Chapter 38
Legacy
An Hour before:
Takagi Wataru was confronted with a dilemma – standing at a crossroads; he gazed at the building before him. It was owned by the Saji family—among the wealthiest in Japan. There was a dreary heavy atmosphere as rain pelted down. Visibility was terrible, and Takagi could hardly see through the ubiquitous gloom. Infrequently, the street lamp above the building's entrance flickers. A tiger's den. Even so, it beckoned to him, and he took a step forward like a moth drawn to a flame.
Half of the structure was still under construction. On the side are cranes positioned near the top. Swaying as it was exposed to the elements. The windows have yet to be installed. If Takagi had to describe it—the building was a skeletal framework of concrete and steel bars. Apart from its height, there was nothing impressive about it. The tower towered over everything around it. As lightning strikes, branches arc across the skies, reminding Takagi of a folktale—Gashadokuro. A giant demonic skeleton forged from the bones of those who had died from wars and famine roaming the night looking for revenge.
He entered the building cautiously. The concrete ceiling shielded him, muting out the rain—but not the uncompromising gust. With his coat whipping around, the inspector made his way through the floors toward a half-constructed scaffold assembled from steel bars and planks. It was accompanied by a sign depicting a man wearing a hard hat, warning the workers regarding the safety precautions that should be observed. Another torrential gale rushes through the open scaffold. The rain—small hailstones striking his face. He squints, ignoring the stinging sensation in his eyes, and briefly shivered.
"I found the helicopter," Takagi whispered. Even though the storm made stability worse, he continued on. Thoughts of Satou-san and his colleagues fueled his drive.
"It is located in Saji's newly erected building, just south of the pier, quite a distance away," he elaborated, clutching a "B"-shaped device in his hand—a detective boy badge.
It was something he did not expect to use. Professor Agase's invention was a kiddy-looking device that was surprisingly well-designed. It was waterproof, battery-operated, compact, and easily concealed, and it also came with a handy torchlight, which Takagi was currently using.
Supposedly, this device would be the key to success in the operation.
"A separate objective?" Inspector Megure had asked the previous day. After gathering the necessary forces, they were camped in a hidden room at the police headquarters. Several influential figures were present, from Generals to Superintendents to Inspectors like himself. For some reason, so was the Public Service Bureau, Japanese intelligence agencies. Takagi had known about the organization's scale, but he never knew how deep it went. Having the PSB involved meant that they were dealing with an issue far larger than themselves, something much more severe than he had anticipated—a threat to National security.
"Yes," Shinichi replied. Along with Akai Shuichi, the boy was in disguise. During the meeting, Akai called himself Okiya Subaru and was asked to be addressed as such. The "B" shaped devices lay on the table before them, one that Takagi had observed the detective boys using. "What do we do with these?" Satou-san asked.
"It's a separate medium of communication," Shinichi explained, gesturing towards to the whiteboard behind him. There was a map and blueprint of Beika Pier pinned on it. A large area that was mostly abandoned now, and the city had scheduled its demolition. However, the pier still stood and was primarily used by drunkards and vagrants as a gathering place. The crumbling warehouses provided an excellent hiding place for unsavory characters.
"There is no doubt that the organization would be able to see through the FBI ploys," said the boy, referring to the three FBI teams assigned to the area. Their positions are circled in red across the blueprints. "But if that happens. We would need the assistance of the police and PSB agents in the event of an attack."
"And we've been compromised," Akai began. He pointed to a photograph on the board. An old man wearing a black eye patch. The image was blurry and difficult to discern. Takagi could, however, detect the sinister grin behind that unassuming appearance. "Rum," Akai explained, "We discovered that he had hacked into our systems and has been monitoring our activities. This is the reason why we have not contacted the police or PSB agents in recent days."
"I'm assuming the FBI has been feeding him false information?" asked Hyoue Kuroda, a man with a faint scar over his left eye. Takagi knew little about the strict, intimidating figure other than the fact that he was the chief of division one. The division Takagi was in. "Yes, for weeks, but Rum is a formidable opponent, and he may not trust what we feed him. Therefore, we require your assistance."
"Assistance in?"
"An act," Shinichi said slyly.
It wasn't as if the organization hadn't noticed. As with the FBI, the Japanese Police Forces have also been hacked. It appears that someone had been listening in to their conversations, to their daily cases, and to their work. The PSB agents had told them, and they continued to be oblivious, prolonging their act, feeding into the hacker's narrative that they were—unaware of the operation. They were not involved in the matter. The FBI were the only ones involved in the operation.
Shinichi had ordered them to remain in the dark, to continue their police work, and to live their lives as usual. At present, his colleagues back at headquarters continue on with routine police work—making every effort to fool the organization.
This was crucial to the plan's success. Make the organization believe that they have the upper hand, and in the midst of it all—
Commence on a secret mission that would turn the tides of battle.
"Even if the FBI experience casualties," Akai continued, "Do not intervene until we tell you to do so. It's not entirely clear what the organization have in mind, and we can't guarantee your safety if you go in guns blazing, so until we decide how to proceed, remember—"
"Do not confront them alone," a static voice blared through his detective badge. It was Hondou Eisuke. Since Takagi had never met the young man before, he could not comprehend what he looked like. But from Eisuke's tone of inexperienced uncertainty, Takagi was sure that Eisuke was a teenager like Shinichi. "Akai-san says to wait for backup."
Takagi was not pleased with the order. Not when he could hear the frantic voices and gunfire on his earpiece, which broadcasted current events happening within the pier. It is evident from the chaos in the docks right now that their situation has become increasingly dire. There had been three unexpected outcomes, the first being the arrival of the helicopter, a mode of transportation that had not been anticipated by the FBI. Secondly, the unforeseen kidnapping of IO operator Anne Kinoshita. At present, she was being held hostage, Takagi hearing the sinister threats of Rum coming through his earpiece. It was unexpected, to say the least. Locations of the IO operators were kept secret-even Takagi was not aware of where they were located. Yet, this menace of a man had discovered her so. Had deduced the location of the IO operator from the information relayed. Negotiations had turned sour quickly, bringing with it the third turn of events. An FBI IO operator Llyod Summers had lost his cool and attacked first, derailing their initial plan.
As war raged, Takagi could not sit still—not when his attackers were so close.
"I'm not engaging," Takagi whispered into the badge, "just scouting the place out. It's better to know what's happening."
There was a pause, Takagi waiting for instructions, staring into the distance. The wind swirled around as the storm grew stronger, slapping against his skin. Concern arose, his thoughts going back to Satou-san. She was a member of a task force hand-picked by Superintendent Kuroda himself.
"I'll be fine," Miwako assured him. Flicking him on the forehead in her usual confident manner, she gave him a bright smile. "It is you that I am worried about. Promise me you won't go busting in without a plan, ok." They had hugged, a light kiss was shared, then she was gone—riding in the armored vehicle with a crew of mobilized forces to the pier.
The secret mission behind the detective badge was communicated through Professor Agase, Mouri Ran, and Eisuke Hondou. Direct orders from headquarters were given to the three. Shinichi, Akai, and Jodie-sensei heading the reigns, managing the operation on two different fronts.
Despite this, it remained unclear how the mission would unfold. The initial plan to ambush the low-leveled organization members before they could attack had now been scrapped. The capture of Anne Kintoshita and Miyano Shiho added a new layer of complexity to the crumbling situation. The FBI's act had become real too fast and too soon. There is nothing artificial about the panic that is taking place right now.
"Observe only," Eisuke relayed after speaking with headquarters. Takagi's personal task was approved. In triumph, the inspector pumped his fist. "Anything else is—"
"Prohibited," Takagi interrupts and climbs the scaffold as quietly as possible. His leather shoes thumped against the metallic grills. The relentless rain makes the steps slippery, falling heavily, suffocating so—soaking through his suit. A salmon, he thinks, swimming up a waterfall. An uphill battle. "Don't worry. I'll be careful."
"That's what they all say," Eisuke replied, and Takagi winced.
"I'll call back as soon as I gather the intel," he assured, tucking the badge into his pants pocket. Focusing on his new mission, he pulls out his revolver, an M60, and turns the cylinder. It spins smoothly. The checks are satisfactory. Five shots make it count. Honing his senses, he zeroed in on the top. There was a landing pad there, he was sure of it—and if he were right, so were the perpetrators.
"Seems like we've gotten ourselves into a bit of a pickle, haven't we," Takagi whispered, clutching the revolver tighter, "Date-san."
After reaching the 2nd last floor of the building, Takagi was finally able to take shelter from the oppressive storm. There were exposed steel bars and wires hanging from the concrete ceiling above. The landing pad was above, which he was sure hosted the helicopter pad. Crouching behind some stacks of concrete mix, he flinched as a root-like structures streaked white across the raging skies. The air buzzed with electricity, making the hairs on his neck stand. It had been too close for comfort.
Power tools were used to hold down metal pails strewn about among the tall bags of concrete mix. In the heavy gale, they shook, creating a din. Takagi squints, looking out from his hiding place— he spots them. On the saturated rough unpolished ground, two figures lie prone. They were both wearing black raincoats and holding onto sniper rifles. Takagi shuffled through the stacks of concrete power and construction materials around, eventually coming close enough to hear their muffled conversation.
"Let us take the shot already," the woman said. She was a rather pretty brunette with a tattoo running down her right eye. Takagi recognized her from the images Shinichi presented to them during the briefing. Chianti—a skilled sniper who was also a force to reckon with in close-range combat. A trained assassin who was not to be trifled with. He swallowed his apprehension and turned his attention toward her companion. An older white-haired male donning a pair of sunglasses. The fact that he could see in such conditions was a miracle. Again, Takagi recognized him. Korn—another skilled sniper who was like Chianti, a deadly assassin.
"Rum says to wait," Korn said in a cold, technical tone, not paying attention to the impatient smacks the woman was making with her lips. As she chewed on bubblegum, her fingers tap lightly against the sniper's trigger. Affixed to the scope, she adjusted herself several times.
"But they're out in the open. If we could just—"
"It is time to engage," Korn interrupts, and Chianti gives a maniacal giggle.
A slow-motion horror scene unfolded as the inspector watched them pull the trigger. Despite the silencer attached to the ends of their rifles, the shots burst forth with a loud crack like dynamite. Takagi flinched, and through his earpiece—Lucas, another IO operator, was screaming to Akai that snipers from the organization were picking off agents from Foxtrot.
"Permission to intervene," Takagi said sternly into the detective badge, "I have found Korn and Chianti. They are responsible."
"Not yet," Eisuke replied.
"Waiting any longer would jeopardize our operation!"
"Takagi-san," the voice formerly belonging to Eisuke, is now that of Superintendent Kuroda. "We are not to engage yet. The FBI is well aware that there will be casualties. Playing the hero will not assist them in any way. If you act now, the mission will be rendered useless, so I order you to stand down."
His hands tightened over the revolver. The orders were resolute, and he bit his lips hard, drawing blood. What use was this? The agents…they were all going to—
His earpiece echoed with haunting screams. The FBI is losing control of the situation rapidly. Gunfire raged on, and the cries of fallen agents made it hard to bear.
"Ha-ha!" Chianti exclaimed with delight, "there goes another one. You need to step up your game Korn. You are missing several shots."
"Speak for yourself," Korn said. The conversation between them is disturbing, to say the least. They were betting, playing with lives. Suppressing his anger, Takagi closed his eyes to focus. What could he do now? The waiting game was grating on his nerves.
The sound of machine gunfire could be heard, followed by cries and the frantic shouts of the IO operators and headquarters agents.
Then came the grating voice of Rum—the negotiations had dissolved, Miyano Shiho's pleas fell on deaf ears, and the deal was lost. A final shot was fired, and the cries of Llyod Summers were heard as Anne Kinoshita was shot. A shiver ran down Takagi's spine as he slumped against the cement pile.
It wasn't supposed to happen like this. The ambush mission would go awry if they—
"Vermouth is calling," Korn murmured. The man raised what appeared to be a satellite phone. Chianti snorted. "What does that bitch want?"
'The boss wants the apache to be ready to receive them as soon as she calls again,' Korn informed her. The assassin groaned, stretching and propping up her sniper. "Just when things were getting exciting, we were about to become their gofers again. Fucking shit, one day I will—"
Korn raises his hand to stop her. He seemed to be inspecting the wharf below with his scope. Still prone on the ground, he scanned the pier, alarmed. Takagi felt a tingling sensation run through his spine.
"What's wrong?" Chianti whispered. As the man pointed to the pier, the woman raised her sniper to look through its scope.
"Oh-ho," she delights. "What have we here? Rats? Sneaking in from the side."
"About 20 odd," Korn muttered.
"Newcomers? Swat members from the FBI?"
"No, too amateurish, too disorganized. The group is moving too slowly, and—"
Korn appeared to zoom in. "Officers of the Japanese police. It's an ambush," he concluded. Fingers resting on the trigger.
"Inform Rum, Korn," Chianti said as she adjusted her weapon. "It appears that we have some uninvited guests."
Korn raised the satellite phone, and Takagi had enough. Emerging from his hiding spot, he readied his revolver, and pulled the trigger.
Two things happened simultaneously, a series of bad luck that seems to follow him wherever he goes. The first—was the lightning, a blinding ball of light that engulfed the scene in a bright blinding light, casting shadows on the walls. The second was the sudden gust of high-speed winds. It slammed hard against the building. Having no cover from the elements, Takagi lost his balance, visibility impaired by the flashes, and stumbling from the forceful gale, he missed his shots and cursed when he discovered the members glaring at him.
The situation unfolded very quickly. Korn drops the satellite phone and rushed forward. Chianti takes out an automatic SMG from her belt. Takagi dove for cover as the cacophony of blasts reverberated around him. His cement bags were struck by bullets as they flew past. As the bags broke, gray powder rose from the destruction, swirling in humid air. Takagi gagged as he inhaled the bitter arid smell of powdered cement.
He barely had time to rest when he found Korn behind him. Takagi's terrified expression was reflected in the man's sunglasses. Korn slammed against him. A knife is poised to make the cut at his throat. In a desperate attempt, Takagi slammed his revolver against Korn's temple. The assassin was forced to release him, reeling from the blow. Having freed himself, the inspector falls back. Standing up only to be greeted with the barrel of an SMG—pointed at the back of his head. He froze. A wave of terror swept through him as Chianti pressed the barrel painfully into his skull, leaving his mouth dry like sandpaper.
"Nice try," she sneered.
"I'm sorry, Miwako," Takagi whispered, closing his eyes, he awaited the blow. Cracks like a horsewhip echoed across the open floor. Takagi collapsed to the ground, prepared to feel pain that came from bullet ripping through skull.
Nothing came, and when he opened his eyes again—found a blonde-haired tanned detective standing over him. The man held a smoking pistol, and on the soaked ground were the withering forms of the two assassins. Without hesitation, he fired again without emotion. And Chianti roared, she struggles to reach the satellite phone when the man shot again. The bullets passed through their calves, leaving the Korn and Chianti immobile, and bleeding on the ground.
"You!" Chianti roared in rage.
Much more subdued, Korn glared at the newcomer. "We killed you. We watched you die," he rasped.
Cruel laughter escaped the tanned detective's lips. "Have you ever heard," cold and calculated, gray eyes eyed them with scorn, "Of faking your own death?"
"Bourbon!"
"I bid you goodnight."
He raised a watch—similar to the one Conan-kun wore, and shot them both. Takagi merely gaped at the predicament as they slumped to the ground almost immediately.
"Fake your death?" the inspector whispered, regaining his voice. "Bourbon?"
The man turned to face him, wiping away the raindrops dripping from his blonde bangs. The amicable visage of Amuro Tooru greets him. The heartless persona he portrayed earlier was replaced with a friendly demeanor.
"We had a falling out; the black organization does not take kindly to traitors," he explained vaguely.
"W…what do you mean?"
Helping Takagi up, Amuro-san turned to Korn and Chianti, who were bleeding profusely from their leg injuries. Sticky, red blood flowed like a slow moving stream, blending with the puddles. Smirking, Amuro-san stepped over them before reaching for the satellite phone and throwing it at Takagi. "Hold on to that, will you," he instructed.
"What?"
"Also, can you get Eisuke-kun to get medical attention for these two? We can't have them die on us," he added. Takagi had a hard time wrapping his head around the new developments.
"Wait, wait, what is going on? Why is Amuro-san here? What is—"
"That was reckless of you, Wataru Takagi, but I commend your efforts. It is possible that our secret strategy would have failed without your timely interruption. And secondly," he says, pulling a toothpick from his pocket and twirling it in a familiar gesture before placing it between his lips. Date-san?
"It's Furuya Rei. Public Servant Officer, at your service."
Gawking, the inspector, was unsure of what to make of the man before him. And the officer pulls out his own detective boy's badge. Takagi realized he had lost his own during the confrontation.
"Is it finished? Is Takagi-san safe?" Shinichi called out, and Rei Furuya smirked.
"It has been taken care of. Commence the raid now."
30 minutes before:
With Rei's confirmation coming through the detective badge, Shinichi watched Satou-san and the other officers emerge from their hiding places. Overwhelming in numbers, they swept through the pier with the stealthiness of a Puma, a creature of the shadows. With deadly precision they pounced on the organization's members through coordinated efficiency. Working hand-in-hand with PSB agents, they ambushed members of the organization—caught off guard. They had no time to react.
"Shiratori-san, there are two escaping around the corner!" Ran informed. The transmission is a secret weapon that the black organization was unaware of. Orders relayed through the detective boy's badges.
"Going ahead," Shiratori responded, and Shinichi watched Shiratori-san rush in with his team of trained officers.
"Korn and Chianti have been apprehended. We need medical assistance," Eisuke relayed orders from Rei Furuya. A sigh of relief escaped Shinichi's lips.
Rum and the other members of the organization—unaware of the ambush happening outside the warehouse— were still being led along by Akai and control. As Shinichi turned back to the monitors monitoring the events in the derelict building, their voices blended into the background.
Seeing Shiho weaving through the maze-like containers, he felt his heart racing like a race car on a track. The earpiece she used to communicate with the FBI was destroyed. Communication with it is pointless since Rum had hacked into it, and she had discarded it. It was a calculated move. To the Organization members, it would seem that she had no help—perpetuating their act further.
Now, Shiho's voice comes through, heavy and worn out from the detective badge they all carried.
Information revealed a week ago prompted them to consider a different method of communication. The undercover agent reveals disturbing details about Rum's breach of the FBI and Japanese Police systems. Rei Furuya, formerly Bourbon, told them about Rum's hacks and the army Renya was assembling behind the scenes. Using the newly acquired data, an elaborate scheme was hatched.
"They're too proud. Too sure of themselves," Shiho had told them during the discussions.
"And we'll exploit their pride against them," Akai declares.
As PSB and Japanese police have confirmed that their communication channels have also been compromised in recent weeks. Systems used by government agencies or other official entities were thus incompatible. It was not surprising though. After all, the organization was aware of Shiho's involvement with the Japanese police.
It was Ran that suggested an alternative. Innocently, his childhood friend brings it up one day. Taking the "B" shaped device left on the professor's coffee table by the children, she eagerly showed them. "We can use this, can't we?"
The detective badge—one that Rum had no knowledge of. One too separate, too far off from anything in this world. A device—intended for children. An unassuming toy. One that would ironically be the organization's downfall.
And it is being used right now. Ran, the professor, and Eisuke handled the communications from the comfort of the professor's residence. His childhood friend and Eisuke monitoring and warning the FBI of the impending attack by members of the organization that had not been arrested. The organization—unaware that the FBI teams surrounding the warehouse, Alpha, Delta, and Foxtrot—were essentially bait.
Having been lured into the open, the organization's members emerged from the shadows, about to eliminate the agents. Only to be rounded up by Japanese police officers and PSB agents. The ambush led by Kuroba Hyoue, Division One Criminal Investigation Unit Director, and Rei Furuya.
It was a operation concealed behind false information—a bait-and-switch. The FBI told them what they wanted to hear. Of snipers overlooking the shipping docks. Of agents being placed around the pier to protect Shiho. The "plan" fed to the organization—lies.
Even though the plan seemed foolproof, there were still vulnerabilities. It came in the form of an outlier. Shinichi thought that the information Rum had obtained through hacking into their systems would satisfy him at least.
After all, their act had been so convincing to Shinichi that he almost believed it himself. But it appears the man was more shrewd—more careful than most. Meticulous to a point—a scary entity to be reckoned with.
Rum, naturally skeptical, had deduced the location of the IO operatives. Kidnapping Anne Kinoshita and listening to FBI channels on her earpiece during an ongoing operation. He had to ensure that the information he derived from the hack were accurate. It was only when he was satisfied that the FBI's plans were proceeding according to what he had listened to did he finally reveal himself.
That accursed murderer. Having spoken with Anne Kinoshita before, Shinichi could only imagine the pain her colleagues must have felt during the last moments. Her sudden death shook the foundations, almost destroying the plan they had carefully devised. Lloyd Summers was so rattled that he launched an outright attack, going off course. Akai was forced to restrain him due to his breakdown.
Nevertheless, the damage was already done. The exchange of gunfire that they never wanted had happened. And now Shiho was in a situation he never wanted her to be in.
She was hobbling along, grabbing her injured shoulder.
"To your right, Miyano-san, Gin coming close. You've got to go left," Jodie instructed her through the detective badge.
"Got it," she replied, and he watched her lean against one of the containers.
"Shiho, get out of there," he insisted, unable to remain objective any longer. Shinichi feels the pit of his stomach drop whenever she dances with death. "I'll take over. There's no need for you to do this."
She grunted. The girl seemed calm. As shadows crept across her face, rain precipitated, making visibility difficult. Her heavy breathing, though, revealed the severity of her situation.
"I'm making my way up to the control room," she informed them, clutching onto the detective badge. He could see her trembling, water dripping from her bangs, matted against her scalp. Blood soaked through the thick leather jacket. "I'll retrieve the trigger and engage the explosives."
She was pointedly ignoring him.
"Escape," he begged. "let me handle this."
"Shinichi," she warned. Jodie monitors the sensors closely, directing the girl to safe spots when needed. Rum was fast, and the man seemed to read her moves well. Every shot he fired with that cursed rifle pierced through his chest, sending him to dark places. Shinichi had half a mind to swim across the churning, storming ocean to rescue her from the predicament.
"You got to continue the act. It'll be over soon. Please, bear with it," Shiho continued.
"I know that! But—"
"Continue the act," Shiho pleaded, "They must believe in it. We predicted this."
This stupid, stubborn girl.
Taking a deep breath, Shinichi regains his composure. Although he hated to admit it. This was only one way to defeat them completely.
"About the other agents...about..." She mumbled, barely audible. She was not doing well. On the heat sensor, Shinichi could see her burning up from a developing fever. He swallowed the intense anxiety churning within him.
"Jodie-sensei," he whispered.
"Four agents from Alpha are KIA. Five snipers from Foxtrot were taken out by Korn and Chianti. Twenty more injured by the machine gunners," Jodie informed, not sugar-coating the report. Shiho would not have appreciated it. "But," the agent continued, "We've gotten it under control."
"The other agents are safe," Shinichi reassured Shiho, who was now hiding behind a cover, her breaths becoming heavier. The report was affecting her—more than she was letting on.
"Kinoshita-san," Shiho whispered, her voice cracking. "She wasn't aware. She didn't have to...This isn't what we—"
"I know," Shinichi interrupted, feeling remorse snake up his body like a leaden snare. There was a rock stuck in his throat, and he had to force the words out. They were prepared for a fight, but Rum's actions hadn't been foreseen. Shinichi had not comprehended his ruthlessness. And now—there were agents who died because of his plan.
"We can discuss this later," he emphasized, "for now, focus on your objective."
"Yes, ok," she forces out, gathering herself.
"Listen carefully," knowing he could not stop her. "The explosion would bring everything down. Only escape if you have the strength to do so. If you're too injured, use the flare."
"I'm fine, Kudou," she scoffs. "The bullet only scratched the surface."
"Sure," he chided, tightening his fist as she climbed the steps. Shinichi is paralyzed with unease at every sound she makes. His ears buzzed from the heightened stress. Eventually, Shiho reached the control room.
"Found it," Shiho whispered, lifting the trigger device.
"Escape from there," Akai said, coming up beside Shinichi and placing a hand on his shoulder. The man holding onto a sniper rifle—a Remington Model 700, classically used by the FBI. He was accompanied by five other FBI agents wearing night vision goggles and holding sniper rifles. It was now or never.
"A big explosion, right, Kudou," she whispered, pocketing the trigger.
"Idiot, just enough to lure them out into the wharf, don't kill yourself."
"Can't promise that—"
Jodie-sensei screamed a warning as Vermouth took a shot that just missed Shiho by a hair's breadth.
And Shinichi had enough.
"You're not stopping me now," he snapped, glaring at Akai, who nodded.
"All men to fall in. We start the second phase now!"
Shinichi and the men gathered on the turbulent cargo deck as the ocean churned violently around them. Still whirling around them, the storm was in full swing. The cargo ship was relatively close to the pier. A short distance ahead, he could see the organization's speedboats and a faint silhouette of the protruding wharf. Grasping the badges tightly, he heard Shiho scream. She was being tortured.
No!
The explosion was sudden, and Shinichi watched in terror as the building went up in flames. Metal shards and rusted containers were flying out, crashing onto the wharf. He adjusted his glasses frantically, zooming into the scene, and was relieved to see Shiho emerging from the wreckage, sinking to her knees but very much alive. Her injuries were severe, and he rushed down the deck to the water ski jets the FBI had prepared hours ago.
"I'm heading there first, Akai-san!" shouted Shinichi. The man agreed, and Shinichi untied the jet-ski from its straps. It landed on the choppy water. He was soon racing towards the wharf through the agitated sea. His eyes were stinging from the salt, every wave shaking the small vehicle he was in, and anxiety tore through him.
Please…anyone, god, anybody!
He could see the docks right ahead, and Shinichi pulled on the throttle, propelling forward, bouncing violently through the rough waves—paying no heed to the speed.
"You better keep your promise," he whispered desperately. "Shiho."
Present:
Shiho was unable to move. The shrunken detective had her in a vice-like grip. As he examined her wounds, he shielded her from the hub-hub of activity happening around her. A soft cry escaped her lips as he poked her grazed shoulder.
"Sorry," he whispered before prodding her again, removing the makeshift bandage she made with Jodie-sensei's coat. Biting her lip, she held back tears as the sharp, stabbing pain rushed through her body.
"Will you stop that," she snapped, and he ignored her, holding up the bandage he'd obtained from the Japanese Police.
"Deal with the consequences," Shinichi quipped, wrapping gauze around. She had to admit that he was good at it despite not having medical training.
Was this a dream? Did they really do it?
The answers she sought eluded her. Four armored police trucks had just arrived a few minutes before. Within them were the restrained members— Gin and Vermouth, with severe injuries and unconscious. Akai, who had arrived five minutes earlier from a docked cargo ship, was issuing orders as FBI agents, PSB agents, and Japanese Police officers alike pushed captured black organization members into vehicles—that were streaming into the pier.
"Ai-chan, are you ok?" Satou-san, who had just shoved one of the cuffed organization members into a police vehicle, hurried over. Before ruffling her fingers through her hair, the inspector hovered over them with concern etched in her features. Then she was gone, swept back into the chaos of activity. She was needed, and police officers were calling out to her for assistance.
Jodie-sensei and the other FBI agents streaming out of the cargo ship also had no downtime. Reports on the damage, casualties, and arrangements for transportation to high-security prisons had commenced. The operation had ended—anti-climatically.
As Shinichi continued to nag her like a mother hen, Shiho could only sit propped against some containers by the side. Fifteen minutes had passed—and time was passing by in a blur, an indecipherable fog.
Despite the commotion, she could not ignore the intense glare she was getting from the one-eyed man sitting with his legs folded. He was restrained and surrounded by heavily armored and armed members of the special security forces. Beside Rum was the prone form of Renya Karasuma.
It was difficult to believe that the frail-looking man had once been threatened. Now, they sat just a few meters away—quiet and reticent observing the scene. Their plans have failed, and they were essentially despondent kings dethroned from their kingdom. Even though they did not beg, scream, or retaliate, Shiho could not help the sensation of squirming worms festering in her chest—something was brewing. She did not like the look in Rum's eyes.
"Ignore him," Shinichi whispered. The detective forced her to look at him instead. Azure blue eyes, brimming with concern. Brows furrowed in tension. Holding her in place with gentle fingers, he cupped her cheeks. "They will be taken away soon, so you don't have to worry about them anymore."
"I'm not," she winced, leaning back against the container. Her injuries were exacerbated by the wet, grimy, cemented ground and the light drizzle that accompanied an ebbing storm. The adrenaline from before had disappeared, and all that remained was the throbbing pounding of her wounds. "The ambulances are late," she muttered.
"Five minutes, tops," Shinichi said. Lips pressed in a thin line, black hair—a tangled mess, matted against his scalp. He smelt of the ocean—his suit, utterly soaked. A cut ran down the side of his cheeks, and she reached for it, smearing it across his wet cheeks. It was a wound he got while trying to protect her from—
Shiho stiffened at the mere thought of it. It had been too close a call.
The man's ubiquitous presence remained even when he was gone. Gin, her neverending nightmare, an indelible stain.
The explosion completely destroyed the warehouse. All that remained was a charred frame. Containers lay strewn everywhere, and the rain extinguished small fires that produced wispy gray smoke. A team of FBI agents was combing through it, ensuring they hadn't missed anything else. The Metropolitan Police bringing in guard dogs to help. As Shinichi holds her, the activity fades away. Like her, he was occupied, watching as an armored vehicle exited the pier.
A wounded woman was in the vehicle that had just left. The injuries she sustained were severe. There is a possibility that she won't make it. A surprising gesture from a blonde-haired woman—a cold-hearted demon. Even though the burnt scar ran along Shiho's back and still stings with the mark of a branding iron—Shinichi was alive.
"She does not regret it. I would have done the same," Shiho said, in an attempt to comfort him. She was met with the disgruntled gaze of the detective.
"You will do no such thing," he nags.
Shiho groaned, "Please, don't start."
"I agree," Akai interrupts, and Shinichi huffs at both of them. The agent was holding a soggy cigar between his lips and had the sniper still slung around his back. "How are you doing?" he continued. Olive eyes regarded her, and she sighed.
"I have felt worse," she commented, and he frowned, placing his hand over Shinichi's shoulders. He gestured towards a few makeshift tents, which the FBI agents had haphazardly erected next to the smoking warehouse.
"The ambulances will arrive soon. How about taking shelter under—"
His speech was cut short by an inhumane cackle. And Akai stepped in front of them, holding his arm out protectively.
"Do you think this is the end?" Rum asked with the same sing-songy tone he used when he murdered Anne. "Is this the best you can do? What do you hope to accomplish?"
"Get her out of here, boy," Akai whispered to Shinichi. When the detective pulled her closer, he was about to take a step closer to the tent when she heard laughter again.
"Sherry," Renya rasped as his words carried a terrifying connotation. "You have exposed us, and you have somehow managed to capture us, but with your creation, your drug, you have opened up new frontiers. It's in the system now. There's no turning back. Sherry, this is your legacy."
In the system? As Akai ordered the FBI agent to silence him, she struggled against Shinichi's grip, turning to face the man lying on the ground. She caught the faint, taunting smirk that disappeared. What did he mean by—
"Ignore them," Shinichi repeated. Even though the detective seemed calm, he was simmering with rage. "It's over," he assured her, "their grabbing at last straws."
She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Renya's statement felt more like a warning. A self-fulfilling prophecy. And the events of before rush back to her. Gripping the lapels of Shinichi's soaked blouse, her ears rung, and she felt weak.
"Shiho?" Shinichi called out. Why did he sound so far away?
An intense ache escalates, spreading through her body like fire ants biting through her skin, starting from the base of her neck. Heat seared through her like she had been doused in lava. Involuntarily, she screamed, holding on tightly to her chest, unable to breathe. Her vision blurred. Shinichi shouted for help, his voice muffled by the excruciating agony. The familiar sensation of bones shrinking and flesh melting commenced. Before she knew it, she was rasping, back in her child form, sucking in deep breaths.
For a moment, all she could hear was her feverish pounding of her heart. "Get some water!" Shinichi yelled, and she opened her eyes to find Akai, Shinichi, and the nearby officers gathered around her.
"Are you ok?!" Shinichi exclaimed as she swallowed the fire in her throat. In her disoriented state, she struggled to talk but was unable to do so. Suddenly, there was a shout. Alarmed, they turned.
Rum was standing, staring straight at her. The cuffs that held him were split open, dangling from his right wrist. Eyes wide, mouth agape, he was almost—elated. There was a certain aura about him—an enlightenment. Although the officers guarding him were pushing him back down, he was unfazed—refusing to budge.
"I've found it."
It was impossible to read his motives. Rum striked like a black cobra, snatching an AR rifle. The nearby officers guarding him raised their own guns, aiming them at the one-eyed man.
Standing confidently, he gazed at Shiho before turning his attention to the withering man that was once his superior, ignoring the guns pointed at him. Slowly, a sly grin spreads across his lips.
He was ecstatic—why?!
"Stand down! Stand down, or we'll shoot!"
A couple of shots were fired when he raised the rifle. Akai holds a smoking gun. They fired without hesitation, and the man fell to his knees, wounded in his shoulder and calves. "Rum, it's over," Akai commanded.
Dry laughter escaped his lips. Blood was being lost too quickly, and he was breathing heavily. There was a deadly glint in her black beady eyes, sharp as a hawk. The man was not afraid. He was still holding onto the rifle. Something was amiss.
"Akai!" Shinichi warned. Kneeling—a river of crimson flowed from his wounds, forming rivers in the puddles. The smirk on his face disappeared, and Rum lifted the rifle, holding it taut. Pointed at—
"What is the meaning of this?" Renya whispered. On the ground, still cuffed, the man was glaring at his subordinate. And though he appeared to be collected—his quivering body failed to hide the truth.
"Stand down!" the FBI agents yelled again as Rum faced the frail old man—the unlikely leader of the organization. Amid the light drizzle and bright floodlights—Rum smiled. "It was good while it lasted," he said. "Soma."
"Our deal still stands," Renya snarled. "Rum!"
"New beginnings," Rum said, eyes glinting.
Soma? Shinichi gasps at the revelation of a true name. Akai, too realized the ramifications.
"Stop this!" Renya Karasuma demanded. For the first time, Shinichi saw the desperation in the man's eyes. A human emotion—fear. "Did you forget our purpose? " he exclaimed. Rum laughs, cutting him off.
"It was never mine," he said immediately, pulling the trigger. "Bye-bye." Time slowed, cries of horror rang throughout the scene as gunfire boomed. Events happened simultaneously, a hole was blown through Renya Karasuma's scalp as he gave one last cry. In another series of pops, FBI agents fired at Rum, hitting him square in the arm. Upon impact, the bullet tears through the man's arm, separating joints. With a resounding thud, his right arm holding the rifle fell to the ground. Rum faced Shinichi. A cryptic smirk stretches across.
"Good riddance," Rum concluded.
The surrounding officers jumped him, still shocked over what had just happened. As Rum succumbed to his injuries, blood gushed from his wounds. Having been restrained and rendered unconscious, the man eventually collapsed. "We have a man down, I repeat, a man down!" There were shouts all around as Akai rushed in to regain some control.
In consternation, officers and agents tried to make sense of what had just happened. Shinichi tightened his grip on the shrunken scientist.
"Is he..." Shiho whispered, her expression dark.
Floodlight reflected on the surface of the ground. Eyes blank, mouth open, brains—blown out, scarlet flowing down amidst the chaos and ambulance sirens. A disturbing scene, sprawled out on the wet cement—a fallen crow.
Why? Why did he do that? Why kill Renya? What is his purpose?
The questions swirled like a tornado. They won, didn't they?
Ambulance sirens and fire trucks echoed in the distance, Shinichi clutched onto the auburn-haired scientist. While he felt no remorse for the bastard, the chills settled, seeping in—and he was left empty.
"The boss," Shinichi confirmed. Rum's last words are an indecipherable threat—an apparition of unfathomable madness.
It should be over yet—
"Is dead."
Snow fell, dusting the headstones and grassy soil with clumps of white. Once again, the winter season had arrived. With it came the dreaded cold, frosty winds that whipped around, exacerbating the already icy weather. A misty fog emerged as Shiho exhaled, and she slowly shuffled forward with a crutch. In the soft snow, her boots formed prints, and she sank into the layers. When she was about to move forward, she stumbled and was caught.
"Didn't I tell you to slow down," Shinichi nagged. Shiho narrowed her gaze at the detective, who had heavy bags under his eyes. He was yawning, his hair oily and messy. In recent weeks, he had been pulling all-nighters. Between trips to the hospital, he also has been busy making arrangements and detaining the organization's members.
"I'm fine," she said for the umpteenth time, having had enough of his mothering. "Besides, the doctors said I needed to move."
"They said to take it slow. You were practically running."
"Does hopping forward on one foot count as running, Kudou?" she chided, waving her crutch. "Your definition is seriously skewed."
"You know what I'm saying, stubborn fool." He spat out. He was not in favor of this. A trip that she insisted upon.
"Well, I can say the same for you," she hobbled forward again. Pointedly ignoring Shinichi's eye rolls. "You haven't been sleeping, and the last time I checked, that doesn't count as self-care."
"I don't have three broken ribs, Shiho!" he exclaimed, and she groaned, covering her ears with her hands, hobbling away from him.
Catching up with her, the detective grabbed the cast wrapped around her shoulder.
According to doctors, healing would take months. Apparently, the rifle bullet had shattered her clavicle, going clean through the bone. In response to her prognosis, Shiho was subjected to an hour lecture about the dangers of not listening to instructions. Shinichi had only stopped when she promised never to do it again. The boy could sometimes be a pain in the ass.
A hypocrite. She couldn't count the number of times he risked his life for hers. But she wouldn't tell him that, not when she knew she was about to receive many more lectures.
The broken ribs were another part of her prognosis; they would take longer to heal. A single broken rib was manageable, but three proved difficult, and she found herself being pumped full of pain medications in an attempt to ease the agony of sharp, moving ribs. "How the hell were you able to move after all that?" Shinichi snapped.
She didn't have the heart to tell him she was used to it. That would have earned her another lecture, which she was not in the mood to hear. She underwent surgery, and the stitches from the bullet lodged in her left arm left behind a nasty scar.
"You stubborn idiot," he murmured, supporting her weight as they stepped through the snow. Despite her initial disdain, Shiho appreciated his company. The uneven ground made traversing difficult, and the frigid cold left a throbbing ache in her broken bones. It had only been three days since she was discharged. A bitter month was spent in a private ward. And she was informed of what transpired following the operation in snippets.
The remaining low-ranking members ambushed by Japanese police were arrested. In the days following the operation, the FBI also arrested stragglers. With the key players and boss gone, the organization was in shambles.
"Vodka is still missing," Akai told her during one of his visits. The two shared a moment of silence. Gin's capture is a massive victory for both of them. While the pain lingered, it was eased by the image of the beast imprisoned in a secret facility. He would never be free again. Akai had assured her. Although she could not hold on to the belief, as the days passed, it seemed to stick.
"But we'll catch him soon," Jodie replied, "The man should be easy to find."
"Do not underestimate him," Shiho warned, "Vodka, despite his looks, is a highly trained specialist who is capable of surviving on his own...he lacks the brains but is quite dangerous."
"Don't worry, Shiho," Shinichi had told her, the boy remaining by her side as she recovered. Back in his childhood form, he would bring about the homework she missed. "You can't neglect your studies, too, Haibara," he teased. A joke—both know they would do fine even if they skipped school for 10 years. "The PSB agents have a clue as to where he is. It'll be over soon."
Taking the new developments with a grain of salt, Shiho remained impartial. Vodka, who she least expected to be a threat, had disappeared. And She had prepared herself for an imminent attack, for the members to escape, and for the black organization to pull something out of their sleeve. Nothing, however, occurred in the days that followed, peace lasted, and she slowly began to relax.
Not that she had any, though.
A constant stream of visitors put an end to that. The fruit baskets she received were stacked high along the sides of her ward.
Her first visitors were from the Japanese police force. Inspector Satou and Takagi were among them. The inspectors taking part in the operation on that fateful night were also injured. Scuffles and gunfights between low-leveled members apparently caused some bruises. Nevertheless, the two were relatively uninjured, and Shiho was relieved to find them safe. Her supposed bravery was praised. Their statements made her scoff. Satou-san frowns, then tells her to be kind to herself before hugging her.
PSB agents followed...and then the FBI. Several officers whom she had never met before. They told her the same thing—that they were thankful, that they were glad the organization had been brought down. That she acted courageously and in the proper manner.
Shiho felt anything but. There had been an attack...friends...colleagues...some dead...and she could only give a bitter smile.
Besides visits were letters of gratitude, and one in particular— she hadn't opened. It was accompanied by a bouquet of red roses. She didn't recognize the handwriting, only the name. A Rei Furuya. Bourbon. Even though Shinichi had told her he was a friend, Shiho was still wary of the undercover agent. She hadn't the heart to engage with him, not after she learned that—he had met with her sister and—her parents.
"It'll take a long time for you to heal," the counselor informed. She was a young woman with kind chestnut eyes. Wakaba Haruka introduced herself as a 33-year-old pregnant woman with a daughter on the way. She was a joint intervention by Akai, Shinichi, and Satou-san. They had consulted Haruka-san without Shiho's knowledge. And with increasing persistence, had advised Shiho to consult professional help. "I don't need to see a specialist!" she snapped at them. But when the nightmares became more frequent, and the phantom pain from her scars became more intense, it was Ran who persuaded her.
"It is no harm, Ai-chan," the girl said as she held onto her hands. "Sometimes, you just need," her visage merging with Akemi's, "A little help."
Her statements stuck, and Shiho subsequently relented. The counseling commenced with Haruka-san, holding sessions in the private ward. Initially, she was silent as the woman asked about her past. Shiho, with her usual sarcasm, only divulged what Haruka-san wanted to know.
However, the woman was patient and prodded carefully. "They did a number on you, didn't they?" she finally said.
Haruka studied her carefully, the woman placing down the clipboard she had been using. Shiho flinched as the woman took her by the hand, her motherly brown eyes staring into green ones.
"Miyano-san, I just want you to know," she started, "That despite everything—you are a survivor."
"Survivor? " Shiho scoffed, wanting to push Haruka-san away. "Spare me the bullshit."
"You're not running from it."
"Gin," the woman continued, "he was the entity that hurt you. Based on what I heard, you faced him despite your fear and abuse. Miyano-san, not many can do what you did."
Shiho averts her gaze. "Anyone would have done the same."
Exhausted, she spoke truthfully. Ever since the operation ended, she felt like she existed on autopilot, going through the motions. Although they had taken down the organization— it didn't feel real. When discussions sparked between Akai's and Shinichi's visits, Shiho felt stuck behind a brick wall. Guilt weighed heavily on her like she was sinking into quicksand.
"We have a lot to untangle here," Haruka started. "But," she flashed a gentle smile, "We have time."
The diagnosis was PTSD and depression. Pills were given to alleviate her condition. "These aren't miracles," Haruka explained. "But they will help with the symptoms. The process will take some time, but you have taken the first step," she said, winking at Shiho. "You have finally asked for assistance."
A continuous process. Mental scars do not heal like bullet wounds, and the woman insisted that more sessions were needed. And after Ran's urging and Shinichi's constant pestering, Shiho gave in. There were more meetings to be held, and they would continue even after she was discharged from the hospital—much to her annoyance.
That was days ago, and now—
Breathing out, she emits another puff of mist before looking up at the overcast sky. Clumps of gray, dreary clouds drifted silently, revealing nothing but silence. She clasped tighter to the bouquet of Lilies they bought along the way.
They were in a cemetery.
Her request was to be buried close to her parents, not in America, but in a small prefecture near the coast, five hours from Beika City. Due to her injuries, Shiho had missed the funeral. Akai forbade her from leaving the hospital. And Shinichi had filled her in on the details.
According to him, the ceremony was grand. Several guns were raised in the air, blanks were fired, and salutes were exchanged. A beautiful rendition of Amazing Grace was sung before the coffin was lowered into the ground. Cement was added, and a patch of grass was planted over the top. A statue of an angel rising from the ashes was erected over the grave. The distinctive design stood out in stark contrast to the surrounding headstones.
Arriving at the plot, they came to a halt.
A man was before it, wearing a thick leather trench coat—he caught their attention. He was smoking a cigar. A fruitless endeavor, its tip turning into ash, falling on snow. A behemoth of a man with brown crew-cut hair, he glanced casually at them. The sunglasses he wore concealed his expression. Lloyd Summers. In his hands was a can of decaf coffee, something Shiho knew Anne loved. "The cheap kind," the agent would say cheekily during the nights they worked together, "Are the best."
"Here to pay respects?" Lloyd inquired. His tone lacked mirth. Instead, a resigned smile tugs at his lips.
"He was asked to leave the force," Shinichi had told her days earlier about the fate of the other agents. "He disobeyed orders and acted rashly. Endangering not only you but other members of his squad. Akai had ordered his dismissal, and he had accepted it."
The outcome was expected. Government agencies didn't take kindly to insubordination—and Llyod had, in fact, endangered the operation. Seeing Anne caught must have ignited something in Lloyd. He loved her deeply, like a daughter, and was willing to do anything for her. Shiho could understand his sentiments.
"It's the least we can do," Shinichi answered. A few minutes later, they stood beside the man. Leaning forward, Shiho placed her bouquet on the headstone. White lilies blended in with the snow, petals trembling in the winds—a quiet affair.
"Anne Kinoshita," Shinichi read, brushing snow-white powder off the marbled stone. "20 January 19XX- 15 October 20XX."
"At least I won't have to ask for your age anymore," Shiho muttered, remembering Anne's mischievous glint. "I knew it, you liar."
Taking off his sunglasses, Lloyd chuckled beside her, revealing sore eyes. Red and swollen, Shiho notices tear stains running down his cheeks. "Always a prankster," he continued, gently placing the rose on the grave. "Stubborn, lively, witty...brave...far too brave."
Lloyd Summer paused, staring at the sky, reaching for something in his pockets. "It should have been me," he whispered.
A tumultuous ache emerges in her chest—a dormant volcano, persisting and hammering relentlessly like a drum. "I'm sorry," she muttered, and he sighed heavily.
"If Anne heard that, she would kick you," Lloyd smooths over the headstone again. Taking out a small silver locket, he drapes it over. Images of happier days are buried under the earth, faded into the past. Standing, he stamps out the cigar before turning to them.
"There's no need to apologize," he said. "Anne would have done the same for anyone," grabbing both Shinichi and Shiho by the shoulders.
"It is," he released them, "In her character."
Exchanging a faint smile, the man pats them before making a move, bidding them goodbye.
"Lloyd-san, if you ever need anything..." Shinichi trailed off when Lloyd paused.
"Take care of yourself," she said, and he gave a causal wave. Walking through the sylph-like snow, he did not look back—merging into the white. His hunched figure disappeared into the distance.
They would probably never meet again.
There were no words to be said, no comfort to be withheld. People died all the time, leaving the living to pick up the pieces. Facing the grave, an ache scorched deep inside. Nightmares from the operation still plague her. Recollections of Gin, Vermouth, Rum, and the boss swirled around until she blacked out from the panic attacks. Renya's words—a sinister warning. Her creation was still in use. The black organization had marketed the weapon that she had crafted. Blood—was still on her hands.
A scarf was draped around her neck. Embracing her from behind, arms around her midriff. "Shinichi? " she mumbled, shuddering slightly when he pressed against her. His lips graced her neck. "What—"
"You did what you had to do," he whispered, and she paused. He tightened his hold, and she felt his breath against her skin. The incessant chill which had taken hold of her body was warmed by his body heat. "We took them down."
Turning her around, he gazes into her eyes with determination. "She would not die in vain, Shiho." He grasped her shoulders as her vision blurred. Slowly, tears streamed down her cheeks. He pulls her in, cradling her head in his shoulder, trapping her in his arms. "I will make sure of that. They will never rise again. I promise."
Amidst the headstones and mantle of snow, they embraced for a long time. Though the persistent weight left Shiho feeling weak, his gentleness and warmth alleviated some of the hurt.
It got colder, and Shiho sneezed—snot escaped. "Hygienic much, Shiho?" Shinichi teased, and she eyed him pointedly.
"Here, a handkerchief for the baby," he chuckled as Shiho shoved the offending cloth away. As Shinichi realized her intentions, he gave her a warning glare. "Oh no, you don't," she leaned against his shoulder, wiping her nose on his sleeves.
"Why would you do that?" he groaned in disgust.
"Ara, I thought you were offering yourself as a handkerchief," she retorted, and he wiped his shoulder vigorously with it.
"I am not your handkerchief," he snapped.
"I can't tell the difference," Shiho smirked. Sneezing again, he sighed.
"Let's go before we add pneumonia to your growing list of ailments," he began and snaked his arms around her.
"And have you nagging at me for all eternity? No, thank you," she retorted.
"Like I said, it's con-se-quen-ces," Shinichi emphasized, much to her disdain. They shared light banter as they walked through the rows of headstones. Eventually, they arrived at a relatively empty parking lot. The aroma of roasting chestnuts wafted through the air, and Shiho was not surprised to see the professor munching on the snack while surrounded by the children.
The yellow beetle's engine was running beside the chestnut stand. "Hakase, really," she chided, "Five packets before dinner?"
He flinched.
"The children forced me!" the professor protested. Flustered, he wiped the food bits along his chin.
"That's not the truth!" Ayumi exclaimed. "You wanted to eat. We just happened to join you."
"It's good, though," Genta replied. Another chestnut was wolfed down by the chubby boy before he breathed out rapidly as the hot item burned his tongue. While snickering at the boy's antics, Mitsuhiko offered Shiho and Shinichi packets.
"You should try some. It's delicious."
"Yes, these are the best roasted chestnuts in Japan," the professor commended the owner, an old man in his seventies who grinned as he handed over another packet.
"Take that, Hakase," Shiho snapped, "and you'll be running home."
"What!? That's absurd, besides I'm the only one who could drive you guys back."
"Uh..." Shinichi tried.
"Are you sure about that, Hakase?" she glared at him, and he pouted. Declining the free packet, he stomped toward the car, grumbling—slamming the doors shut.
"It's cold, and he probably wanted a snack," Shinichi told her.
"A snack does not constitute a kilo worth of nuts!"
"Give him a break. He did offer to drive us here despite everything."
"No one asked him," she muttered, and Shinichi nudged her.
"He offered to drive, Haibara," he emphasized, and she relented.
The professor refused their plans to take a cab in the morning. Insisting that he was free, despite the various commissions he still owed. He was adamant about taking them there. Before they knew it, the trip to the cemetery had become an outing of sorts. Driving through the snowy roads, the children joined in—and although the journey there was a long and arduous one, the easy conversations between the children, the professor, and Shinichi, in particular, helped in more ways than she could have imagined.
"Maybe I was too harsh," she conceded.
"Get him more chestnuts. That'll cheer him up," Genta recommended.
"How about that?" Shinichi added.
"Are you trying to roll Hakase down a hill?"
"And what do you suggest?" he quipped.
"There," she snorted, pointing to the white falling from the skies. At her suggestion, Shinichi folded his arms.
"Snow? " the children asked, confused.
"Haibara…"
"A suitable ice cream. It would facilitate his nonexistent...diet." She stated the children laughed as Shinichi made a face.
Trudging their way, they made their way to the yellow beetle. Shiho could still see the professor's sulking expression and could only sigh in response. She would have to make it up to him later but for now—
A sudden sharp pain flares from her ribs, causing her to double over. Biting her lips, she attempted to control it. If this continued, it would alarm the children.
"Ai-chan!" Ayumi shouted.
It was too late. The children had noticed and were crowding around her. "Give her space," Shinichi ordered them. The painkillers she took this morning did little to curb the stabbing sensation running through her arm and chest. She sank to her knees, feeling snow melt into her pants.
Panting, she struggled to stand, her eyes resting on the wide-eyed looks of the children.
Why did they look so sad?
"Hey," she assured weakly, "I'm ok, there's no need to—"
"Ai-chan, don't lie. Tell us if you need help?" Ayumi demanded.
"Yes, don't hide it from us! " Mitsuhiko added.
"Does it hurt, Haibara? Mom said, if it hurts, you have to say it out loud!" Genta said, his arms folded, glaring at her.
Their words left her stunned.
"You've been taught to rely only on yourself," Haruka remarks in one of their sessions, "But take a look, Miyano-san. You are very much treasured by those around you. Don't push them away. You must learn to depend on them. Try it. I promise they will be happy to help you."
And the warmth flooded through, leaving her speechless.
Maybe…just once…maybe…she'll try.
"It does hurt," she admitted, the children coming closer, "Yoshida-san, if you don't mind could you get the painkillers from my pockets?"
"Of course!" The girl's smile was contagious.
"Finally!" Genta exclaimed, "Haibara, it's okay to act cool sometimes, but sometimes you have to let it out, okay? No more hiding in basements! No more keeping secrets! You are part of the detective boys! And the detective boys stick together!"
It was new to her. They were pleased when she requested assistance. Showing no signs of aggression, no long, drawn-out silences, no beatings or screaming, and no signs of the organization's lingering darkness.
"Here you go, Ai-chan," Ayumi said, passing the pills to her. She receives a flask of warm water from Mitsuhiko. Genta supported her as she drank. They were settled in the yellow beetle a while later. With the old man, the children talked excitedly about the restaurant they would be eating at.
"Acting cool, huh?" she muttered.
"Genta has a way with words, doesn't he?" Shinichi chuckled.
"Like a shounen manga protagonist."
Drawing close, he covered her hands with his.
"Feeling better, Haibara?"
Shiho smiled, the warmth of the children, the professor, and Shinichi being too much to bear.
"Maybe..." she whispered, breaking into a genuine smile, "Probably."
Shinichi yanked her closer, and she winced as he embraced her. The sudden movement jostled her ribs, and she cried out softly. The children and the professor catching them in a compromising position.
"Ah!" they screamed.
"Conan-kun!"
"Oh bloody hell," Shinichi uttered as Shiho chuckled.
Haruka-san was right.
She had people who cared for her, and maybe, just maybe, she could—
~Arc 2 ~
~Part 2 end~
11, 000 words. I'm dead, gone. I hope this explains everything :D. And now that Arc 2 is done, we can proceed forward. I hope you've enjoyed this chapter, and I wish you a great week ahead.
Thank you for the reviews, and feedback. I would improve upon as I continue :).