Act 3 Scene 7 試験 [Shiken] 'Tests'

After sleeping fitfully and awaking in what he presumed was the next day, based on the kiddy cartoons becoming infomercials and kiddy cartoons again, a new doctor came in. He let Conan use a bedpan, which bitterly reminded him of when he'd been hospitalized after being shot in the stomach. Then he examined Conan's throat and listened to him breathe a few times. He also had a kind voice.

"Young man, you are healing up right on schedule. Now you need to eat some food, and we can begin some tests." He whistled. A tray of food was brought in, all of it hot and steaming. It was all soft food, things easy on the stomach and good for sore throats.

As hungry as Conan was, he turned his head away. He was still strapped down, even though they'd put him in a sitting position, so he couldn't feed himself anyways. He wondered what the man meant by 'tests'.

"Open wide, young man," he said, opening his own mouth wide, as though Conan couldn't figure out what he was saying.

Conan laughed at him, but kept his mouth shut.

The doctor tutted. "What purpose does getting weak and sick serve? How are you going to meet Rum again if you get too sick to see her?"

He had a point. Conan still hated this. It was beyond the humiliation of being treated like a child, he was being treated like a baby. He opened his mouth, and let the doctor feed him soft, steamy noodles. He'd escape and see Ran again.

After the meal, the doctor replaced the empty tray with a laptop. It had "Jouyou Kanji Proficiency Exam" on its screen. A little panel with four buttons was placed at Conan's bound hand. So, 'test' meant 'scholastic test'. What on earth were they up to?

"Why are you making me take a Kanji test?"

The doctor smiled proudly. "We help the families of our members as much as possible. You'll be getting free schooling from now on." He pointed at the buttons in Conan's hand. "Whenever you're ready, click a button and answer the question on the screen, A, B, C, or D. Go ahead." He pulled his chair around so he could watch the test go by, as well as watch Conan. Then he pulled out a notepad and a high-end pen, and jotted something down.

What were the grade 1 Kanji? Conan couldn't remember. Better play it safe, and get most of them wrong. The screen flashed red when the answer was incorrect, and he kept it flickering for a few minutes before the frowning doctor snatched the laptop away and brought it back to the beginning of the test.

"You aren't fooling me, Conan," he said sternly. "You were reading the Grade 5 Kanji in the test's title a moment ago without trouble."

Conan rolled his eyes at the doctor. A minute ago he was being treated like a baby. It was extremely tempting to start acting like one.

"We received a detailed report of your intelligence from Bourbon. We already know that you're an advanced student, far beyond your peers. We just don't know how advanced. Now start again."

A few hours later, Conan was forced to admit that he knew all of the Jouyou Kanji.

"What I don't understand," the doctor murmured, putting the laptop away, "is why you want to hide your intelligence. Most people with a bit of intelligence go out of their way to show it off. To know so many kanji at such a young age, you must have an eidetic memory."

Conan frowned, thinking of his rise and sudden fall as Shinichi Kudou, Savior of the Police Force. "Having people's attention isn't always a good thing. You might get kidnapped by evil people who want to turn you into their next mad scientist."

The man laughed. "Am I a mad scientist?" he asked with his kindest, cuddliest, child-psychiatrist voice.

"Yes," Conan snapped. "You're experimenting on me and holding me against my will."

The man sighed, and left the room, his laptop tucked under his arm. "It's lunchtime. I'll be back soon with your lunch, young man."

After he'd left, Conan grinned to himself. He'd left Conan alone in the room, and his fancy pen was left behind on the covers. The bindings allowed him to move a little, so he wouldn't be uncomfortable, and the one across his chest had been detached so he could sit up and eat. The ones on his wrists, hips, and ankles had been left attached. The pen rested a few inches to the side of his knees. He leaned over, stretching as far as he could go. Triumphant, he sat up with the pen gripped between his teeth. He dropped it by his dominant hand, and started to work on dismantling the binding on his wrist.

This 'detailed report' that the man had spoken of was cause for concern. How much did Bourbon know? If he connected the right dots, Haibara would be in trouble, and his own future would become very painful. This report had to be the reason that they'd been targeted all of a sudden, he realized. Bourbon must have suggested to the boss that they recruit both Ran and him, not just grab Conan to be their hostage. He should have known; he should have planned… but it was too late. Time to focus on what he could do now.

His thoughts were interrupted by the distant but unmistakable sound of a blood-curdling scream coming from somewhere deep inside the building. He almost dropped the pen, as it slickened with sweat from his efforts. The binding was made of padded leather and buckled like a belt. He'd wiggled free the tail of the belt and now was working on the pin.

The sound of people running towards the door made him freeze. Go past, go past, go past… The sounds became faint again. He breathed a sigh of relief. A few minutes more of wriggling the pen and her right hand was free. His heart hammering in his chest, he unbuckled the rest of the bindings and pulled out his IV. Then he slipped to the door, and listened. Nothing. He tried the door handle. To his surprise, it wasn't locked. He opened the door a crack, and someone out of his sight announced, "Time!"

The door opened, showing the smiling child-psychiatrist holding a stopwatch, the female doctor and his young guard on either side.

"You're very resourceful. Not our best time, but then again, you are a child without training, after all." He ushered a shaking Conan back to his bed, hand on his shoulder.

Conan grit his teeth as the doctor picked up the pen and pocketed it. "Why?" he snarled at his captors. The young guard picked him up and strapped him to the bed, leaving the strap for his chest undone, then helping Conan sit up. "Why are you testing me?"

"I thought I already explained that to you," the male doctor said. "Now, as a reward for doing so well, you get apple slices with your lunch."

Another tray full of warm comfort food that was good for sick children was placed before him, and his guard busied himself with cutting up an apple.

"I heard someone screaming," Conan said.

The doctor laughed nervously. "It's haircut day. One of our members has a phobia of getting his hair cut, if you can believe it."

"So you guys are tortur-" Conan started, but was silenced by a mouthful of rice.

Once the meal was done, the laptop was set up where the tray had been. Before they could start, two men, dressed in black suits, burst into the room.

"No," the doctor snapped. "I told you the schedule already. You can't have him yet!"

"The boss-man gave us special permission," one of them said, drawling out his words. He was a plain-looking man in every respect, with a clean, boring haircut and no visible scars. Other than his black clothes, his sharp, black eyes were the only indication of the man's rank. "Now leave the room," he said, his voice lowering, the threat of violence behind every word.

The doctor didn't need to be told twice. He collected up his laptop and tray and scurried out.

This was more like what Conan had imagined his capture would be like. The men pushed him down and buckled the binding that held his chest down. He clenched his jaw. He wasn't going to talk to them, or interact with them at all.

After a few hours of the silent treatment, the quiet one left. He returned brandishing a syringe, and emptied its contents into Conan's IV. "This is a truth serum that the scientists here developed. It hasn't failed us yet," the plain one sneered.

The room was darkening, it seemed to Conan. Hi vision became hazy, and a strange, floaty feeling washed over him. The men seemed very distant. Somewhere in the gloom, he heard a voice say, "Where is Shinichi Kudou?"

His memory slipped back to the terrible moments when his life as Shinichi had effectively ended. "Your detective game is over," Conan said quietly. "B-bro. This little shit was trailing us. Should we shoot him. No. No guns. The police are all over the place, thanks to that commotion earlier. We'll use this. The new poison the organization developed. It doesn't leave any forensic evidence. It hasn't been tested on humans yet, so this'll be our little guinea pig. Bro, hurry up. Right. So long, detective."

He was reliving that moment. The sharp pain in his head, choking on the water Gin had used to force feed the poison to him. "Your detective game is over. B-bro. This little shit was trailing us. Should we shoot him. No. No guns. The police are all over the place, thanks to that commotion earlier. We'll use this. The new poison the organization developed. It doesn't leave any forensic evidence. It hasn't been tested on humans yet, so this'll be our little guinea pig. Bro, hurry up. Right. So long, detective." Then the pain of that first transformation.

Again. "Your detective game is over. B-bro. This little shit was trailing us. Should we shoot him. No. No guns. The police are all over the place, thanks to that commotion earlier. We'll use this. The new poison the organization developed. It doesn't leave any forensic evidence. It hasn't been tested on humans yet, so this'll be our little guinea pig. Bro, hurry up. Right. So long, detective." He couldn't make it stop. His hands clutched at invisible grass as he writhed in agony.

Then it started all over again. He couldn't see or hear the confusion of his questioners, or the doctor reentering the room yelling about child-dosages and the fact that Conan was still recovering from a concussion. His wide-open eyes couldn't see anything but the damp, cold earth under his burning cheek, and his ears could only hear Gin's barb-wire voice, saying with a short chuckle and his thin lips stretched into a sneer, "So long, detective."

The pain of the transformation, then finally, oblivion.

Author's Note

I mentioned the Jouyou Kanji in this chapter, and I've mentioned it before, so I think it's about time I explain exactly what it is.

At the turn of the 19th century, as Japan was forced at gunpoint to join the western world, the desire to be a competitive power grew. To do this, they needed an educated populous. But, they had a problem. The Kanji in use were not standardized. So, after much debate about how to get their population literate, considering only using Katakana and Hiragana, or even adopting the Latin alphabet, as it could produce every word in the Japanese language with only 19 symbols. But, the Chinese-loan words produced too many words that sounded the same. The only way to tell them apart was to use the Chinese characters. So, they made a list of the most useful and important Kanji, and required that all children be taught how to read and write using them.

It went though several revisions, the latest of which being in 2010. The list is 2,136 Kanji long. 1,006 of them are taught in primary school, and 1,130 of them are taught in secondary school. Beyond that, they are divided up into grades, to make teaching them easier. Students are taught the Grade 1 Kanji first, then the Grade 2, and so on. Conan, being in elementary school, wouldn't have been taught Grade 5 Kanji yet. When he tries to fake poor knowledge of the Jouyou Kanji, he was thwarted because he had read the title of the exam, which was written in Kanji without any Furigana, (Hiragana over the top of the main text showing how to pronounce the characters.)

また来週！ (See you next week!)
dreamingfifi