Conan zipped along on his skateboard. Passersby jumped away from him as he surged down the bustling sidewalks of Tokyo. His heart pounded, drowning out his thoughts.
He skidded to a halt at the gate of Professor Agasa's house. Sirens wailed all around him. Legs quivering, Conan dismounted the skateboard. With a shaky breath, he peered through the gateway.
Molten flames engulfed the house, roasting all of the professor's peculiar inventions. A charred turret fell from the rooftop. The fire rendered the formerly silver surface of the building a bubbling orange.
"Professor!" Conan yelled, clenching the bars of the gate. "Professor!"
"I'm here, Shinichi," called a voice behind him.
Conan spun toward its source and heaved a sigh of relief. Professor Agasa stood before him. Part of his beard was scorched off, but he appeared otherwise unscathed.
"Thank God," Conan breathed.
"Shinichi, have you seen Ai?" Agasa demanded.
"Haibara?" Conan gulped. "Isn't she with you?"
"She said she would follow me," said Professor Agasa. "She said that she had something important to do. She promised to leave the house when she finished. But I can't find her."
Conan grabbed the professor's shoulders and shook them violently. "You idiot!" Conan screamed. "Didn't it occur to you that she was lying?"
The professor began to sob. "Ai, what have I done?" he moaned.
Conan shoved the gate open. "I'm going to get her," he shouted. He sprinted through the gate and down the sidewalk, but a fireman seized his arm.
"You can't go in there," said the fireman. "It's too dangerous."
"There's a girl in there!" Conan retorted, struggling against the fireman's grasp. "I have to save her."
"It's too late," said the fireman gently. "It's too late, little boy."
"What to you mean?" Conan roared. "I saved her from an exploding bus. I can save her now. So let me go."
Tears moistened the fireman's eyes. "The little girl is already gone," he whispered.
…
Three days later, Conan and the Agasa sat in the remains of the professor's living room, sifting through its charred contents. They threw object after object into a pile of Agasa's belongings that were blackened beyond recognition. The professor sighed as he discarded a scorched computer.
Conan brushed a mountain of ashes off of the coffee table. Underneath, he glimpsed something white. He extracted an undamaged envelope from the debris.
The words "To Conan Edogawa" were scrawled on the envelope in elegant handwriting.
Conan tore the envelope open with trembling hands. He pulled out a letter and began to read:
…
Dear Kudo,
Good work finding this letter- I would expect no less from the young Sherlock Holmes.
You may wonder why the letter didn't burn. I slathered the envelope with a fireproof concoction that I invented. Now one part of me isn't reduced to ashes, at least.
Are you blaming yourself for my death? I'm sure you are. You believe it your duty to protect everyone around you, my wretched self included. I admire your heroism, but nothing you do can change my fate.
I foresaw the fire. The Black Organization burns everything it touches. What a hackneyed method of destruction.
My end began last Tuesday after school. I barged into my bedroom, mind wandering. I was fretting about whether Ayumi had walked home safely, whether Agasa had consumed too much cholesterol, and whether you had noticed that my school uniform was wrinkled. I was about to plop down on my bed when I noticed the red spray paint on the wall.
"Hide and seek is over, little Ai," said the dripping, scarlet letters. "Love, Gin."
I didn't scream; I didn't shed a tear. I calmly applied fresh, white paint to the wall. Why taint an inevitable demise with superfluous suffering?
Did I treat you coldly for the last few days? I apologize- I didn't want to spill your secrets under Gin's surveillance. Did I withhold crucial information about the Organization? Again, sorry- I didn't want to drive you to reckless behavior.
But I'm loathe to leave you with an aloof and shadowy final impression. So I wrote this letter to tell you the truth.
I was raised in a dark room, my only companions a computer and a group of listening devices. I researched and I invented, shrouded in blackness.
Three times in my life, stars lit my way.
The first star, as I believe you suspected, was Gin. He was a novelty, an enigma, a tiger to tame. I truly loved him until he used a poem I gave him as a gun muffler. What a masochist I am. Gin was a phony star- all that glitters is not gold.
The second, brighter star was my sister. You know that story. Her death distorted my mind. Apotoxin 4869 was a suicide attempt, as I'm sure you've deduced.
The only advantage of her death- which, now that I write it, sounds shamefully calculating- was that it brought you to me. You, Kudo Shinichi, are my third star, the sun. The sun that that brightened me, warmed me, and showed me the world in the daytime.
At first, I resented you for not saving my sister. I needed a scapegoat on whom I could vent my overpowering grief and loneliness; I'm sorry for that (I have so much to apologize for, don't I?).
But soon, you drew me in. I was struck by your simultaneous wit and benevolent naïveté. When you pulled me carried me out of that bus, my heart pounding out of more than fear.
You began to piece together the twisted puzzle of Ai Haibara, one that even I could not solve. I appreciated it, and thirsted for more, but I couldn't bring myself to tell you. Your unwavering devotion to Ran Mouri made you all the more attractive in my eyes. If you treated her as lightly as Gin did me, I would have lost respect.
So why am I telling you now? I suppose that in the final days, a seed of sentimentality planted itself in the stonehearted scientist. Though they bear no strategic advantage, here are my last words:
Kudo, I love you.
-Miyano Shiho
…
Conan folded the letter. "I love you too, idiot," he whispered.