Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Everything has died. Everything has perished, fading away with the precious flow of time on this blue planet. Day by day, month by month, year by year, humans endure different kinds of death. Loss and suffering are not uncommon for humanity.

They can slaughter each other, trample over one another, much like how lions devour their own kind. There are hundreds of faces yet to be revealed, terrifying secrets that could change a person's life forever, or just a random truth they are forced to accept, like the birds in the sky.

Marching through the centuries, humans have experienced every stage of life on this earth. They are not entirely alone, but sometimes they feel lost among those born in the new century.

"""

The black coffee steamed fiercely in the early spring weather of Japan, the cold wind seeping into the house despite the timely closing of windows and doors. Around the table sat three people, none of them speaking a word, each quietly occupied with their own tasks—reading, watching TV, or nibbling on sliced apples.

"Edogawa." The girl—no, the young woman—glanced at the boy who had frozen for a few seconds. She placed the book down beside her and looked up at him, clearly displeased.

She hesitated, unsure whether to continue, but her mind had already overruled her heart. Facing a difficult truth is one of the hardest things in life.

"Your height hasn't changed in the past nine months. My parents' mouse is still alive." Haibara Ai sighed, standing up and holding a small white mouse in her palm. The mouse, unaware of what was happening, tilted its head and moved cautiously in her hand, careful not to fall to the ground.

"What does that have to do with me?" Haibara frowned, her stubborn attitude unwavering. Conan crossed his arms, avoiding the gaze of his partner.

Kudou, do you really not want to know, or are you just ignoring my advice?

Haibara stood up, walked past Conan, and muttered a few words under her breath. Hearing the laughter of children outside, she realized it was time to leave. She walked out, leaving the professor and the little detective sitting on the couch.

"Shinichi-kun." Agasa Hiroshi spoke softly, placing his wrinkled hands on the boy's shoulders, looking at him affectionately.

"I know you don't want to accept the truth... But think carefully. You should learn to get used to the things you hate and never hoped would appear in this world." He sighed, pulling out a photo of an elderly woman. She was stroking a kitten, which seemed to adore her, nuzzling its head against her neck.

"She's almost like you, immortal." Agasa Hiroshi caught himself, realizing he had misspoken, and quickly stuffed the photo back into his pocket, sighing in frustration.

He choked on his words, unsure of how to explain to his adopted nephew. Everything was clear now, with the Black Organization dissolved and everything returning to its rightful order. But only Kudou Shinichi remained missing, with rumors swirling that he had died in a fight with the underworld.

But rumors are just rumors. He was still alive, still seen by everyone, but in the form of a small, weak, and seemingly harmless first-grader.

Conan curled up, looking up at the plain white ceiling, sighing as he touched his soft, childlike face.

"Is this really immortality...? Is this the truth of Sherlock Holmes in the Heisei era?" The boy murmured sadly, sniffling as he recalled the events of a week ago.

"""

Conan stood in the bathroom, panting heavily, a bright smile on his face as he felt his internal organs churning, his bones cracking, and white smoke rising from his body. His legs could no longer support him, and he collapsed to the floor. The adult clothes he had put on were soaked in sweat, and the strange transformation continued, like a scene of a whale's carcass exploding.

The image of an eighteen-year-old teenager, handsome and charming, emerged, with a gentle and flirtatious smile. Who wouldn't be captivated by that deadly beauty? Conan opened his eyes, excitedly stood up, and frowned, gasping for breath due to the obvious loss of balance.

Wait, what's with these oversized clothes? Not even a hint of height? The glasses in front of Conan were still too big, seemingly larger than the face of the mature teenager. Stunned for a moment, Conan bit his lip, stripped off the Kudou Shinichi outfit, and changed into a child's clothes. Looking at the slumped shoulders on the couch, he was dissatisfied and walked over.

Haibara tilted her head, her thoughtful gaze avoiding what Conan was about to say.

"Haibara, you already know the truth, but you don't want to say it, right?" Conan clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms, leaving red marks. His eyes, usually bright, were now filled with despair, like a frog trapped at the bottom of a well in the desert.

 

Haibara neither shook her head nor nodded, essentially ignoring him, as if to say that what Conan was thinking was entirely correct.

 

In that moment, the beautiful memories between Shinichi and Ran were like a fragile butterfly torn apart by a mischievous child, trampled on the ground until only tiny fragments remained, unnoticed by anyone. The child named APTX-4869, cruel and always full of surprises, had once been the target of someone's murderous intent. But alas, that person had already passed away, resting in another universe, leaving behind the small disaster that easily fell into the hands of crime.

"Human pleasures are unexpectedly a double-edged sword that can kill them at any moment. Once they let their guard down, their hearts will be shattered." Haibara hummed the song 'Utsukushisa no wana,' composed by Okino Yoko a month ago, its melody both sorrowful and gentle, like a lullaby for a soul whose fiery passion had been extinguished.

 

Conan lowered his head, his slightly longer hair covering his indifferent eyelashes, his blue pupils filled with sadness, accepting the fate the world had bestowed upon him.

 

He looked up as the door opened, the blinding sunlight from outside somehow seemed more beautiful than usual. After the Black Organization disbanded, Conan always saw light tainted with a cruel blackness. No light was perfect, not even he himself was a true light.

 

Furuya Rei walked in, wearing his Poirot uniform, his gentle smile genuine, no longer hiding any deceit. In his hands were a plate of fruit sandwiches and a cup of black coffee, the usual order Conan would make when he visited.

 

"Conan-kun, I made a little too much fruit sandwich. Would you like some?" Furuya asked politely, though he had already placed the plate on the table for Conan, observing the boy's surprised expression.

 

After everything had settled, Furuya Rei still chose to be Amuro Tooru in his free time. Though he no longer had to worry about the Black Organization, his work with the PSB required him to remain vigilant at all times.

 

The relationship between the two was merely that of colleagues, much like how Conan and Haibara relied on each other to avoid the eyes of the organization.

 

"Conan, is something wrong?" Furuya asked worriedly, thinking Conan was still shaken from the bloody battle that had taken place.

 

"Ah! No, it's nothing, Amuro-san. I was just a bit surprised. I thought you would have moved somewhere else by now?" Conan glanced at Haibara Ai as he spoke, smiling and signaling Furuya Rei to be less obvious.

 

"Hmm, I just feel a bit nostalgic about this place. I want to stay here until my hair turns white and I'm ready to lie six feet under." Though it sounded strange, Furuya's gentle gaze met Conan's large, round eyes hidden behind glasses. The reflection of his tall figure in the boy's eyes showed that Conan's vision was perfect, not needing glasses at all.

 

Furuya stepped closer to Conan, who instinctively took a few steps back. The aura of Bourbon from the past overwhelmed him through every sense, forcing him to stand still as the two bodies almost embraced.

 

"You clearly don't need glasses. Wearing them might make you look cute, but you shouldn't force yourself." Furuya's tanned hands removed the non-prescription glasses from the boy's face, folding them and placing them in his small palm.

 

"Thank you, Zero no niichan!" Conan liked that nickname for Furuya, a reminder of a long-gone memory that he needed to recall, the familiarity from ten years ago still present today.

 

"""

Now, only the events of a week ago remained. Conan flipped through the pages of a book. This spring was unusually cold, devoid of warmth or sunlight, feeling more like winter.

He closed the book in frustration, realizing it wasn't helping him feel better, and lazily looked at the objects he considered outdated from decades ago.

The Kudou Shinichi outfit hung in the bathroom, damp and smelling of laundry detergent. The skateboard that had aided Edogawa Conan in emergencies was broken. Conan glanced at it, thinking he should ask Professor Agasa to make him a new one later.

The TV—yes, it had been on this whole time, playing at a low volume, which was why Conan hadn't noticed the waste of electricity. He hesitated, about to turn it off, when an interesting news segment caught his eye.

KID would retire in two days, and all the jewels stolen by Phantom Lady and the first-generation Kaitou KID would be returned.

Seeing this news, Conan wasn't surprised. Criminals, one by one, had to 'surrender' over time. The luckier spies gained their freedom, but at the cost of losing their loved ones in this world.

For some reason, Conan couldn't bring himself to smile. His face was gloomy as he scrolled through news ranging from ordinary to shocking.

Suzuki Sonoko would inherit the entire Suzuki conglomerate and was preparing for her wedding with Kyogoku Makoto.

Hattori Heiji and Toyama Kazuha were preparing for their wedding on his 20th birthday, and Hattori Heiji had been promoted to the criminal investigation division.

Mouri Ran, the daughter of detective Mouri, had received a scholarship to the University of Tokyo and was on a path blessed by the gods.

Everything had passed so quickly. Three short years had gone by. Conan remained in his small, childlike form, not growing taller or older, yet his demeanor was no different from that of an adult. He watched his classmates grow up, knowing that in seven years, they would discover a horrifying truth. Conan chuckled to himself, mocking his own fate.

Why was he cursed with eternal youth? He wasn't sure if it was a disease or a curse, but many called it a blessing.

He felt the opposite—it was clearly a curse from the devils who had cast it upon his fate.

Conan breathed heavily, his ears suddenly catching the captivating voice of a woman on TV.

Chris Vineyard had appeared, her youthful beauty hidden behind sunglasses. She spoke fluently, apologizing to all her fans on screen, explaining that she had faced some psychological issues over the past three years.

Her pitiful appearance successfully swayed many, overshadowing her past actions. People only cared about the present.

Silent for a moment, the woman lied through the camera. Conan helplessly turned off the TV, sneaking a glance at the smoke rising from the grill outside.

Now, looking back, Conan wanted to savor a little bit of happiness.

Chapter Text

Ayumi smiled; she was now 10 years old, and her height was only a head shorter than Mouri Ran. Holding a plate of grilled meat, Ayumi chewed slowly, scanning the area for Conan's small figure.

"Conan-kun! There you are, come eat grilled meat with us," Ayumi called out politely, stretching her neck to catch a glimpse of Conan's tuft of hair peeking out from behind Dr. Agasa. She couldn't help but chuckle.

Her sweet, high-pitched voice startled Conan. He glanced at her nervously, then nodded slowly, remaining seated and tilting his head up to get a better view of the plate of grilled meat. His short arms rested on the table as he struggled to pick up the food with his chopsticks. He hesitated, unsure whether to stand up or continue sitting awkwardly.

Mitsuhiko sighed, well aware of his friend's height and health issues. He lifted Conan onto his lap, helping him see the food more clearly.

"Mitsuhiko, you don't have to treat me like a kid..." Conan muttered, though he wasn't entirely surprised, as this had been happening for over a year now. Conan hid his embarrassment and frustration while eating, glancing around at everyone before closing his eyes.

This small gathering celebrated the Detective Boys' 300th case solved in the past three years. Their fame and the cases they tackled—mostly finding lost cats or children—had become a constant in their lives.

"""

Genta, who had suggested the barbecue for the group, glanced around and giggled when he noticed Conan had left his seat and was now standing in a corner talking to Haibara.

Genta pouted, placing a hand on his head as he looked in Conan's direction. He smiled proudly, silently thanking the heavens for his healthy, rapidly growing body, unlike Conan, who seemed to suffer from malnutrition and an unexplained illness.

Ayumi, sharp as ever, glared at Genta and whispered a warning.

"Genta, Conan-kun has health issues. He can't help it, so please stop teasing him."

"But he looks so funny..." Genta pointed at Conan's messy black hair, only to freeze when Conan suddenly turned and locked eyes with him.

"Ah, nothing, Conan! It's nothing!" Genta waved his hands nervously, glancing at Ayumi, who also looked displeased.

"He... I feel like Conan is drifting further away from us. That look in his eyes... it's strange," Ayumi murmured, her voice trembling as tears welled up. A series of faint, unfamiliar voices echoed in her memory.

"""

Ayumi was playing outside with her three friends, joined by Dr. Agasa. She hummed a song about a young couple who couldn't be together, ending with a comforting message to the flowers nearby. She understood that plants had life too and deserved love.

[Umibe no suna kara umareta

Hakanaku moroi garasu no kakera.]

[Aisuru anata o mitsume nagara

Watashi wa marude toshi oita tamashii.]

[Anata no te o haratte

Shizuka ni nami e to tokete iku.]

[Namida o koraete tada tachitsukusu anata

"Otoko wa nakanai" sou omoikondeta.]

[Demo ne, aisuru hito no mae nara

Douka kodomo no you ni naite ii nda yo.]

[Nijuu-nen ga sugitemo mada

Itsuka anata ni aitai yo.]*¹

Conan stood in the shadows, pinching his elbow before stepping out with a forced smile to greet his friends.

"Conan-kun!" Ayumi beamed. She was now taller than Conan, and the height difference between them was striking, making them look more like siblings than friends.

"Yoshida," Conan said, no longer calling her "Ayumi-chan" as he used to. This had been going on for a while, so Ayumi only paused for a moment before returning to her cheerful demeanor.

"Conan-kun, you've been sleeping too much," she said, noticing the dark circles under his eyes. Her heart ached at the unfamiliar emptiness in his once-hopeful sapphire-blue eyes. The hope was gone, replaced by a dark sky of failure that seemed to have taken the real Conan away.

The Conan before her was a fake, a hollow shell. The real Conan she once knew had vanished into the void, leaving behind a lifeless figure obsessed with bloody cases and unwilling to talk to anyone.

"Yoshida-san, paying too much attention to someone who's already outdated isn't good. You're still young," the 'fake' Conan said coldly, though his voice still carried a gentle tone.

Ayumi suddenly felt a chill on her cheek and realized Conan's hand was touching her face. She flinched, looking at him in confusion.

In his palm was a small ladybug, still alive and trying to escape.

"Is it just a baby ladybug?" Ayumi asked excitedly, wanting to take a closer look, but it had already flown away.

"No, it's... already grown up," Conan explained. Adult ladybugs were often mistaken for smaller bugs due to their size, a harmless misunderstanding that sometimes led to debates or doubts.

Ayumi listened intently as Conan explained about ladybugs. His knowledge was almost on par with that of a full-grown adult, despite his childlike appearance.

Suddenly, Conan looked straight into her eyes. For a moment, Ayumi noticed his lips were as pale as a corpse's, like a stiffened body.

"What do you think about death?" Conan asked, his voice heavy. Ayumi hesitated, not because she wasn't afraid of death, but because she understood Conan wasn't talking about her own death. As a detective, she had faced numerous deaths, big and small, and knew Conan was referring to the victims they had encountered.

"Death is like a cycle of reincarnation. If people die, perhaps decades or centuries later, they'll live another life. A happier one," Ayumi said, quoting from a book she had read, *Life and Death*. She had memorized the best passages and often pondered them.

Conan's lips twitched as he secretly glanced at everyone busily watering the healthy, growing flowers. A warmth filled his heart.

"Is that so?" Feigning surprise, Conan gave Ayumi an admiring smile and a look of praise to please the 10-year-old. She didn't need to think too hard, feeling proud of her knowledge, which was now almost on par with Mitsuhiko's.

"That's impressive, Yoshida-san," Conan said with a smile, winking at her before walking over to the others watering the flowers. He stared at the vibrant, beautiful flowers in full bloom.

He wanted to pluck those fresh petals, unable to resist touching a thorn on the stem, pressing his delicate finger against the sharp point.

"Conan..." Ayumi couldn't believe it. Conan's finger was scratched and bleeding, yet he maintained a calm expression. To an outsider, it might seem like he was enduring the pain without crying.

But Ayumi knew better.

Conan never cried. No matter how much it hurt, he never shed a tear.

It was as if it was ingrained in him. She had seen many boys and grown men cry, but she had never seen tears from Conan. They were rarer than a flawless sapphire, as precious as the ones she had heard about in Paris.

For Ayumi, she loved outdoor activities, always smiling and maintaining her lively, cheerful demeanor. She was the one who opened the door to fun and sometimes dangerous adventures.

Over the past three years, she had longed for the 7-year-old Edogawa Conan. She couldn't deny that she didn't like the current Conan.

He was too different.

It seemed only Edogawa Conan was changing bit by bit. Why couldn't he see it himself?

Conan rested his chin on his hand, quietly inhaling the cold air before standing up. He cursed the cold, damp weather under his breath and went inside.

His physical condition was deteriorating day by day, and his tolerance for the cold wasn't what it used to be. Even walking or exercising at school left him unusually exhausted.

"""

Mitsuhiko shook his head, grabbing Ayumi's hand to steer her away from Conan.

"Mitsuhiko-kun? What are you doing?" Ayumi asked, confused by her friend's sudden seriousness.

"Ayumi-chan, listen to me. Don't get too close to Conan. Remember that!" Mitsuhiko whispered cautiously, eyeing Conan's small figure sitting at the dining table, staring into nothingness.

Both of them bowed their heads, intending to say more, but the suffocating atmosphere felt like a thousand desert storms were closing in on them.

They felt something was off, and they gradually distanced themselves from Conan.

"""

No matter how many years a friendship lasts or how much trust is built, differences can create distance. When someone isolates themselves, and others follow suit, they become entirely different beings.

It was like stopping aging.

The soft, chubby cheeks of a child were adorable to everyone. At least, if it wasn't the soul of an adult trapped forever in a child's body.

His small hands clutched a teddy bear his parents had bought him ten years ago. The fabric had worn thin, and the stitching on the bear's arm had come loose, exposing the stuffing. Conan helplessly stuffed the cotton back in, trying to block out the voices in his head.

He wasn't sure if the teddy bear had a name. When he found it, he couldn't recall any memories associated with it. Had he forgotten? No, surely he would remember soon. Like threads connecting pieces of silk, memories needed many threads. Without them, forgetfulness would only grow, rendering his current life meaningless except for the terrifying loneliness.

"""

Café Poirot was unusually quiet now. The presence of Amuro Tooru was nothing more than a fleeting, mysterious glimmer.

Conan found his usual seat, pulled up a chair, and picked up the brand-new menu, which now featured a few trendy additions.

"Conan-kun? Oh my, are you the only one here again?" Enomoto Azusa asked, hands on her hips as she glanced outside to see if any other kids were coming in.

"Azusa-san, you don't need to look outside. It's just me," Conan replied with a helpless smile. Azusa realized her mistake and blushed, apologizing.

"Ah... It seems Poirot has updated the menu and added some new dishes, right?"

"Hai hai! Amuro-san came up with the ideas and convinced the owner to try them. They loved it and doubled his salary," Azusa said, her eyes sparkling as she mentioned Amuro. She glanced around and covered her mouth. "Honestly, I'm a bit jealous. I wish I could be as creative as him..." She scratched her head, admitting her own lack of creativity compared to her colleague.

- "A Small Love"*² and "Eternal Youth Dish"*³ -

These were the names of the two new dishes. Though their images weren't shown, they had become Poirot's bestsellers.

"One 'Small Love' and... black coffee," Conan pointed at the menu, blinking at the waitress.

"Got it," Azusa nodded and headed to the kitchen.

The sound of ice being poured and the sizzle of food filled the air, releasing a rich aroma that wafted outside.

The waitress returned, carefully placing a cup of black coffee and a plate of cold noodles on the table.

"Noodles?" Conan asked curiously.

"Yes, but you should call it 'A Small Love"! That's what you ordered, kiddo," Azusa chuckled, thinking the boy was amazed by the unique dish.

It was cold noodles, surrounded by round ice cubes. The thin, long noodles had a light yellow color, drizzled with a red sauce, and the octopus tentacles were shaped into hearts, neatly arranged around the plate.

"Looks delicious, doesn't it, Azusa-san?" Conan picked up a tentacle with his chopsticks. The flavor was a mix of mild spiciness and sweetness, with a hint of chili oil.

Azusa must have thought Conan was special, adding a bit of chili oil to his dish.

Conan chewed slowly before putting down his chopsticks, his face slightly pale.

"Sorry, could you pack this to go?"

"Ah... sure," Azusa nodded, quickly packing the dish into a foam box.

"Here you go."

"Thank you, Azusa-san! The money... oh no, where's my wallet?" Conan panicked, realizing he had left it at Dr. Agasa's house.

"It's fine, it's fine! Since you're a regular, this one's on the house," Azusa waved her hand warmly, explaining to the boy.

Conan didn't expect this, patting his chest and smiling politely.

He thanked her and left Café Poirot.

The evening sunset bathed the old yet familiar streets in golden light. Some neighbors from other districts had moved in, and the sound of children playing had increased significantly. The joy and happiness of Beika Town remained as vibrant as ever.

Conan swayed on the swing, the cold breeze brushing through his hair. He tried to comfort himself amidst the strange emptiness.

Three years had passed. Everyone around him had changed, but he remained the same—small and lost.

It only proved that he was the one who had changed, not everyone else.

Chapter Text

The pigeon flapped its wings vigorously, flying to the window and tilting its head to peer inside, a small camera flashing brightly.

A small figure sat calmly on the cold ground, writing something in a notebook, quietly guessing it was a diary.

Conan looked out the window, glaring at the pigeon, his small lips pursed, clearly displeased at having his privacy invaded by a small bird and its retired owner.

He stood up, and the pigeon didn’t even flinch as he reached out to remove the small camera from its ankle, smashing it to the ground without hesitation before scooping the pigeon into his arms. He stroked it gently with his stubby fingers, his irritated breathing gradually calming as he sat on the futon, his gaze falling on the silly yet endearing glasses on the pigeon’s face.

Its owner was still the same, always doing pointless or sometimes downright ridiculous things.

"Have you grown bigger since three years ago?" Conan asked the pigeon, though he knew he wouldn’t get an answer. Lifespans were never infinite, and while its body had grown larger, its movements had slowed, becoming more serene, like an elderly person ready for retirement.

Conan opened the door to the room. Currently, aside from him, the Mouri Detective Agency was completely deserted. Over the years, his presence had faded significantly. If he continued to appear publicly with his ageless body, scientists would undoubtedly come looking, eager to collaborate.

Putting aside such distant thoughts, Conan placed the pigeon on a chair and reached for a red sweater, rubbing his palms together as a cold breeze blew in.

The boy stepped out of the office, his gloomy eyes scanning the wet pavement after the rain. His short-socked feet moved lightly, avoiding splashes while ensuring the pigeon wouldn’t fall. His cheeks flushed from the cold, and his eyelashes fluttered open as if he had seen something unexpected. He looked up, and the tall figure with messy hair gave him the answer.

"KID?" Conan was startled by the more mature face of the phantom thief, his hair as disheveled as the last time Conan had seen him, his outfit fitting the current fashion.

"Tantei-kun, I’m so glad I finally found you!" Kuroba Kaito exclaimed joyfully, signaling his pigeon to come closer and performing a magic trick that shot out paper congratulatory flowers—it felt more like someone’s birthday party than anything else.

Already tired of this, Conan sighed, his eyes weary, drained of energy like an old man. "How boring, KID. After three years, you still haven’t changed these meaningless tricks?" Conan plucked a paper flower stuck on the bridge of his nose, looking up at the youthful, energetic face.

How wonderful, something Conan would likely never have.

"What? These paper flowers are the latest trend, you idiot! Tantei-kun, it must be annoying for a lively young person like me to deal with an old man who just locks himself in a room." Kaito sneered, ignoring the pigeon’s startled reaction to his sudden movement. He picked Conan up, tucking the boy into his denim jacket, and quickly headed to a nearby park.

"Slow down..." Conan wasn’t used to such sudden actions, his chest heaving as he caught his breath after realizing he was now sitting on a park bench.

"Are you okay? Are you feeling unwell?" Kaito asked worriedly, using a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from Conan’s cheeks.

"It’s nothing, just a minor heart issue," Conan replied with a smile, brushing off the sweat and acting as if he had fully recovered.

Kaito was curious to ask more but stopped himself, his fingers lightly touching a silver necklace with a small pigeon pendant. Upon closer inspection, one could see delicate engravings inside, exuding elegance and sophistication.

Conan accidentally noticed it, feeling a twinge of envy but also genuine happiness for the couple. "Are you and Nakamori-keibu’s daughter dating?" Conan teased, causing Kaito to blush and glare at him before softening. He gently held the pendant.

"Yes, this Sunday we’re going to announce it to both families... Do you think Nakamori-keibu will get angry or disapprove of me?"

"Hmm... I don’t think so. You, Kuroba Kaito, are a charming guy who loves teasing women but is also kind-hearted. He’ll accept it," Conan reassured him, his small hands clasped tightly together.

Kaito noticed Conan’s subtle gesture, feeling a mix of happiness and nervousness. But looking back at the great detective from years ago, he seemed so different now.

"What about that PSB guy?" Conan’s blue eyes widened at the mention of the Public Security Bureau. The faint image of a tanned man with soft blond hair flashed in his mind.

"He’s on a mission in London," Conan replied vaguely, his breath quickening as he thought about the man he had grown fond of.

He pinched his arm, scolding himself for being foolish and shaking his head. He felt embarrassed, realizing he was acting like a child missing their mother.

"Pfft—" Kaito covered his mouth, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter at what he had just witnessed. He hadn’t expected the person before him, now in his twenties, to still act so childishly.

Acting like a child in front of a thirty-two-year-old man.

Clutching the hem of his jacket, Conan’s pale face turned bright red, resembling a ripe tomato ready to be picked. His heart, which had been calm, now raced wildly, his nerves soothed as he thought of Furuya Rei.

Conan smiled brightly, hiding his flushed face behind his black hair. "Honestly, I finally understand what people mean by 'missing someone after just a short time apart.'" This fluttering feeling was something Conan had never experienced before. Back when he was with Ran, he had always expressed his feelings through actions or words, but in his mind, he had always remained calm when they were apart.

Now, everything was different. Whether it was Amuro Tooru, Furuya Rei, or even Bourbon, his mind was constantly occupied, haunted by every word and every blush.

His face changed as quickly as if it were made of rubber or thin paper. Rubber could cling tightly but could also be easily removed with a bit of force, while paper might seem fragile but its sharp edges could draw blood.

The phone of the person beside him suddenly rang, breaking the silence that had enveloped them until Kaito slowly answered.

"Kaito-kun! It’s almost time to go shopping for this Sunday, hurry up!"

He clearly heard a sweet, soft female voice urging Kuroba Kaito.

"Hai hai...!" The young man glanced at his phone with half an eye, pouting as he read the messages from the person on the other end.

He stood up, forgetting to say goodbye to Conan as he dashed off, taking his pigeon with him.

Edogawa Conan blinked, his smile fading like watered-down porridge, leaning back against the chair. His back twitched from the cold, guessing it was because the chair had been exposed to low temperatures for too long.

During the springs of Japan in 2003, you would see the surroundings as pure as if they had stepped out of a manga. Black hair combed with an old comb, a plain elastic band stretched and skillfully tied into feminine braids.

Conan’s long eyelashes remained shut, too lazy to open and look at anything. He recalled an old memory, a simple kite flying in the sky, surrounded by parents holding their children’s hands.

Conan opened his eyes, instinctively fumbling through his pockets only to remember he had left his phone at home, and it hadn’t been charged for days. The boy stood up, hurriedly heading back to the Mouri Detective Agency.

"That should do it..." Conan plugged the charger into his phone, gently placing it on the table. He sat on the long chair, swinging his legs in solitude.

Mouri Ran had gone out with friends, and he and the Detective Boys were growing increasingly distant. Time passed slowly, and the inevitability of being forgotten as people found new, more convenient things for their lives. Memories faded, becoming as dull as gray.

"Oji-san?" Conan heard the door open and the footsteps of his foster father, noticing the tension in the man’s facial muscles.

He walked past the bridge, and one could see some documents and a lighter in his coat pocket. The sound of paper rustling as it brushed against the wooden desk, images of a house burned to ashes flooding like ancient relics.

Conan clearly saw Kogoro wiping sweat from his forehead, a photo of a newborn baby with a cracked skull, its small head exposed, and its body charred black. The child had died while being consumed by flames, its cries unimaginable, the thought of it felt like a dagger stabbing his heart repeatedly, the torture endless.

Fire, fire, and fire.

Conan didn’t understand why fire seemed to follow him. He had once enjoyed campfires during outings with friends and family. The flames from an electric stove, and the massive fire that had devoured a grand mansion, the fragmented memory of Moonlight Sonata playing in the background.

Conan pressed his hand, secretly snatching the case file Mouri Kogoro was investigating.

He didn’t care about the man’s anger, reading every word on the document.

On February 19, a small house in Shisetsu had burned down in the early hours of Monday. The family consisted of an elderly couple and a newborn baby sent from the countryside to be cared for. No one had expected that just a few days later, everything would end in tragedy, the lively atmosphere created by the child’s presence now gone, replaced by cruel reality.

"Kid! Give that back to me. This isn’t something for kids like you," the man said in a sharper tone than usual, his breathing uneven. Conan had been observing, understanding that the man was only trying to protect him from danger.

Facing the death of a newborn and the elderly, Mouri Kogoro was even more fierce in preventing Conan from seeing any images or news related to the case.

Conan watched the man’s back as he walked out the door, hearing the phone ring before he completely left. The familiar voice of an inspector from Division One came through, followed by Mouri Kogoro’s response.

Conan looked outside anxiously, sensing something was off about this case.

"""

London, Furuya Rei. He sat in a café, the laptop screen displaying detailed information about a PSB officer who had joined three months ago.

[Fujimura Takeru - 27 years old, Japanese-American.]

The Big Ben chimed three times, signaling that three hours had passed as quickly as a gust of wind.

Furuya rubbed his forehead, his blond hair sticking to his face as sweat poured down like a rainstorm. He wished he had some time to enjoy his part-time job at Poirot. But now, he was on duty as a police officer, all for the sake of his country and its people.

Although he had only been in London for a week, Furuya Rei felt like it had been two months. He didn’t particularly like London, and initially, he had planned to assign this mission to Kazami Yuya. But then he remembered the young detective back in Beika, all alone.

The blond man clicked his tongue, cracked his knuckles, and confirmed he had completed today’s tasks. He stood up, his eyes scanning the area until they landed on a small bookstore with a door that seemed on the verge of rusting away.

He swore he would find another bookstore, but peeking inside, Furuya realized that no matter how old the exterior looked, what was inside mattered more. Furuya smiled faintly, reaching out to touch the bell hanging on the door before stepping inside.

The young detective loved anything related to Sherlock Holmes, and Furuya could imagine Conan’s beautiful eyes shining like a crescent moon, with himself as the star always watching over him.

That innocent smile, even as his soul had matured into a twenty-year-old young man. A blue blazer, a white shirt underneath, and shorts paired with high socks. That image had always been etched in Furuya Rei’s mind, especially when it came to Conan, or rather, Kudou Shinichi.

His calloused hands held a special edition of Sherlock Holmes.

It was slightly dusty and yellowed. Furuya was a bit surprised, wondering why the shopkeeper still kept such an old edition instead of stocking newer ones.

"Young man, curious about it?" An elderly man emerged from the shadows, his legs trembling from his frail strength, a cane tapping with each step.

Furuya Rei remained silent, then slowly replied. "You have a fondness for items from the past, preserving them until now is truly admirable." Furuya nodded politely, about to dust off the pages when he caught the old man’s disapproving gaze.

"An old item will always hold memories. When you cherish and care for it over the years, you’ll find yourself wanting to accompany it for the rest of your life." Furuya Rei furrowed his brows, unconsciously tightening his grip on the book.

"Are you going through something tough, young man?" The elderly man’s voice was calm, his experience evident in the way he spoke.

"Not sure, I just have a problem where I don’t know which path to take next." Furuya received a gentle pat on the shoulder, the old man’s affectionate gaze meeting his, the wrinkles on his face so dense that Furuya sometimes wondered if he was stressed or sleep-deprived.

"Every minute, every second spent beside an item you believe holds old memories, you’ll feel emotions you’ve never experienced before. Just like the swallows flying in the sky every spring, you’ll realize that the item isn’t as old as others perceive it to be. It remains itself; it’s just us who think it hasn’t changed."

"Thank you, I understand..." Furuya exhaled softly, about to offer money but was refused.

The old man didn’t seem interested in wealth, just a man preserving beautiful memories.

Furuya Rei stepped out of the bookstore. The wind was relentless, blowing through his golden hair but unable to stir the dust in his eyes.

He gently placed the book in his bag, wrapped in a handkerchief printed with daffodils and tied with a red ribbon.

The red ribbon, like a special accessory.

Chapter Text

Smoke rose from the small house in Beika Ward. The newborn baby looked up at the ceiling, unable to cry any longer. It was too weak to let out a sound, its tiny body struck hard by a vase, bleeding profusely—an amount far too great for an infant to endure.

The flickering flames devoured what remained inside. A family photo of three shattered, scattering fragile glass shards across the floor.

The inspector arrived at the crime scene, his eyes darkened, his heart pounding at the sight before him. The forensic team and his assistant beside him shared a look of sympathy for the victim who had perished in the small house—a charred body, blackened beyond recognition, now covered with a white sheet.

Mouri Kogoro approached the inspector, his brows furrowed tightly. A gruff curse escaped his lips, directed at the arsonist responsible.

"""

Conan rested his chin on a pillow, his phone beside him ringing so loudly he thought he’d go deaf if it went off again. He picked up the call and heard hurried footsteps, as if someone was rushing somewhere. Then came a masculine yet gentle voice from the other end. "Conan-kun," Furuya Rei said, his tone slightly hoarse, as though he were battling a cold.

"Zero-niichan, are you sick?" Conan asked, only to be met with a cough that sounded like Furuya was about to hack up a lung. The man’s voice grew raspier, a stark contrast to its earlier softness.

"Just a slight cold… Conan-kun, I should be the one worried about you." Conan frowned, glancing at his own unscathed hands in confusion. He was clearly healthier than the blond man, so why would Furuya be concerned?

Silence hung between them for a moment, neither sure what to say. It had been over a week since they last met, and their messages and conversations had dwindled. Furuya Rei’s missions had piled up relentlessly, like a storm that wouldn’t let up.

Finally, Conan spoke. "There’s another case… involving a child…" His clear voice weakened as the gruesome, blood-soaked images clung to his mind.

"It’s those fires that burned entire houses down, with infants inside. Almost all the victims were children—kids who didn’t even understand what ‘death’ means." The wide, innocent eyes of those children had turned a hopeless white, their fragile lives—barely begun and unacquainted with the harshness of the world—meeting a tragic end. On the other end, Furuya Rei listened to Conan’s every breath. Whether as Bourbon or Furuya Rei, he had faced the deaths of countless children before. He had grown accustomed to it, or at least learned to act unfazed. But this was his little liar.

This liar was still just a twenty-year-old kid, no matter how many times he’d brushed against death or witnessed others take their final breaths. Yet this was the first time Furuya glimpsed this side of Conan—as if this case had stirred up a terrible memory for him.

"I’m outside the Mouri Detective Agency. Would you come out with me, little liar?" Furuya teased, hoping to lighten the mood and bridge the distance that had grown between them. He always wanted to surprise Conan with something to lift his spirits.

Conan’s eyes widened. He stepped out of his room and peered through the window, spotting a blond man holding a phone and waving at him. Dressed in the familiar uniform of a Public Security Bureau officer, Amuro Tooru flashed a gentle smile.

But to Conan, the man below was Furuya Rei—the real Furuya Rei, stepping out of his Amuro Tooru persona.

The boy left the agency, his sapphire eyes twitching slightly at the sight of Furuya’s bright red nose tip. The man’s smile stretched across his lips, showing no trace of exhaustion on his handsome face.

Furuya Rei seemed to treat his cold like a passing breeze. He bent down, brushing his hand against Conan’s soft, pale cheeks—cheeks he hadn’t touched in far too long. But why did they feel so ice-cold? If the boy hadn’t bothered to wear a jacket or warm himself up, neglecting his own well-being, it both infuriated and frustrated Furuya.

Without hesitation, Furuya shrugged off his coat and draped it over Conan. The oversized adult coat was three times the boy’s size, its hem reaching his knees and its sleeves swallowing his thin arms. Conan looked up, pouting at the excessive care from the grown-up.

But as the warmth from Furuya’s tanned hands touched him, Conan realized the man was forcing himself to be out in the chilly weather. Furuya Rei’s golden hair, as brilliant as its owner, hid the beads of sweat brought on by his cold.

Furuya took Conan’s small hand, walking slowly down the street.

"Your hands are too cold, Uso-chan*¹," Furuya said playfully, pinching Conan’s tiny pinky. He relished the sight of Conan’s brows knitting together in annoyance. He was certain his little Uso-chan was mad but powerless—after all, a kid couldn’t take on a grown man.

"A grown man this careless—who’d ever marry you, Zero-niichan? I wonder… who’ll be your future bride?" Conan mused silently. Perhaps a lively young woman a few years his junior, with angelic beauty. Whoever married Furuya Rei would hit the jackpot—three husbands in one: Amuro Tooru, Furuya Rei, and even Bourbon, each with distinct personalities and roles, yet all fiercely loyal.

Loyal to certain things, at least—things Furuya had set for himself.

"My bride, huh? Conan-kun, ‘she’ would definitely be a good wife. A bit stubborn, maybe, but everything about ‘she’ is wonderful." Conan felt his heart skip a beat, then falter. He avoided Furuya’s face, instead scanning the streets around them. He tugged the coat tighter, comforted by its warmth and Furuya’s scent. But when he glimpsed Furuya’s expression while talking about his future bride, Conan felt a stab in his chest.

The scent he loved seemed to fade, as if it might vanish from his life forever.

"Oh! Want to see what my future bride looks like?" Furuya grinned, his eyes crinkling as he looked down at his little detective. Then he froze, noticing a faint redness beneath Conan’s eyes.

"Conan-kun, do you feel regret?" Furuya gazed into those stunning sapphire eyes, seeing his own reflection in their clear yet somber depths. The whole world didn’t fit in those beautiful eyes, but he did.

Furuya knew he held a special place in Edogawa Conan’s heart.

When the boy didn’t respond, Furuya pulled out a small blue box tied with a red ribbon and held it out to Conan.

"Huh?" Conan stared at the gift, puzzled by Furuya’s intentions.

"After this case is over, open it. Inside is a picture of the one I love." The box was light—likely holding photos. Conan hesitated, then nodded, slipping it into the coat pocket, his mind swirling with questions and guesses about who Furuya cherished.

Just then, as they were about to pass a small house, screams pierced their ears.

Fire—fire—a massive blaze roared through the house. An old man’s shouts and a child’s sobs echoed clearly to Furuya and Conan. Their hearts raced in unison, instincts urging them to rush in and save them. But Furuya, despite his cold, stayed rational. He quickly called the police and fire department, sweat beading on his brow as the flames grew fiercer.

Someone tried to charge into the burning house, tiny feet breaking through the flaming door with a power-enhanced kick to a rubber ball. Before burns could mar that fragile skin, Furuya grabbed their wrist and pulled them into a tight embrace.

Conan struggled, his breathing ragged. Images of tragedy flooded his mind—the deaths of innocents at the hands of a seemingly harmless fire. He clawed at Furuya’s hand unconsciously, biting his lip to stifle his trembling.

By the time the police arrived, Conan could only watch helplessly as two charred bodies—one large, one small—were covered with white sheets. Most of their features had been incinerated in mere minutes, a brief hell.

The forensic team identified the child as a second-grader, slightly taller than Conan, living with their grandfather during the winter break.

They should’ve been sleeping warmly under blankets, not consumed by a killer blaze.

No familiar officers were present today—just two unfamiliar policemen searching for clues.

"Do you think the culprit targeting small-looking houses for arson is just a trick to throw off the police?" Conan whispered to Furuya. Including this one, there had been four arsons. The victims—always the elderly and children—were found in ruins, with fewer clues each time. Their families were all near poverty. Conan suspected the earlier targets were a diversion.

"He’s not actually targeting poor families, and the initial victims have no clear connection to explain his motive. Is that what you’re getting at, Uso-chan?" Furuya crouched, resting his large hand on Conan’s shoulder and rubbing gently. To an outsider, it might look suspicious or teasing, but Conan welcomed it. The touch eased the weight on his shoulders, especially from this blond PSB agent.

Conan wanted to protest the silly nickname, but a heavy, labored breath from Furuya stopped him. Sweat glistened on Furuya’s face. No matter how he hid it, the damp heat of his perspiration was obvious. His skin radiated like a furnace.

"Zero?" Conan dropped the honorific, studying Furuya’s slower-than-usual reactions and lack of focus.

Furuya’s vision swam, as if smoke clouded his sight. He staggered to his feet, leaving the scene as his legs lost their grip on the solid ground.

Conan frowned, realizing they were near Furuya’s apartment. He trailed behind, quickening his pace to match Furuya’s, despite the man’s worsening condition. Though no longer just a cold, Furuya stubbornly pressed on without collapsing.

Conan grabbed the hem of Furuya’s shirt, eyes widening as the man’s body heat seared his hand. Furuya’s lashes drooped, sweat-soaked hair sticking to his temples.

Damn it, Zero was too heavy for a kid’s strength.

Furuya’s legs held firm—or so it seemed—as Conan used his short arms to support the man’s waist, guiding him up the stairs step by step.

A grown man’s weight could crush a frail child if he lost control. Furuya could collapse onto Conan any moment, but instead, he kept pushing himself upright, avoiding leaning on the boy.

Conan reached for Furuya’s keys, but as he pressed his back against the door, it swung open—he nearly fell. The door wasn’t locked, as if someone had broken in earlier.

Right now, Conan didn’t care to investigate. He dragged Furuya inside, hauling his limp body across the floor and onto the couch.

If he weren’t so worried, Conan swore he’d scold this reckless man and leave him to rot on the floor until his fever killed him. Going out in the cold with a flu, even giving Conan his only coat—what an idiot.

Was the PSB really this foolish? Conan grumbled, shaking his head in exasperation.

Edogawa Conan might just deem Furuya Rei the most careless and reckless high-ranking PSB officer ever. He smirked inwardly, smugly convinced he lacked Furuya’s flaws.

"""

Can you hear it? Can you hear it? I’m sipping Amazake*² while watching a sparrow perch on a branch.

My heart feels like tender leaves. Can you hear it? My memories are like my heart—fragile and easily torn.

I was once a child, a rusty can, sometimes even a monster. But what am I, really?

I don’t know, can’t know, won’t ever know…

Can you hear it?

A child holding a man’s hand, smiling—before it realizes what’s coming. Oh, that smile must belong to an angel, pure and untainted. It can’t be stained or decayed, can it?

My gaze drifts over old wooden houses. My nose catches the scent of grass and earth after rain.

I wish I could stay here forever—with my little brother, my kind neighbor, and the childhood memories I long for.

But now, I regret it. I hate those memories.

And the neighbor I once thought was upright and good.