Conan walked into the detective agency, announced his arrival, and dropped his backpack in his room. It had been a week since he had called his father and requested the information. Now all he had to do was wait. It was hard to patiently sit around while his father did the work for him.

"I'm going to go skateboarding, Oji-san," he said, and took his adventure-battered skateboard outside.

It was still September 1994, and even though it was horribly wrong for it to still be 1994, it was alright for now.

Beika Park had a couple of resident fun-goers sitting on the benches or having picnics or just playing around. Conan skated down the sidewalk, steering away from bicyclists and enthusiastic dogs.

No one else seemed to notice that anything was wrong. They were all too busy taking their time for granted. Conan definitely would have been doing the same if he hadn't known any better. He had just been solving mysteries and believing that things would eventually change, even though they never did at all. He hadn't moved up to even the second grade.

That was funny, too. After the break in the spring, everyone went back to the same grade. At New Year's, no one ever congratulated anyone on a new 1995. No one could actually tell. Why, though? Vermouth had said something about perception. The Organization made it so that people couldn't tell the difference. Experiences that were repeated over and over again still seemed fresh to them even after years of exactly the same kind of life. Children (like Conan himself) did not get taller or more mature or even lose any teeth. People had been doing their jobs endlessly without notice of how long it had actually been.

The only real movements were taking place in Conan's own sphere of influence: the growing popularity of Sleeping Kogoro, his resistance against the organization and the aid of the FBI, and hundreds of murders. Perhaps something near to him was the catalyst for action. Maybe it was himself.

Probably not, though. That was too far into the supernatural. Besides, other people had been advancing their lives outside of his presence. Even when he was Shinichi, things had been the same for a while: his parents away in Los Angeles, his gradual success as an asset to the police, his hanging out with Ran every day as best friends. After his inspection of the photo albums, he began to suspect that things had been stationary even at that point in time. When had time's flow actually stopped?

It was frustrating. There was no logical explanation as to why any of this could have ever occurred in the first place, but the evidence was ever present. You can't arrest a criminal on pieces of evidence if you have no way to piece them together sensibly. Haibara didn't care about that, though, and instead ruled by law of science that Conan was going gradually insane. When people have mental problems, they often don't notice it themselves. He wondered if this was the case, and that he was having delusions of the most logical kind, like in his dreams.

Conan reached the end of the park and turned around to skate back the other way, but found himself approached by the Detective Boys.

"Hi, Conan," said Ayumi. "Want to play soccer?"

"Sure," said Conan. It would be easier to think while he played.

After the soccer game, which cleared Conan's head somewhat, he was on his way home when he noticed a vibration in his pocket. It was Shinichi's flip phone. He opened it, preparing himself for a conversation with Ran, when he noticed it was his dad. That was fast.

Conan flipped the phone open.

"Hello, son," said Yuusaku.

"Hi, Otou-san."

"You've finally got yourself a proper lead," said Yuusaku.

"What did you find out?"

"I can't tell you over the phone, firstly. I'm flying out to Japan tonight. I'll see you tomorrow at our house."

"What do you mean by 'firstly'?"

"I have a couple less confidential things to tell you. Your mother is staying in Los Angeles this time, she has a party to go to that she wouldn't miss for the world. She's still pretty upset, too."

"It figures."

"I've got to go now, son. Be careful." The receiver started beeping. Conan ended the call and turned the volume down to absolutely silent, because he had arrived at the Mouri residence. He walked up the stairs, the sound of Kogoro's TV getting easier to hear with every step. He opened the door and it was very, very loud.

"I'm home," said Conan. He had to shout over the TV, which was turned up to the maximum because of horse racing.

"Good," said Ran. She also had to shout. "Dinner's going to be ready in about twenty minutes."

Conan sought out a shelter from the noise and went into his and Kogoro's room. It was still obnoxious, but at least it was muted by the walls.
He set out to do his homework. His brain told him it was the first time he ever looked at the math packet, but he was smart enough now to know that he had done every one of these simple problems nearly twenty times before. This was not an advantage because he couldn't remember what the answers were, and still had to do everything the hard way, even if the hard way was still extremely easy. Conan worked out the problems as quickly as he could but couldn't finish before being called out for dinner.

"I'm going to go see my uncle Yuusaku tomorrow," said Conan at the table. "He said he's visiting from all the way in America."

"All right," said Ran. "Is Yukiko-san coming too?"

"No, Yuusaku-ojisan told me she's busy."

Conan hoped Ran wasn't reminded of the last encounter she had with him and Yukiko, which was many years ago, but likely still fresh in her mind.