Chapter 45
Planned Coincidences
There was a splutter. The deep rumble of something wrong and the familiar explosion of a dying engine. When the professor saw the state of his yellow beetle, he cried in despair. A plume of smoke billowed from the engine as he scurried about. Opening the hood, the professor was greeted with another rush of rancid smoke that sent him into a coughing fit.
"Why!? I just fixed it!"
The professor laments. With hands waving in the air frantically, he cried to a nameless entity that appeared to have it for him and his car. Shinichi stood with arms folded and feet tapping furiously. Obviously, this was not the first time, but seriously—
"On this day, of all days, Hakase," Shinichi groans.
Over the months, he had pleaded with the professor to replace the radiator. The engine had presented a variety of problems, but the old man was stubborn and wanted to maintain the authenticity of his car's parts.
"He calls it his beloved wife," Shiho mused months ago as they were left stranded halfway down a snowy mountain pass on the way back from a graveyard visit. And they, along with the children, were forced to hike through the roads amid a torrential blizzard. They would have been doomed if it hadn't been for the still active public buses.
"And now it will be his dead wife," Shiho observes the engine mess as she emerges from the vehicle. "Hakase, didn't I give you the number for the mechanic a few weeks ago?"
"He was missing original parts!" the professor snapped, then exclaimed when the engine released a puff of tar-black smog.
"Hakase!" Shinichi pulled the old man back. They fell onto the rough asphalt road. A burst of angry horning echoed around, and Shinichi picked himself up from the highway. As Shiho scanned the cars that were stuck behind the professor's broken-down vehicle, she regarded the situation with the same bored expression she wore every day.
"Well, on the bright side," she takes out her phone in a languid manner, "At least we're not on fire."
As if hearing her statement, the engine erupted in flames. Almost hysterical, the professor whacks his coat over the crumbling hood.
"Do you have to jinx it," Shinichi groaned, and Shiho shrugged with serene resignation.
"It was bound to happen," she retorted before walking calmly to the professor.
With snide remarks speckled in between, the auburn-haired scientist assisted the old man. The girl, having experienced multiple spontaneous explosions on numerous occasions, was handling the situation with the practiced calm of a professional firefighter.
As Shinichi gazed at the cloud-free sky above, speckled and marred by smoky gray streaks—he sighed.
How did it come to this? He could only speculate.
Whatever the circumstances, though, they were to meet an Osaka detective.
And some questions needed to be answered.
"What do you mean by—you have shrunk and have been posing as the Sleeping Kogoro?!" was Eri's irate question after the incident Shiho coined the "crazy snake man" case. It had been two days since, and Shinichi couldn't help but feel like he was being interrogated by his ex-in-laws as he sat in Mouri Kogoro's office.
The glare he received from both of them would have rendered any seasoned criminal immobile. Attempting to suppress his apprehension, he nervously stroked the back of his head and smiled weakly. "After they knocked me out, they forced me to take a drug," Shinichi explained later. "When I woke..."
"He became Conan-kun, Okaa-san," Ran helped him.
"And you knew about this?" Eri snapped as his childhood friend flinched.
"Well…"
"She assisted in the operation to take them down," Shinichi elaborated, and they gasped. Man and woman gaping like goldfishes in a room too small to take such revelations.
"So everything, from my fame to my exceptional deducting skills, was lies?" Kogoro exclaimed.
He is slapped on the back of the head by Eri.
"Your daughter was a participant in an extremely hazardous event, and that is what bothers you!?"
"Hey! That is important too!" the man protested. "I am supposed to be the sleeping Kogoro! And you are telling me that I was famous because of this brat! What would they call me now?"
"A white elephant," Shiho interrupts. As she speaks, the occupants of the detective's office observe her with the kind of anticipation one gives to a rare animal. Eri and Kogoro Mouri could barely come to terms with the fact that the sharp-tongued elementary school girl who mocks them on occasion was part of the organization talked about in the news. However, rather than treating her with the uncanny unfriendliness that the Inspectors had when they first met, they were, instead, more curious than scared. The questions they asked her ranged from logical ones, such as how did she escape, to borderline stupidity. "So when you transform, what happens to your clothes?" Kogoro Mouri had asked, which earned him a slap from his wife and daughter.
Shiho hadn't expected it, but Shinichi was aware that despite the rough, staunch exteriors of the Mouri's—they, like their daughter, were one of the most understanding people he knew.
"It's like having a white elephant for a title," Shiho continues. The girl having enough of Kogoro's supercilious rants was putting her two cents in.
"Ai-chan…"
"Are you trying to say I'm redundant?"
"Mo, Otou-san!"
"Ara? Was I not clear enough?"
"Why…why, you little satan!" Kogoro jabs an accusing finger at Shiho. "I am a capable detective in my own right! I don't need help from this stinking brat!"
Shinichi had to summon all his willpower not to roll his eyes. Like Eri, he sank his face into his hands and shook his head at the silly behavior displayed. Apparently, the threat of the Black Organization paled in comparison to the man's dwindling status and pride. "Never change, O-chan. Never change."
"I'm sure you are," Shiho mocked.
"I have solved cases without sleeping before!"
"Oh, please," Eri interjects exasperatedly, "we all know that before your sleeping Kogoro gigs, you were mostly involved in stalking unfaithful spouses."
"Or finding missing cats," Ran adds.
Kogoro gawks at both of them. "I'll prove it to you all. Right now, in fact!"
"Be my guest," Shiho quipped, hammering the final nail in the coffin.
For a moment, Shinichi could not help but feel sympathy for the man. He may have been guilty of labeling the man an amoeba, but he still had some respect for him. After all, despite being mostly incompetent, Kogoro Mouri did have some periods of clarity and was quite capable when he wanted to be.
Shinichi was about to put a stop to this when Kogoro Mouri did the unexpected. With tears in his eyes, and a pout unbefitting of a middle-aged man, he makes his way for the exit in a rather dramatic fashion.
"I hate you all!" slamming the door behind him.
Unimpressed by his antics, Shiho snorted with folded arms while Eri, used to his childishness, drank tea from a cup Ran had prepared earlier.
Sighing heavily, the black-haired beauty shakes her head at them all.
"Mo…can't the two of you be nice?"
"Give it five minutes," Eri quipped calmly.
"Yes, but…" Ran sighed again.
"Satisfied?" Shinichi asked Shiho, who takes a seat beside him.
"We have time," was her only answer as she joined Eri in sipping their tea.
An expert in her ex-husband's behavior, Eri Kisaki's prediction came in the form of a sheepish-looking man carrying a bashful expression. Opening the doors slowly, he strolled in like a child who had just been disciplined. In between glances at Shinichi and Shiho, the man rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. "So," he started, "why do you need Eri's assistance with the black organization?"
It was a step in the right direction, and Shinichi smirked before glancing at Eri, who was clutching a file in her hands.
After the revelation of his true identity and the countless interrogation on the ride back from Hakone, Shinichi had confided in Eri Kisaki about a case. Now that they were back here, they were able to review it thoroughly.
The case was something Eri was about to reject since it was unfounded and based on speculation—feeling more like a disgruntled complaint than a genuine lawsuit.
When Shinichi was sifting through the files in Eri Kisaki's damage office a week ago, he spotted it. Although soaked in water, it bore the name of a family Shinichi was keenly interested in. They were famous in Japan, after all. Influential and, most importantly—
"Part of Sunset Manor's infamous murder case," he pointed to the file.
"The Takizakis?" Kogoro was puzzled.
"I believe the complaints were made by a logistics company," Eri explained, "If I am not mistaken, they were called Taizen Shipping Yards and Co."
"What prompted them?"
"They claimed that a van from one of the Takizaki firms had been trespassing," Eri continued, "And that they were dumping a sort of brown liquid into the ocean."
"Hence, the lawsuit accusing them of illegal dumping and environmental damage?" Shinichi asked, and the woman nodded.
"The case initially piqued my interest. After all, public consensus views the Takizakis as respectable members of society. Having control over a third of Japan's energy resources, they are not only the most powerful but also the most generous."
Eri motions to the photograph of the family lodge in the file.
"Providing aid to the poor, establishing orphanages, building homes for the homeless, hosting charity events, you name it, they've done it all. Satoru Takizaki, the head of their family, was even awarded the Medal of Honor for his service."
Upon hearing this, Shiho scoffed. The girl was skeptical of everything when it came to wealthy business conglomerates and charity. She was not alone in the matter. Naturally cynical and holding an equally jaded worldview, Kogoro, too, was doubtful about what the Takizaki family had done.
"Yet, this charitable family, one of the most powerful in Japan, is being accused of illegal dumping," Kogoro added, "Figures...and I'm guessing you didn't want to pursue it because it's too troublesome."
Eri sips her tea, eyeing her husband like she'd just stepped on dog poop.
"Do I seem like the type of lawyer who would dismiss a case because it's too cumbersome?"
She would never have done such a thing. As tough as an iron fist, the woman was always willing to help others who needed it. Eri Kisaki was the definition of a lawyer who fought for justice.
"So why drop the case?" Kogoro snorted.
"Taizen Shipping Yards and Co. were unable to provide sufficient evidence and, when prodded further by the investigative parties, could not provide an accurate time and date for this incident. Digging further, we discovered that the logistics company is owned and operated by an unidentified individual."
Shinichi pondered over the information learned before he inspected the documents.
Located along the Kizu River in Osaka, Taizen Shipping Yards and Co. was a company that did not exist. The famous river is renowned for its many industrial and historic buildings from the city's past. It wasn't a glamorous place, mostly fitted with factories and shipyards—with rusted towers and tall spires spitting smog into the pristine air. Adjacent to the river was the Taisho Ward, and localities such as Airin-Chiku are found within its vicinity. The prefecture had tried for years to rebrand the precinct, but locals still refer to it as Nishinari or Kamagasaki—Osaka's slums.
Vintage-looking buildings from the 1950s lined the streets, with crumbling skyscrapers holding rusty roofs on derelict metal sheets. The architecture dramatically contrasts the tall skyscrapers or clean cobbled streets of modern-day Osaka. Known as the infamous town, it was a gathering place for undesirables that were usually engaged in Yakuza activities. Prostitution, for instance. While illegal, red-light districts dominated the area, owned by the various gangs, they masqueraded as restaurants, bringing in businesses that were mostly ignored by law enforcement.
Decaying slowly, Kamagasaki was soaked in crime, soiled with a grime that never seemed to wash away. A mostly forgotten spot, it was a precinct shunned mainly by the locals. It was also—
Shinichi smirks, looking at Shiho, who can only sigh in response. "A place worth checking out… isn't it?"
With that, arrangements were made. Contacting a tanned detective who resided in Osaka, preparation took a week. Shinichi managed to coerce, or in this case, blackmail a certain "bestest" friend to stake the place out.
"What do you mean by samples?" Heiji, initially disgruntled by his request—was intrigued by the mention of the Takizaki Family.
"Illegal dumping, Hattori," Shinichi elaborated over the phone, "And a connection to the Black Organization."
With the information shared, Heiji took on the task with enthusiasm. Happy that he could finally be of assistance, the Osaka detective recruited the help of the police from his precinct. And together, they headed to the shipyard near Taizen Shipping Yard and Co. It was a vague operation, and Shinichi was uncertain whether members of the Takizaki company would show up.
Shiho had called it fruitless.
As she put it, "The Takizakis could not be stupid enough to make the same mistake twice...right?"
It turned out they had severely overestimated the company. Whether stupidity or an issue of pride, they had shown up. Having tons of money, they probably thought they could bribe their way out of this situation. To them, getting caught was not a situation worth causing a major fuss over.
Heiji describes how they arrived in a large black van at night. Observing the blue vats being unloaded from the van, the inspectors noted their sinister actions. Minutes later, the concoction from the barrels were poured into the ocean. Liters upon liters worth of brown foul-smelling liquid.
Once that was done, they packed up and drove off in the van. In an instant, the police and Heiji emerged from hiding places and collected samples of the liquid dumped in the ocean.
With the operation successful, Shinichi had waited impatiently for the test results of the samples.
However, nothing ever came easily.
"Kudou," Heiji informs, "you will need to travel to Osaka; they will not release the results easily, especially without a permit."
As the investigation took place in the Kanto Region, the Tokyo Metropolitan had no reason to request results or files without a valid permit. While Heiji could pull some strings, stealing the samples would be too much of a stretch. After much back and forth, a conclusion was reached, and Shinichi was again forced to compromise.
So here they were, on their way to Osaka to meet with a tanned detective when the incident happened.
A messy situation. The professor is still whining about the money lost and his precious "wife." Shiho sat by the roadside, chin resting lazily on her knees. The girl wanted nothing to do with the symphony of honking vehicles stuck behind them. The affair sent many furious drivers their way, and Shinichi had no choice but to play the crying child, buying empathy for the professor who had to explain the yellow beetle's circumstances to them.
One of these days—Shinichi was going to drive it to the junkyard himself. Kid-sized or not.
After thirty minutes of drama and immense frustration, Shiho managed to secure a tow truck with the help of a kind passerby.
The professor's frantic visage prompted the mechanic to laugh when he arrived. "Don't worry, old man; we'll get your car back on its feet."
And the old man sighed in relief, about to climb into the truck when the mechanic motioned to the shrunken teenagers.
"What about the children?" the man asked after he had hooked the beetle to his tow truck. "I'm only able to take one passenger."
"Oh," the professor realized, looking at them with concern.
"Hakase, we're old enough," Shiho assured him. "Get your car fixed. We'll take the train."
"Are you sure? What if you guys get los—"
Shinichi shoved the old man into the truck while he let out a small eep.
"Just fix it, Hakase," he chided, and the professor hesitated before nodding.
As the tow truck drove off into the distance, Shiho picked at his slightly singed hair and rubbed his smoke-stained cheeks with a handkerchief.
"Shall we make a move?" Her gaze was tinged with mischief. Covered with soot, her shirt and jacket were frayed as well, "Before the highway collapses?"
"And how would it collapse?" Shinichi pursed his lips.
"It could be bombed," she shrugged, "Or maybe crushed by a flying sunfish? Even I can't tell what a wandering corpse magnet will bring in next."
He frowns, eyeing her with a raised brow.
"What?"
"Be glad," he grabs her, leading her forward. "That there aren't any incidents—"
"Yet?"
"Yes," he scowled, as she chuckled, "Yet."
"You were saying," Shiho clings to him, "Kudou?"
As panic erupts in the form of unbridled hysteria, a man spewing out blood is choking on the ground. Clutching to his chest, bloodshot eyes darted through the ceilings of the train cabin in horror.
How did it come to this? For the second time that day, Shinichi contemplates the question.
It all began with a train ride toward Tanimachi Yonchome. A station located just a few minutes walk from Osaka Police Headquarters. They had scheduled to meet Heiji in the nearby park in the evening. Therefore with four hours to spare, Shinichi, against Shiho's advice, decided to take the long route there.
Amidst the mess of commuters, packed together like sardines in a can, Shiho and Shinichi were squashed against each other. The train's instability did not help in the awkward position they found themselves in. It caused many clumsy bumps and, in Shinichi's case, the unexpected but welcomed excuse of staying close to the auburn-haired scientist. Now that she was pinned against the train doors, he was doing all he could to protect her from the commuters who were swaying and crashing into each other.
They were close, almost too close. Nose tips touching, crystal green eyes regarded him with a narrowed gaze as he neared her for the thirteenth time. Once more, the train bounced, and his elbow accidentally brushed against her chest.
"Enjoying this, aren't you," she whispered into his ears.
"What? No!" he snapped at her accusations. "I'm just trying to shield you from this—"
Before he could finish, he winced. A rather chubby man was taking up space behind them. And Shinichi was struck square in the back of his head by the bag the man insisted on carrying on his back. There would be a bruise forming later, and he could only grumble at the inconsiderateness of the passenger.
Shiho studied him carefully when he was hit again. Glaring at the man, Shinichi was about to spit out a few choice curses when the auburn-haired scientist covered the back of his head with her hands. Pleasantly surprised, he regards her.
"What?" she was averting her eyes on purpose, and he resisted the urge to break into a goofy grin.
"Shielding me now?" he jests. Still not looking at him, Shinichi spots the flush in her ears.
"An eye for an eye," she scoffs, and he leaned in, wanting to tease her further when—
There was a violent jump between the tracks. Several commuters lost their balance as the cabin shook uncontrollably. Shinichi was no different. Stumbling forward, his hands, which had been on the door, were now on her chest. Completely mortified, he struggled to maintain his cool, keeping a firm grip on the perpetual panic threatening to rise. He remained still until she coughed.
"Do you mind?" she said.
Taking his hands away quickly, he scratched his chin shyly.
"That was an accident. I'm sorry."
"I know," she quipped. "I'm not blaming you."
Her reply was considerably tame, and he sighed in relief.
"Look at the bright side," he continued later, trying to ease the slight tension that had emerged, "you're still a kid. Nothing is lost."
It was, perhaps, the wrong answer. A scowl graced her lips, and he yelled as she pinched him hard. His cheeks swelling like a chipmunk, he faced her with irritation, ignoring the stares he was receiving from the surrounding passenger.
"What was that for?!"
"Pedophile," she remarked.
"Pea… pedophile, I am not a pedophile!"
"Ara, Mr. Nothing is lost," She retorted, "You pervert."
"I wasn't implying anything!"
For a second, she looked like she was going to push him away. Instead, she grabs hold of the lapels of his jacket and pulled him towards her. With her arms circled around his waist, and her face half-buried in his chest, Shinichi was caught off guard. The scent of her hair. The heat of her petite body, pressed into his, awakened a craving so intense—he wanted to kiss her there and then. The moment, however, was lost when he spotted the tense, fearful expression in her eyes.
"Shiho?"
It was then that he sensed it. A piercing gaze that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand.
Someone was watching them.
But who?
"Shinichi," Shiho whispered, and he nodded. Turning around, he struggled to observe the crowd around them. Once again, he felt it.
However, rather than being dangerous or carrying the intention to harm—it seemed more curious, inquisitive even. Like…they were feeling them out or something.
"What do we do?"
"We'll alight at the next stop. If they follow us, we'll know who they are," he conceives a plan on the fly. Shiho, coming closer, agreed with him.
Immediately after, the train jerked forward, and a feral scream was heard. With a protective gesture, Shinichi wraps an arm around Shiho as he turns his attention to the source. A stampede broke out. As passengers and commuters rushed past him, they were crushed against the door. In no time, a clearing was made in the middle of the compartment.
Holding a kitchen knife and standing in the middle of the cleared area was a woman foaming from her lips. She appears haggard, deranged, and pale. The ponytail she tied in a bun was coming undone. Dressed in a flower-patterned skirt with bloodshot eyes, the woman waved the knife at the passengers again.
"Watch out!" Shinichi shouted as a businessman was shoved out of the crowd and landed in front of her. It was too late. The woman screamed and stabbed the man in the chest. The victim cried out before pushing her away. Backing away in horror, he gasped when the woman attacked him again. His face— lacerated by the knife.
Several gasps of terror followed multiple screams as Shinichi struggled against the crowd. If he could just reach her, he could use his tranquilizer dart. However, it was in vain. His way forward was blocked by the hysterical passengers. And Shinichi could only watch helplessly as she raised the knife again.
As the woman was about to plunge it down again. A figure shot past the crowd and apprehended the deranged suspect. Dressed in a sweater, hooded cap, and skirt—the unexpected savior, Shinichi could only assume was a young woman, had slammed the knife-wielding attacker into the train doors. The figure successfully knocked the knife out of the suspect's hands with a single blow. While the suspect screamed expletives, Shinichi finally broke through the mess and assessed the situation immediately.
Blood was streaming from a stab wound in his chest, and the man was shaking violently. Shinichi's first course of action was to inspect the injury. Putting his hand against the wound, he sighed in relief. Shinichi was unable to assess the severity of the wound, but it did not appear to have punctured any vital organs. As he was about to shift the man into a sitting position, he noticed the man's disfigured face. During the attack, the weapon made a diagonal cut across the victim's nose and mouth. It looked like a nightmare. With his nose and oral cavity completely destroyed, Shinichi realized that something was not quite right.
The man was taking deep gulps, and it seemed like he was struggling. A rough hacking sound came from his throat. His airways were blocked—by the traumatic injury he received to his face.
"You were saying," Shiho grabs onto him as she snaps her phone shut. "Kudou?"
"A shallow stab wound on the left side of his chest," Shinichi relayed to her, "And—"
He motioned to the man's injured nose and mouth that was leaking blood.
"We have to take care of the chest wound," Shinichi continued, "But..."
His experience in treating facial injuries that blocked the airways was limited. Honestly, Shinichi didn't know what to do. Shiho, however, stood solemnly. Taking note of the man's rough rasping, and distorted facial features, she squats beside him before tying her stray hairs into a ponytail.
"The ambulance and police have been called," she informed him before pressing down on the man's chest. "We must treat this first," she emphasized, "before it develops into a pneumothorax."
"Yes, but if he can't breathe..." Shinichi froze when Shiho pointed to the man's throat.
"I'll need something sharp for it and possibly a pen."
A pen. Something sharp.
Of course! Why hadn't he thought of it?
Again, he marveled at the girl's medical expertise.
"A first aid kit!" he shouted at the stunned-locked passengers. "Is there a first aid kit in this train?"
Greeted by silence, Shinichi cursed. Pulling out his detective badge, he accessed the newly added function. An emergency alarm that the professor had built explicitly for Ayumi.
"In case she's kidnapped," the old man commented casually. Like it was something that happened on a daily basis. Upon pressing the button, Shinichi winced in pain. The shrill alarm was loud enough to rouse the passengers out of their catatonic state. "Where is the emergency first-aid kit located!" he asked again.
A woman wearing a business suit was the first to react. She pointed to the side, where a metal box was filled with supplies he needed. A group of teenagers near the medical box broke the glass for Shinichi. After thanking them, he hurried toward Shiho, who immediately opened the kit.
Around the man, blood was pooling. Staining their shoes and Shiho's skirt while she kneels next to him. Still screaming and shouting, the suspect was held down by their mysterious rescuer. Though Shinichi couldn't discern the figure's features, he would have to thank her later. Right now, however, there were more pressing matters to attend to.
Opening the kit, Shiho prepared a scalpel, syringe, narrow plastic tube, and antiseptic wipes. Meanwhile, Shinichi cut open the man's blouse with surgical scissors. By removing the shirt, Shinichi was able to examine the wound better. A tad swollen and shallow in depth. It was still pumping red, spilling and trickling down the man's chest. Wearing the gloves provided, he gently probed the area. Taking hold of the vaseline gauze included in the kit, he proceeded to remove the tape that held the adhesive bandage in place. Sticky in structure and looking very much like a rectangular plastic bag, Shinichi slapped the gauze over the man's injury. Immediately, he pressed it down tightly, ensuring that it completely covered the open wound. Once he had completed the task, he cast a glance at Shiho, who was closely monitoring the man's ragged exhalations.
"What are you doing, boy?" asked the businesswoman who led him to the first-aid kit. She studies them carefully and though bewildered by their actions, made it a point to assist them.
"Do you have any pens?" Shinichi asked, and she nodded, reaching into her coat pockets. The businesswoman took out two. Shinichi inspects the pens before selecting the one that is the closest in size to a tracheostomy tube.
It was something he had seen on television on occasion. To perform an emergency operation, the detectives in police dramas often plunge the pens into the victim's throat. While it may seem simple in theory, Shinichi knew that such a procedure would require a fair bit of surgical experience.
"Shinichi, his temperature is dropping," Shiho informed him. "We need to act quickly." Once again, her voice was mechanical. Her green eyes—were firmly fixed on the task. Though she exudes a level of calm unbefitting of a ten-year-old, Shinichi could see the rigidness in her shoulders and the faint grimace on her lips. She was covered in blood, and her sweater and skirt were stained. The scene provokes a terrifying memory of Shiho being shot by bullets—bleeding profusely from an operation that might have gone very wrong.
Shaking the thought aside, he unscrewed the pen he had chosen, emptied its contents, and handed it to her.
It was not the time. She was right. He had to focus.
Taking the pen from him, she produced an antiseptic from the kit. While she applied the wipe to the man's throat, he watched.
Releasing the cover of the multi-purpose knife, she exposed the silver edge that gleamed in the soft light of the train's cabin. Pressing down on the man's throat, she located the incision spot.
"Found it," she whispered, and Shinichi winced as she made a vertical cut down the man's throat. It was a messy operation, with blood gushing immediately from the wound. A portion of his cricothyroid membrane was exposed. Plunging a finger in, Shiho massages her way through the incision before gently inserting the hollow body of the pen. With the tube in, she leans forward and places her lips on the pen. Using it as a straw, she sucks the excess blood out of the man's windpipe.
Doing it a few times, Shiho spat out some blood she had accidentally taken in. There was a collective silence for a few minutes before the man gasped. Blood escapes from the hollow tube in a continuous stream. And then—he could breathe.
"It's done," Shiho mutters.
"What…what did you do?" the business-suited woman glanced at the both of them with bugged-eyed awe.
"A cricothyrotomy," Shinichi replied.
"A cricotho-what?" asked one of the other passengers.
"Maxillofacial trauma," Shiho replied icily, her tone distant and emotionless. "The wound caused by the knife had damaged his nasal cavity and sinuses. If nothing is done, he will suffocate."
"So...so...he's ok now?" the business-suited woman asked tentatively.
"No," Shinichi continued, "If help doesn't arrive in time, he might die."
There were gasps all around, and Shinichi winced as one of the passengers snapped a photo of them. That was bad. Cursing, he'll get the police to confiscate all their phones later, but for now—he was more concerned about the girl seated next to him.
"Shiho," he whispered. "Are you ok?"
When she turned away from him, Shinichi realized that she wasn't. Shiho was still wiping away the blood, and he could tell she was trying hard not to gag. Her eyes carried the same haunted look he had seen when she was recalling something terrible. The procedure must have brought back some unpleasant memories from her time at the organization.
"I'm fine, Shinichi," she answered softly. The metallic stench of blood is overpowering and somewhat unnerving. "We have to focus on this task."
In agreement, he scooted closer to her and grasped her hands that were tightly wound around the pen's body, held steadily in the man's neck.
Shinichi would have to speak to her later, but—
Another flash interrupted Shinichi's thoughts, and he winced. Observing the passengers, he noticed one of the teenagers taking pictures of them with great enthusiasm. And at the moment, Shinichi felt like a circus animal with no choice in the matter.
"Hey!" he shouted at the boy, who was not listening. Preparing to confront the teenager, he stopped when another scream erupted. The passengers, alarmed, turned to the source.
The knife-wielding suspect was lying on the ground. Finally, subdued by the hooded savior—the figure slowly released the unconscious assailant. Following that, she made her way to the teen boy who was still taking pictures. As she snatched his phone, the crowd backed away in fear.
"That's not very respectful," the hooded figure remarks. "I would like to ask you all to refrain from doing that," she spoke in a sing-songey tone that was both bright and intimidating at the same time.
She has a deep, boyish voice that was familiar.
And when she pulled her hood over to expose her features, his eyes widened in recognition.
"Sera-san!"
"Took you long enough," she faced them with sparkling eyes. "Kudou Shinichi-kun."
The situation was chaotic, to say the least. Shiho still couldn't comprehend the fact that she had been in at least two emergency situations in a single day. The first required her to be a firefighter, and the second needed a surgeon operating under duress. Leaning against the ambulance walls, she was aware of the paramedics, who were busy keeping the patient's vitals in check, staring at Shinichi and her with a mixture of reverence and respect.
"I instructed them," was Sera's lame response when they asked about the impromptu surgery that was done perfectly. Shiho, who had never undertaken this task before, had only read about it in theory. Although she was certain she would fail, she operated anyway.
Three years ago, Shiho would have let the man die. After all, it was not her place to play the role of god. However, it would seem that after spending time with the children and the hero himself, Shiho had gotten soft and could no longer act on her life motto of indifference.
It was a risky and stupid move. Exposing oneself to the public like that and attracting attention would spell certain doom in her circumstances. Since Rum was still out there, Shiho could only speculate what might have happened if Sera had not forced everyone in their compartment to delete their pictures. The girl even managed to coerce the police, who had arrived on the scene, to confiscate and delete all images related to them. The police were, at first, confused by the situation, but when Shinichi mentioned Superintendent Kuroda Hyoue's title to them, they complied—and removed all pictorial evidence linking them to the case.
With that settled, Shiho closed her eyes, trying hard to forget the lingering stench of metal—and the seeping memories of crimson red. Shiho catches sight of the dried stains on her skirt. The viscous substance still covered her hands.
And suddenly, she was in a basement—the recollections rushed forward like a tsunami. A sharp ache between the juncture of her thighs. Golden eyes peered down from above, his insidious smirk widening as he crushed her. Twisted neck, blank green eyes, the stench of mold—and rotted flesh.
"Haibara," Shinichi called, breaking her reverie, and she gasped as azure eyes studied her with concern.
"Haibara," he repeated, using her pseudonym. Not Shiho, but Haibara. The shrunken detective had purposefully placed himself in front of her. Shielding her from the unrelenting stares of not only the paramedics but also—Sera Masumi.
"Do you need your meds?"
Meds?
As she struggled to answer, he reached into the small pouch she kept by her side. Cracking open the medicine box, he pulls it out. In the form of a white oval drug, the meds to alleviate a panic attack were given to her by Wakaba Haruka.
Shinichi tilts her head back and coaxed the pill into her lips. Swallowing it without water was difficult, and a stinging pain lingered in her throat when she finished.
He holds onto her as she slumps back in the seat. And the furious pounding in her chest, which felt like a speeding truck heading for inevitable catastrophe, eased. Despite being grateful for his help, she was ashamed of her inability to control it and could only lean against his shoulder to suppress her humiliation.
Sera Masumi was still staring at them. The girl bearing an unappealing smirk. This cocky, impish "I know what you don't" expression was unnerving, and Shiho felt like a fish stuck out of water.
The girl, or girl detective, as Shinichi had termed her, was someone the shrunken detective had been wanting to enlist. Shinichi even requested permission weeks earlier. In the end, his proposal was mysteriously rejected by Akai. And though Shiho was relieved by the decision, she could never quite figure out Shinichi's reasons for wanting the assistance of the rambunctious tomboy that had been relentless in pestering her about the drug.
Currently rocking in her seat, Sera was preparing to make her advance when Shinichi glared at her. "Not now, not here," he mouthed wordlessly, and Sera groaned. The girl folded her arms before resting against the walls of the ambulance as they silently made their way to the hospital.
Once they reached the foyer, the stabbed victim was escorted out. Following the man into the lobby, they were inundated with questions, diagnoses, and prognoses from all sides. At first, the doctors were shocked to learn that the operation was not only being conducted by a ten-year-old girl but that a boy was also providing them with information regarding the condition of the man's health. Perplexed, confused, and wholly bamboozled, the medical staff gossiped among themselves, glancing at them with wide-eyed wonderment as if they were some kind of divine beings. After which, they left to attend to the victim.
Now free from the responsibilities of taking care of a stabbed victim, Sera Masuma had free reign of the court. And she was willing to seize any chance she got. It was a sly, almost diabolical smirk that made Shiho hide behind Shinichi.
"What are you doing—"
She was stopped by Shinichi. With hands on his hips, he asked her bluntly. "Why were you following us?"
"What?" Sera spluttered, "I was not!"
Furiously shaking her head, she was appalled by the accusations. "I was merely traveling to town when I spotted you guys. I swear I wasn't—"
"But you clearly did after that."
Glancing at Shinichi with a scowl, she bit her lower lip to reveal a jutting fang-like tooth.
"And what of it?"
"Pedophile," Shiho gripes, and Sera gawks at them.
"Excuse me, but I think stalker is the correct word."
"That doesn't make it any better." Shinichi eyed her with disdain.
"What! No! Wait," Sera snapped, raising her hand. "I'm not getting distracted again."
She faced them with determined olive-green eyes that seemed way too familiar. Shiho frowned. Where had she seen them before?
"What are the two of you doing in Osaka?" Sera insisted.
"I'd say the same for you," Shinichi replied.
"I asked first," she snapped.
"And I asked second."
"That..." Sera stared at him, "Doesn't make any sense."
"So, what are you doing in Osaka?" Shinichi circles back.
"What makes you think you are entitled to my information?"
And the shrunken detective grins sweetly.
"I don't," he drawls, "But does it have something to do with the Takizaki family?"
At his mention, the girl hesitates.
"Or the little sister outside the domain?"
And a strange tension develops.
"And what about it?" Sera retreats, replying curtly.
"Oh, I was just wondering," Shinichi smirks, "So? Am I right?"
It was a dance of riddles. One that was precariously perched on the edge. Having had enough of this ridiculous charade, Shiho was about to ask Sera what her mission was when an exclamation of disbelief startled them.
When Shiho turned to the source, she expected to see a corpse rushing towards them, but instead was greeted by the sight of a tanned Osaka Detective wearing a giant grin.
"What are you doing here?"
Shinichi was annoyed, to put it mildly. Having been denied answers once again, he wanted to strangle the Osaka detective who had not only interrupted the procession but was also laughing mockingly at their singed appearances. "Wait, wait, wait," he chortled, slapping his thighs. Shiho looked like she might want to murder the detective as well. "So not only did the professor's car break down, you ran into a drug addict on the train and had to save a man...and…"
Heiji glanced at the nurses who were eyeing them and clasping their hands in reverence. "Your status has now been elevated to that of divine holy angels?"
"It's the Messiah, thank you very much," Shiho quipped, and Heiji burst into another fit of giggles. Having had enough, Shinichi stamped on his feet, and the Osaka detective yowled. Earning him a few stares from the existing patients and some hospital personnel.
"Why are you here, anyway? How did the sample results turn out?" Shinichi seethed.
A frown crossed the boy's face. "Relax, I'm here for Kazuha, and the sample results will take a while. I told you, didn't I?"
Shinichi sighed and paused when Sera stood between them with a Cheshire smirk.
"Samples? What samples are you referring to?"
"Ah!" Heiji jumps back, "It's you! What are you doing here, Female Detective!"
Sera grimaced at the title.
"It's Sera," she stressed, "Sera Masumi."
Before intruding with the same impish smirk, "So? What does all this have to do with samples?"
Sera was sharp. Shinichi had to give her that. With just a few vague words, the girl had picked up on the subtle clues left behind.
Sharing a look with Shinichi, Heiji could only rub his chin nervously as he backed away from the girl.
"If we're done with this ridiculous game of cat and mouse, could we move to the cafe?" Shiho suggested. As usual, her eyes narrowed into a reticent expression.
Shinichi noticed her pale parlor. The dried blood staining her skirt and jacket earned her a few looks.
"Are you ok?" he neared her, and she waved him away.
"I would like to eat," she insisted.
As they walked to the cafe, Sera wandered over to Shiho, bombarding the shrunken scientist with questions. It was obvious that Shiho was a ticking time bomb, and Heiji was quick to separate them.
"And you're in the cafeteria because Kazuha injured her friend during Kendo practice?" Shinichi asked later—in between sips of coffee and sandwiches.
"That girl is an idiot," the Osaka detective sighed, "Crying over such a trivial matter."
"It must be really trivial, then," Shiho drinks her coffee, regarding Heiji with a mischievous glint, "for you to rush here without a moment's notice."
"What—"
"You must've worked up quite a sweat with all those leaves in your hair, right?" Shinichi recalled what Heiji looked like when he first stepped into the hospital.
"I was not worried!"
"Ara never said you were."
"You—"
"Oh...that ponytail girl," Sera crushed her sandwich wrapper into a ball. "So that's the one you have a crush on."
"Crush?" Shinichi teased.
"I do not!"
With accusing fingers pointed toward Sera, Heiji stands up red-faced and leans close to her. "I do not have a crush on that—"
"AH!" a shout rang out before he could finish.
"Speak of the devil," Shiho remarked. And Heiji shrank back at the sight of a pony-tailed girl with a fiery temper.
"Heiji!" she motions to Sera, "Who is that girl!"
"It's not a girl. It's a crossdresser!" Heiji blurted out without much thought. It earned him not only a hit to the stomach but to the cheek.
"How dare you! I am a girl!" Sera declared with a pumped fist.
"Heiji, how could you," Kazuha complained.
"Why did you hit me!" Heiji demanded.
"Relax, quell your jealousy," Shiho said, and Kazuha finally noticed them. Obviously frustrated, the girl stood back for a moment, perplexed at the situation, before turning toward Sera.
"Wait a minute…" she muttered.
Minutes later, after a few drinks, Sera, who had been bombarding Shiho with questions before, found herself on the receiving end. Kazuha with queries of her own. About Sera. About where she came from? Her likes? Her family? Her hobbies? The ponytail girl is undoubtedly a force to be reckoned with.
"So, what are you doing here?" Kazuha asked, and Sera laughed nervously.
"We saved a man from dying," Shinichi replied, and Kazuha gasped.
"Some woman high on drugs was the culprit; I was just there at the right time," Sera explained, and the pony-tailed girl faced Shinichi with disdain.
"I swear, Conan-kun, you're always involved in some cases."
"Any defense? Your honor?" Shiho teased, carrying a bemused smirk that Shinichi hated.
"I plead the fifth."
"Guilty as charged," Heiji joins in, and the shrunken detective eyes them contemptuously.
"Shut up."
"Chiyo-chan got injured when she was sparring with me," Kazuha added later, explaining the incident that led her to the hospital. The girl hung her head in shame, "I screwed up again."
"What's new?" Heiji jokes and they begin bickering again. Shinichi sighs while Sera watches the fight with an amused grin. In the midst of what could only be described as a child's squabble, Shiho's gaze strayed first from the fighting "couple" to that of Sera Masumi—the female detective.
The questions she had from before and from previous meetings resonated in her ears. Trying to figure out who or what Sera was, Shiho had asked Shinichi in vain. In each instance, she came up not only empty-handed but with more questions than she cared to admit.
But if there was anything to go by—
"Hey, tell me, Ai-chan," Sera had commented when they first met. "About the drug."
Again, Renya's warning echoed, twisting around like a coiling Python. About the legacy left behind in the system. His words are a sinister reminder.
There were others still impacted by her creation.
And they—were dying.
"Sherry," they called, "Do you think this is the end?"
As her vision blurred, the edges became fuzzy. The scarlet deepened, her hands vanished from sight, and all that was left was the crimson pool of bodies sinking into—
"Hey, Shiho," he held her gently. "Breathe."
And before she could protest, Shinichi had made an excuse to use the bathroom. It was a reason he really needed to stop using. Ignoring the suspicious looks of Heiji, Sera, and Kazuha, he dragged her into an empty corner. Vending machines nearby emitted a monotonous drone, which was strangely comforting.
Cupping her cheeks, Shinichi was murmuring words she could not make out. Soon after the onslaught ended, Shiho felt ashamed. Again, she cursed at her inability to control it. Attacks that came and went at their convenience—having no place during a time such as this.
"Shinichi," she struggled to push him away, "I'm fine now. We should head—"
"Idiot," He admonished. "Don't force yourself."
"I am not—"
"Shiho."
The warmth seeps in, and she relents, resting on him, scoffing a little as she did. "I'm not forcing myself, Shinichi," she mumbled, "Besides if it weren't for a corpse magnet, this would have just been a simple trip to Osaka."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Do I really need to provide examples?"
He scowled.
"There was the broken down vehicle, the man who was stabbed in the train, the meeting with the female detective...need I go on?"
"Those were just a series of events beyond my control," he protested.
"Yes, everything is a coincidence. All planned by God of all people."
"First and foremost, God is a divine being that would never bother with something so pointless. Second, your accusations are ridiculous and third—"
He was cut off by a scream. They broke apart, turning to the source for what felt like the hundredth time that day.
Suddenly, a nurse ran past them, crying for a doctor.
"We need assistance," her shouts echoing down the corridors, "Masato-san is going into a cardiac attack!"
When she was met by a doctor who heard her cries, she ranted. "Just a minute ago, she was fine, but when I checked on her..."
"Bring me to her!" the doctor exclaimed before she could finish, and the nurse nodded.
As the events unfolded, Shiho noticed the cocky, irritating smirk forming on Shinichi's lips.
"What?" he shrugged when she eyed him. "Didn't you say it yourself?"
"Shinichi…" she groaned.
"Planned coincidence, was it?"
And Sera joins the fray.
Episodes Used in this chapter:
Episode 1020.
Wishing you all Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year :D. Thank you for the reviews and feedback :)
I would be taking a two-week break from updating and will be back on the third. Again, I hope you enjoy this chapter.
Have a nice week ahead :D