momotarou digs another hole, and then we bury you together with Sweetie—”
“The second! I pick the second!!” Eriri screamed before she even heard it.
“...Second, you help Momotarou dig the hole, and then you bury yourself together with Sweetie.”
“I’ll bury you first, you sadistic psycho!” Eriri roared, leaping off the bed and charging at the trio.
Unfortunately, her strength was no match for any of them.
Sakura had been running since childhood, fit enough to launch an energy blast with stamina alone.
Utaha’s daily workouts for her figure were enough to make Eriri hiccup in fear. And Shouko… well, she just stood there, looking completely confused.
Eriri had assumed they’d scatter when she charged, so she didn’t hold back.
What she hadn’t expected was that sweet, clueless Shouko wouldn’t dodge at all.
The result? Eriri rammed head-first right into Shouko’s soft, ample chest.
“Ah—!”
Shouko’s face flushed crimson as a startled cry escaped her lips.
Her hands shot up helplessly, as if surrendering.
“Damn it!!”
Eriri hugged Shouko’s waist and yanked her head free, her anger burning hotter.
Not at Shouko, of course—never at Shouko—but at the giant, evil “weapons” blocking her way.
With a huff, she dashed after Sakura, who was waiting at the top of the stairs.
“Hahaha~ Eriri’s mad now~!” Sakura giggled as she clattered down the steps.
From upstairs, Hojou Kyousuke faintly heard Yukari scolding her from below, telling her not to run on the stairs, or she’d set a bad example for little Kasuko.
