Mission Twelve: The Forgotten Detective

Against all odds, they actually made it to the interview.

Well, to be exact, they had only made it to the waiting room, but Conan, while he definitely knew better than to count his chickens before they hatched, felt like that deserved to be called an accomplishment all by itself.

Never before had he believed that a simple school interview could be anywhere remotely close to life threatening, but since apparently this was what his life was going to look like, he decided it would be better to just… roll with it, he supposed. To be glad he was okay ─ not crushed under a wild cow's hoof or pecked to death by a freaking ostrich, kind of 'okay' ─ and not to ponder over this any longer.

I mean, it's not like I'm not used to strange things happening in the most unlikely places. For Shinichi was a homicide detective, and murderers could get extremely creative when it came to planning their crimes. It stood to reason that he had seen much worse than this, but perhaps not as eccentric. He clearly hadn't lived long enough to see an animal stampede in an elite school grounds.

If the course of events kept on developing in that direction, Shinichi was afraid he wouldn't live much longer to see what other bizarre twists of destiny his non-sympathizing god could come up with.

Roll with it, he reminded himself, barely even two seconds after first deciding on that approach. Take your win and don't… think about the cows.

He breathed deeply in, then out. At his left, he noticed Yor watching him in silence, confusion, mixed up with a bit of worry, dancing in those scarlet eyes of hers. He reassured her with a smile and a shake of his head, and went back to bore his eyes at the wall in front of him.

Anya, who was sitting at his other side with her little hands clenched on her skirt, was too focused on her father to pay attention to that exchange. Even if the spy himself did not notice her intense scrutiny ─ which was far more telling about his state than hers, to be fair.

What's up with this sense of impending doom? Conan wondered, taking into the tense atmosphere. I get it that the future of his mission depends exclusively on this interview, but he's a spy. Surely, something like this is nothing for-

The creaking of the interviewing room door foretold the sight of a young boy bawling his eyes out while his parents scolded him for every poor answer he gave them. Conan found himself staring at the distraught family, unable to process a single opinion on the matter.

"Next, the Forgers."

Conan all but jumped out of his skin at the call, but somehow managed to keep his composure as though nothing had happened. Dusting off his clothes, the fake child hopped out of his seat and followed his pretend family inside.

He sure hoped that the one sight had been nothing but a coincidence, and definitely not a foreshadowing of the events that were about to develop in front of his own two eyes.

When Conan walked into the assigned room, his first thought was that these people had money and it showed ─ seriously, someone could've just told him that this was Sonoko Suzuki's second living room and he would've believed them in a heartbeat. Even the coffee table, standing small and innocent in front of the three examiners, looked like it cost about two times his own shrunken head. If not more than that.

His second thought was that Eden was probably not used to having multiple applications per family, since he could only count three seats besides the larger sofa where the examiners sat ─ a pair positioned across the coffee table, where he assumed the parents were to settle in, and another one at the side, for the child. Perhaps there weren't many who applied for two, but then Conan realized that it could also be another way to test them, and see if they would complain about it.

Being accommodating to others, being complacent and never to bother or expose anyone if not extremely necessary, was a must according to the rules of etiquette. In that case, again, it would be best to just roll with it. Besides, the seat was large enough for both Anya and him to fit comfortably, so it wasn't that much of a big deal.

Slipping and cringing at the thought of being small enough for it to work, however, would be a lot more problematic, so he kept up with the angelic smile. No matter how painful.

Loid-san is going to owe me a big one. If we're accepted, I swear I'll-

"First," and so it began, "we will begin by asking the parents a few questions."

In particular, the man who had started the interview was, as he had introduced himself a few minutes before, Walter Evans. Likely in his late fifties to early sixties, wearing glasses and an affable smile that Conan's trained eyes could not identify as remotely artificial ─ which was a welcome change from his usual routine.

Appearances were nowhere close to a reliable clue to hang onto, he knew that well, but he had the feeling that this was the kind, laid-back examiner that Loid needed the most. As long as they put together proper, coherent answers, he didn't think he'd give them much trouble.

That one shouldn't be too difficult, either. The stoic man with the monocle sitting at Walter's left was apparently named Henry Henderson, whom Conan was pretty sure they'd impressed enough to give them a passing grade. Unless, of course, they had scared him with that changing clothes trick.

Twilight-san overdid it with him, Conan thought. Hopefully, that hadn't backfired and made the man wanting to have nothing to do with the Forgers and the school ever again. In that case, Loid had already lost the battle before it ever began.

There was another one, however. Murdoch Swan, the man with the tired eyes and his nose in the air as he scrutinized Loid ─ who, too busy relying on that fake fantasy novel of how he met his wonderful wife, did not pay him much attention to it.

Then Yor came forward, a soft expression on her face as she spoke fondly of the man she had, supposedly, chosen as her spouse. Swan's eyebrow had already arched about half-way through her monologue, so it went without saying that, by the time she had finished, it had long started twitching.

A scowl left his lips, and he lifted his hand slightly, just enough for the shrunken detective to take into the strange mark on his finger, where his skin was several shades lighter than the rest. No doubt, that was a telltale of a ring he used to wear, possibly everyday for a few years until recently.

"Why would a beautiful girl like you choose to be with a man who's got baggage?" Swan asked with an air of contempt.

Conan's eyelids dropped, his gaze dulled.

I wonder about the same thing about your ex-wife, he thought, fighting against the urge to roll his eyes. Only that you didn't come with baggage. You clearly were baggage.

Nobody gave him much transcendence, not even his fellow examiners, and the interview progressed without further ado. They changed topics, and as Loid had predicted, soon came the question of why they had chosen this school above any other.

Cue to Loid's extensive explanation that he had probably rehearsed in his mind about a million times by now. The face Evans put on let him know that he was beyond pleased with what he was hearing, which was ironic because it had to be the furthest thing from 'sincere' there could ever be. That being said, Conan didn't think he'd like it if he just up and told him it was for an infiltration mission. No matter how brutally honest.

"Now then, how would you describe your children?" Evans asked next. "Please let us know about their strengths and weaknesses."

"Well, Anya is an extremely curious child," Loid began. Anya twitched when she was suddenly addressed. "Her habit of sticking her nose where it doesn't belong could be seen as a weakness, but she is a truly intelligent girl."

Even Conan could feel the judgment in Henderson's look even though it wasn't for him, but for the girl sitting at his side. Not that was surprising anyhow, since Anya had barely gotten herself a passing grade, if he remembered correctly.

That was part of the reason he was glad that he had accomplished similar results, even if in his case it was completely intentional and motivated by a need not to stand up amongst the crowd. Frankly, he'd hate it if he ended up getting accepted in Eden whereas she was rejected.

If one of us is to fail, it'll have to be me, was the decision he had taken a long time ago. He already had a family, after all, while Anya had no one besides this fake semblance of one. Clearly, this little girl needed this much more than he did, and he wasn't about to take it away from her.

"Sometimes, it's like she sees right through me, which keeps me on my feet," Loid kept on saying. "I would say that her main shortcoming is that she's a picky eater."

Anya had randomly winced again. Who would have said that she didn't really like being the subject of the discussion? Conan certainly wouldn't have ─ Shinichi would have wished that people talked about him instead, but that was another matter altogether.

"Conan possesses the same curious mind his sister has, but he's more inclined to bury himself in a book all day long if he could."

It was at times like these, however, that Shinichi couldn't help but amaze over how one's mindset could change so drastically, so easily, as though plasticine in a toddler's hands. Because now, for all he loved the attention or the praise, he could barely stop himself from cringing at every word he heard.

Perhaps that was it. Loid wasn't talking about Shinichi at all, he was talking about Conan.

Loid glanced over at him as he talked, his smile natural on his face. Had he not known any better, he'd have said that the odd sparkle in his eyes was out of affection, rather than a deliberate display of a feeling he wanted to advertise as genuine.

"He has such an insatiable thirst for knowledge that he could probably devour this school's library in a single week."

Conan pretended that he hadn't twitched, more or less in the way Anya had before him. That's… actually pretty accurate, he thought in bewilderment.

At first, he wondered what had given it away, but then realized that he hadn't exactly pried away from any newspaper he could get his fingers on. Or that he hadn't exactly made an actual effort to hide that he paid special attention to the TV when the news was on, instead of the childish cartoons that Anya loved so much ─ Detective Samonji being the only exception to this rule, obviously.

How naïve of him to think that such a capable spy wouldn't pick on those details. I've definitely lowered my guard. I need to be more careful, lest he wanted him to notice something that he definitely shouldn't.

When did I become this laid-back, to begin with? I…

"He's a bit slow in learning things that he's not interested in." But his mind forgot to answer his own question, pushing it away in favor of taking in whatever his fake parent had to say. "But fortunately, that doesn't happen often."

More like never, Conan replied, his eyebrows raising lightly enough not to be overly noticeable. Seriously, he'd be extremely interested in knowing on which grounds would Loid make such an affirmation when the most complex thing he had tried to teach him, an eleventh grader, had been the Pythagoras theorem. There is so little to learn nowadays.

The rest of the exchange flew past, barely even analyzed by Conan's dulled brain. Yor was doing the talking now, discussing something about parenting style, about spoiling and becoming stricter, and God, I want to leave so bad. I seriously do not care about anything that these people are saying. And am I supposed to listen to-?

Oh. Conan stopped himself. Actually, Loid-san might have had a point about what he said.

"We've been told that your daughter is a picky eater. What kind of meals do you cook at home?"

Yor panicked, rightfully so. "C-Cook?" she stuttered. "I, um…"

"I actually do most of the cooking," Loid's saving was smooth, as expected from him. "Though when I'm busy, my wife is kind enough to cook for me."

Briefly, Conan wondered if he had somehow wound up in a parallel dimension or something, because he had never been witness to such a feat yet.

"You're joking! What kind of wife can't cook for her husband?!"

And there he was again, Swan and his innate ability to make him want to break character and roll his eyes. Without even trying, impressively enough.

No wonder she divorced you, Conan thought, unable to decide whether to commend his ex-wife for her good decisions, or be concerned about something being wrong with her for even marrying him in the first place.

"You should probably be stricter with yourself before you worry about that child."

"Everyone has strengths and weaknesses," Loid replied, the epitome of calmness. "She is extremely tidy and excels at keeping our house spotless. She is also an excellent mother to my children."

It was a curious thing, that this random guy could somehow instill in Conan that sense of aggravation just by being in the same enclosed space for a little over fifteen minutes. How did he manage such a thing? Well, he truly had no idea at all. Which was extremely mystifying on its own.

Because there was nothing remarkable about this man at all, no matter how deeply he studied him. Besides the obvious misogyny and jealousy over others' successful romantic lives, Swan was a traditionalist, stuck to all of those family values everyone in this school and their mothers seemed to have.

He must be about fifty. Considering his age and mindset, I'd be surprised if he didn't have a child already. With the woman who divorced him, I assume. For people like him, marriage included a family extension, no exceptions. Conan couldn't see why it would have gone any differently with his last one.

Further examination revealed dark bags under his eyes, besides a slightly bloated face that retained a strange red hue despite the lack of physical exertion or shame of any kind. Rosacea, his mind filled up for him.

Besides, there's also that thing. Every time he opens his mouth-

"Yes, well, both of those are things women are expected to do."

Conan scrunched up his nose. Yeah, that's it, he thought, willing his face to go back to normal. He reeks of alcohol.

Seriously, here he had thought that Ran's father was a lost cause. And then came this guy, who was somehow worse, yet again defying what Conan had thought to be possible.

He's definitely a heavy drinker. I'd be seriously disappointed in this already deficient justice system if he was given custody of his child, that being the case.

Assuming they were still a minor, of course.

"N-Next, let's ask the young lady some questions."

Oh, so Anya comes first? thought Conan, eyeing the girl. She sat still on her seat, maybe a little too still, clenching her hands over her lap.

"First, could you tell us your name and address?"

Conan felt himself smiling lightly. You've been working hard for this moment, he thought. You got this, Anya.

He could have sworn that Anya nodded her head, but the movement had been too subtle to tell for sure. What he was certain of was that she had lifted her gaze to the examiners, and a strangely confident glaze took over them.

"My name is Anya Holger! My address is in... Berlint, West District… 128 Park... Avenue!"

"And what do you do on your days off, young lady?"

"We go to moozeums... and eat operas..."

Whatever it was, Conan supposed it really didn't matter. If it helped her to go through the questioning, then good for her, he guessed. All she had to do was remember the answers she had practiced with Loid, and she'd be good to go-

"What would you like to do once you get into this school?"

"I-I want to find out what the boss of the organization is planning!"

Wait, no. No, she isn't good to go.

He might not remember what the actual answer was, but he had the nagging feeling that this could not be it. What is she talking about, 'organization'? It is me who wants to know what the organization is planning, not this tiny, clueless six-year-old.

Anya shot him a quick glance from the corner of her eye, and Conan wasn't sure if she wanted him to help her out of the hole she had dug herself in, or if she was shocked for some reason that, again, escaped him completely.

It was almost as though she had only just remembered his presence, although he had been right there the entire time.

Somehow, Loid managed to smooth things out ─ something about a secret ambition-driven mentality Conan was sure not even Anya was aware of having. In some odd turn of events Conan wasn't sure how they came to be, it was instilled in the interviewers' minds that Anya wanted to succeed like the headmaster ─ whose name she barely even recalled.

"Then, could you tell us how hard you would have to work in order to succeed like him?"

"Like getting through the jungle with no supplies, and dancing with death over and over to get brave!"

Oh… Oh! That's from Bondman, isn't it?

Suddenly, he felt like breathing again. That's… kind of a relief. The organization she was talking about had to be about that anime series as well ─ of course, what had he been worried about, anyway? She was just a kid, and he was being dumb.

"It's the young man's turn now. Could you tell us your name and date of birth?"

As if a switch was flipped on, Conan broke into an adorably bright smile.

"My name is Conan Forger, sir!" he answered. "I was born on January 7th, six years ago."

It was better saying that than a proper date, as it lessened the risk of slipping and risking them making the math to realize that had happened not six, but sixteen years ago. But, hey, at least he'd remembered the fake birthday Loid had appointed for the Forger twins when he forged that birth certificate, so that was something, he supposed.

"Your father mentioned that you like reading. Do you have a favorite book?"

"The Sign of Four is my all-time favorite," his mouth said before his mind could think. Instinct was truly a force to be reckoned with. "But I love everything Arthur Conan Doyle has even written. He is my namesake, after all."

Evans regarded for a moment, no doubt having failed to predict such an answer. For a moment, Conan wondered if he should have chosen something more juvenile, but then realized that he couldn't name any of them off the top of his head.

Loid's gentle laughter resounded over before clarifying, "My late wife was a mystery enthusiast. Conan here has seemed to have taken after her."

Oh, good one.

"I see." Evans' smile returned easily enough, as friendly as it had been when it left. "Is there anything you'd like to be when you're older?"

From the corner of his eye, the boy saw Loid cease breathing and his every muscle freezing. So subtle it had been, that absolutely nobody had noticed the shift in behavior, up until the split of a millisecond later that it took the spy to fix his face into calm neutrality and pretend nothing had happened at all.

Absolutely nobody, except for the miniature detective sitting nearby who, admittedly, was also fighting to maintain his composure. Though in his case, his lips were twitching, pushing down a smirk that would feel unnatural with those round, innocent eyes of his.

Looks like not even Twilight-san can predict everything. The thought amused him a little, that a skilled agent of his caliber could plan ahead enough to predict that they might need two changes of clothes each, yet would fail to predict a question as banal as this one.

Luckily for him, it hadn't happened to Anya ─ though Loid's split-second face when she thoughtlessly spluttered 'spy' as an answer would have been quite the sight to behold.

That being said, Loid's eyebrows were slowly inching closer to each other, and his gaze was intensifying exponentially with every passing second. I should be saying something. Yet, to be fair, the boy wasn't certain of what a plausible answer was supposed to look like.

Children were not his forte, the way their little brains worked a mystery he had long given up on. How could he know what a normal, precocious, avid reader of six would dream of becoming in the future?

I could go for the novelist route, he supposed. Except that his skin crawled at the mere thought, and that every cell within his body was now threatening him to self-implode if he entertained it one second further. That doesn't really leave any other option left. If not writing the best-seller of a mystery novel…

What would every mystery enthusiast dream of becoming?

Shinichi knew what that answer was, had known from the very beginning ─ had voiced it, loud to tear his throat apart and the whole world to hear, in spite of what it would throw back at him.

In spite of what they would say.

But as it was, he wasn't Shinichi anymore. He was Conan now, a boy leading a path that was supposed to diverge from where he had started, concussed and left for dead in the outskirts of an amusement park.

What could he say? What would Conan say?

Unaware of when he had dropped his gaze, Conan picked his head back up, and without actively searching for it, his eyes found the warmth of a certain shade of red. A sweet little smile kissed her lips as soon as she caught his gaze in turn, and ever so slightly, she nodded.

His mouth opened, then clicked back shut.

Something snapped back into place, and suddenly, he realized it; that was it. Given the character he had been building for so long, the traits of his old personality he hadn't been able to conceal, and all the other answers he had been giving out to these people, there was but one path left to take.

The one and only response that felt right.

He turned back to Evans, and as though he was six again, he beamed.

"A detective! I want to become the greatest to have ever lived, sir!"

Yor's smile brightened somehow, as if pleased by his response. Or so he supposed, for he couldn't tell for certain with his attention solely focused on the man who had asked in the first place ─ sort of worriedly, he would admit, considering that his answer might have taken too long to be deemed believable anymore.

That was why it had been such a pleasing surprise when Evans nodded his head and accepted it whole-heartedly.

Yet, it could have been a hundred percent better if he could say the same about Henderson. He had barely moved his head at all, his posture rigid as it had been for the entirety of the interview, but none of that had stopped him from narrowing his eyes at him.

Conan struggled to keep himself upright, and look unbothered at the scrutiny he was suddenly subjected to. What could he be seeing, he wondered ─ had it been the delayed response what had set him off? Or perhaps something else had slipped through the cracks of the mask he had oh-so-carefully crafted for those wise, experienced eyes to catch?

Then, he'd have to think of a plausible response for whatever question he was to ask any moment now. Where did I slip? Quickly, I need to figure it out before he-

"And why do you want to be a detective, young boy?"

He was pretty sure the expression he pulled out was nowhere close to brilliant.

"W-What?" he stuttered, unintelligently.

"From your previous answer, I can see your determination to see your dream come true," answered Henderson, not a single expression line moving out of place. "I am now interested in which are the ideals that fuel that desire."

Tension slowly seeped out from his shoulders. At least he wouldn't have to think about this one too deeply.

"I want to help people out, to give them closure when tragedy strikes." Since it came all too naturally to him, this time around ─ as though he had rehearsed it over and over again before coming here. "Someone who makes the truth shine through and brings all that is evil to justice is who I want to become in the future."

He, too, was nodding by the time he had finished his sentence. He felt like patting himself on the back, proud that had gone well in the end. Somehow, because he still didn't know how that had happened.

"Let's change the subject," Evans said, turning to his fake sister once again. "Young lady, what does your father do for a living?"

"He's a sp-'' She cut herself off, and Conan shot her an odd look. Somewhere by the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Loid freezing altogether. "A spycialist in mental health. A very good one."

At that, Loid seemed to remember how to breathe again. And as much as Conan wanted to ponder about the implications behind that pronunciation mistake, he was forced to pay attention when the kind examiner went back into questioning him again.

"Young man, what does your mother do for a living?"

"She's a civil servant, and really dedicated to her job."

The next one was, once again, for Anya. "How do you feel about your new mother?"

"She is very nice. But she's scary sometimes."

Valid, Conan thought, mentally nodding to himself. Though that would be me, who had considered her to be a murder suspect until recently…

That didn't explain why Anya would regard her as 'scary', when she was nothing but a sweetheart ─ a little too kind for his mental stability to be calm around. It had eventually come to pass, but maybe he had influenced the little girl somehow? That was something to ponder about later.

But not now. Evans was onto him again.

"If there was one thing you'd change about your father," he began, "what would it be?"

It was hard to keep his mind from derailing when that certain question emerged out of nowhere, and not to splutter out that there was simply too much to cover in one single session, yet feeling at the same time that there was barely anything concrete to talk about at all.

Because he had to remind himself, fingering those oversized glasses he had once borrowed, that they weren't talking about him. Him ─ the man with the perpetual smirk on his face and an answer to every one of his inquiries and complaints alike. That someone he used to confide in so much in his earlier years ─ that certain someone who, deep inside, Shinichi had longed to be just a little like.

Even if he tried to recall when exactly things had changed so drastically, he'd probably draw a blank, so he didn't even bother. Experience had long told him that his efforts would be in vain.

"Sometimes, I wish that… he'd be..."

Only when Evans inched a little closer did he realize that he had been whispering. Licking his lips, he tried being louder ─ and to wipe the face of that man off from his thoughts. This wasn't about him, it was about Loid Forger ─ the kind physiatrist that had worked so hard to raise him and his twin sister after their mother passed away.

He needed to stay in character.

"I'd love it if he was a little more open with his feelings." He pulled out a rueful smile and hoped that it looked afflicted enough to be credible. "I mean, it isn't like I don't know where he's coming from ─ he's done a lot for us both, ever since our biological mother died." Conan made sure to avert his eyes, downwards to his swinging feet, before they flickered back to the examiner's face. "I know he doesn't want us to worry, and I'm grateful for that, but…"

And… that should be enough. Evans' face morphed into a sympathetic smile while Henderson closed his eyes solemnly ─ and Conan had to fight not to smile triumphantly at the signal that his acting skills had been, at least, passable.

Probably not enough to make his mother proud, but enough for her to want to cuddle him in sight. He would be forever grateful she wasn't there.

"My last question is the same for the both of you. If you were to give your parents a score, what might that be?"

Both children exchanged a glance, and Anya nodded a little too awkwardly back at his unspoken question. Taking this as his cue to respond first, the boy let his eyes wander towards the all-too-high ceiling, resting on the possibly diamond-made chandelier for the moment it took him to put together a proper sentence.

He scratched his chin, pondering over it once again, before deciding it.

"Seven out of ten," was his final verdict.

He turned back to glance at his, quote-unquote, 'parents' in search of any signs of discomfort that he didn't find. Loid's face was of blank neutrality as per usual, whereas Yor seemed more relieved than anything else. It begged the question, as much as it was a source of concern, about what she thought he'd grade her with.

"They are wonderful parents, but also human," he clarified, with a serene smile on his face. "For as long as they are striving to improve every single day, I'm fine with it. I couldn't have asked for a better family."

His answer was followed by a general hum from agreement from all the examiners ─ well, all examiners that weren't called Murdoch Swan, that was. At this point, Conan was starting to consider that disgusted expression permanently stuck to his face a case of clinical relevance. He seriously was a professional hater at heart, wasn't he?

And then, it was Anya's turn. It didn't take her even half as much as he did, raising her head the very instant she was called.

"A perfect ten points," she answered, not an ounce of hesitation in those bright emerald eyes of hers. "Papa and Mama are both so much fun, and I love them very much. I want to be with them forever."

And of course, here Conan was again, trying to suppress a snicker from escaping from his system. A perfect ten-point answer it was, beyond a shadow of doubt ─ the look of utter, shared shock that not even the skilled Twilight was able to hide told him she deserved nothing less than that.

Somehow, he wasn't surprised one bit. Leave it to Anya, and her peculiar gift to warm up everyone's heart without even trying. She was truly skilled in that regard, he reaffirmed in his mind as he leaned back on his seat, oddly content for motives he couldn't define, and neither could he care about.

"In that case," but then came that voice ─ that of that one interviewer that stuck like a sore thumb and had yet to provide a single intelligent commentary so far. "Would you score your old mother or your new mother higher?"

And just like that, silence sunk into their shoulders.

His mind stuttered, thrown over by the momentum and dazed in the aftermath; he must have definitely misheard it, right, that had to be it. Because there was…

Because there was no way in hell this bastard had, so casually…

Yet, in Loid's frown, he found the confirmation of what he had been fearing.

"May I respectfully request a different question?" he asked, calmly and politely despite everything. That was kind of admirable, taking the context and that man he was talking to, into consideration.

"Absolutely not." Swan narrowed his eyes at him, defiant. "If you do not answer, you will lose points."

That son of a-

Conan's hand clamped his mouth shut, as if suddenly granted with a life on its own, and was instilled with a well-based fear of his thoughts escaping to the outer world in a huff. And that wouldn't even begin to cover it, with the voice in the back of his mind whispering everything but good wishes for that one individual.

Taking all your frustrations on innocent people ─ on children that are not to blame for that failed, pathetic excuse of a life you've been leading… You couldn't have sunk lower.

But he said none of it. If only for the sake of appearances, he'd have to be compliant. To duck his head and pretend that he didn't want to stick something to his stupid grin ─ maybe make him spit out a tooth or two by kicking any ball-shaped object he could get his hands on. Like in those golden times where he used to corner criminals as a high school detective.

Once more, his thoughts skidded to a halt at the pair of shocked gazes heading his way, and slightly tilted his head in puzzlement. What did I do now? Besides thinking ─ there wasn't anything wrong with thinking, as long as he didn't act upon-

No, he later realized. They weren't looking at him.

He craned his head slowly, to the small form that sat all too quietly at his side. His eyes widened, following a single tear that slipped past slightly flushed cheeks and dripped onto her clenched fists.

The first was followed by the next. And soon, every thought in the room had evaporated away at the sight of that innocent little girl whose wide, wide eyes remained fixed somewhere ahead of her, possibly on a distant memory only she could see ─ crying so quietly that it made Conan's stomach turn.

Her lips parted, giving way to her first sob.

"M-Mommy…"

Other than watching her, Conan failed to do anything else.

"I see, I see! So you do prefer your old mother!"

Swan's boisterous laughter sliced through the silence. It brought Conan out of his stupor, drawing his attention to him, not to leave that face again.

Yor had risen to her feet, propelled by nothing but a motherly instinct that had her setting her hands over her daughter's quivering shoulders. They served little purpose at all, as the sobs continued to pierce through her heart, one at a time.

"This is too cruel!"

"Please calm down, Yor-san," Loid answered, still sitting down and keeping his eyes trained on Swan's smug face.

"But this is just-!"

Before she could even finish, a little hand shot through the air.

"Me, me!" Conan's grin was almost blinding as he raised his hand as high as it was possible for him. "I want to ask a question too, Mr. Swine!"

The man studied him for a moment longer than was strictly necessary. "It's 'Swan'," he corrected.

Though it seemed to everyone else that the young boy wasn't open to criticism right now, constructive or otherwise. It went in one ear and out the other, as evidenced by the lack of a change of expression of any sort, and instead, all that happened was his arm flopping back down.

Conan regarded him for a moment, with those big, inoffensive bright blue eyes of his, before asking,

"Between your old wife and your new wife, which one do you prefer?"

No response of any kind was offered, besides the slight widening of Swan's eyes that Conan tried not to laugh at. His smile began to drop instead, one inch per confused blink, then a flinch brought his hand to his mouth.

"Oh, my. You seriously don't have one?!" he exclaimed. "I'm so incredibly sorry, mister!"

Anya's sobbing carried over in the silence, whereas Conan looked as though he was about to burst out laughing at any moment now, possibly at the vein pulsating in Swan's forehead as a proof that, whatever the young boy had been trying, it was working.

"But I see why you like doing this, Mr. Examiner. Asking questions is so much fun!" His ashamed facade long discarded and forgotten, Conan kicked his feet in the way a young child would do. "If your child was here, I'd probably ask them what score they would give you… I don't think it'd be too high up, though. "

Loid felt himself frown even further, his mind running for a way to turn the situation around somehow. He found himself running a blank.

This… is spiraling out of control, was, perhaps, the understatement of the century.

Conan hadn't even bothered to hide anymore and giggled out loud.

Swan scoffed in turn. "Of course," he said, prompting Conan to pause to listen. "The 'detective'. You said you wanted to become one?"

Instead of responding, the boy frowned back at him, examining Swan as he burst out laughing, so effusively that he ended up choking. He waited patiently by some sort of a miracle, merely staring as the man coughed his lungs up until he, finally breathing, sat back.

"What a sweet little dream." Swan wiped out a tear, the ghost of laughter wracking his body even after the worst of it was gone. "Make sure to hold on to it until the very end."

In a heartbeat, he had switched back to his cheerful, childish persona. "I will!" Conan nodded, emphatically. "Or at least I will for a bit longer than your ex-wife to her wedding vows, sir."

His eyebrow twitched, but other than that, Swan had seemed to take it pretty well.

"So, who do you think you are, then?" The man raised his chin and looked down at the bespectacled boy. Eyebrows raised, he added, "That Kudo brat wanna-be?"

Conan's smile froze on his face.

"I'm sure you know all about him." Swan leaned forward, scanning him up and down before continuing, "It would be impossible not to, his name used to be everywhere."

Even though he desperately tried to, Conan's lips failed to get out a single word at all.

"Young but extremely clever, charismatic, but maybe a little arrogant, too; the prodigy that has saved the police far more times than he could ever count." He waved his hand around as he rolled his eyes. The boy could only bring himself to frown and bit down his lower lip. "He was said to be the most promising high school detective to have ever lived."

"I know," replied Conan, unable to conceal the biting edge of his voice. "I've heard about him."

"Can you remember when was the last time?"

Conan blinked. "Huh?"

"The next question goes to you; do you know what happened to him?"

The lack of an answer prompted Swan's lips to curve into a sickening smirk.

And for some reason, Conan's mind wandered back to that one, lone telephone booth he had spotted just the other day.

"He was forgotten."

Swan's answer prompted his eyes to go wide, his legs left to hang in the air, motionless still. All of a sudden, all at once, everything came back to him; the phone, her voice ─ her sweet smile as she brought him closer to the fountain for a photograph. A photograph far too suspicious, far too precious, to be taken away from where he had found it.

He lowered his gaze, suddenly blinded by the bright colorful lights that belonged nowhere else but in his own memories. His eyes slipped closed, fearing that he would see her, always a pure-hearted, iron-fisted crybaby, extending her hand to him. Desperately asking him to wait.

Because he knew he hadn't waited. Logically, it wouldn't be fair for him to ask that for her.

He couldn't ask her to wait.

"No matter how smart you think you are, no matter how great you believe yourself to be, it's only a matter of time."

A sliver of silver and black, then the bone-melting pain. Tiny hands flipping a newspaper over, searching for a name ─ a face, sharp blue gaze and a confident smirk ─ that would not appear. Never again.

"You'll become irrelevant, forgotten by those who once worshiped the ground you walked in."

The flash of a camera died down, leaving him all alone and shrouded in darkness.

That… kind of stings.

Conan hung his head even lower. Anya kept on crying. And Yor…

Yor was seething.

"So, a crybaby that's going to wail over every little trifling thing, and a fool with a meaningless dream that goes nowhere... Maybe none of them is worthy of being part of our establishment-"

Before he knew it, Loid was on his feet.

Swan felt the blood drain from his face at the sight of those cold, icy eyes that pierced through him as he approached, with his fist pulled back.

So, Loid ended up murdering a coffee table.

Alongside, of course, the poor mosquito that had been obliterated as a scapegoat for the terrible crime the man's bloodied fists had committed. But if that hadn't been memorable enough, Swan's expression would probably be forever engraved in Conan's memory.

He had been beyond terrified, reasonably so, his eyes threatening to bulge out of their sockets as he gazed in horror at the crater in the center of the table that might as well have been his skull in a parallel dimension. It had been quite the scene to witness, but as much as he was grateful that Loid had put that bastard in place, in doing so, he had probably set their destiny in stone.

There was no way they could have not failed that interview.

Conan plopped down onto the sofa, his gaze wandering over to the ceiling of his provisional home. Well, it isn't like I didn't see it coming, he told himself. Granted, he hadn't quite foreseen the interview taking that direction, but all in all, the result was not far from his expectations.

And now it's a matter of time… until the Forger family disappears for good.

Hmm… He crossed his arms, cushioning his head as he pondered for a moment. I wonder what kind of name I should pick next.

"I-I'll go make us some tea."

Craning his head slightly, Conan saw Yor shakily standing up. For a moment, he busied himself with watching her until she disappeared somewhere into the kitchen.

I'm assuming that Loid-san is getting the divorce papers first thing in the morning, forged or otherwise.

Marrying someone and falling out of love a year later is not all that strange, so Yor-san will probably be in the clear for a while. From both the brother she had lied to and the judging eyes of other people, including but not limited to the government itself. And besides, even if she needed to marry again, she's a kind and beautiful young lady. As long as she learned to believe in it herself, Conan had no doubt in his mind that she would find a suitable partner in no time at all.

Then, he shifted his gaze to the man sitting across their own coffee table ─ which was arguably not all that different from the one at Eden, except that it was much cheaper and in one single piece. His hand had to be bandaged first thing after arriving home, only after that they had been allowed to sit in the living room and mope to their heart's content.

For Loid-san ─ no, Twilight-san ─ this barely changes anything at all. He would have to start over again, choose another child and a woman to marry. He won't make it to this year's admission test, but he'll be twice as prepared for the next one and pass with flying colors.

And as for…

"Papa… I'm sorry," she said in a feeble little voice. "Anya's so sorry that she couldn't do better on her tests…"

Lifting his head just a little, he managed to catch a glimpse of pink. She was sitting there, just as quietly as she had been in that interview ─ doing her absolute best not to let a single tear slip past, no matter how much of a losing battle she was fighting.

It was funny, yet at the same time it was not. That this young girl was the one apologizing, when she probably was the one who had worked the hardest. If there was anyone that hadn't done a single thing wrong, he reckoned that it would probably be her.

"It's all right, Anya. You have no reason to apologize," Loid told her. Somehow, he'd missed her standing up. "You don't want to go to a school like that, do you?"

Little hands latched onto Loid's pants, a little forehead pressed to his leg as she whispered,

"But I want to go to school…"

Conan watched her for a while, not a single thought visible behind his eyes. Eventually, he turned back to gaze upon the ceiling, and stilled.

We'll likely be placed in the same orphanage.

I could probably watch over her for a while until she gets adopted again. She's a sweet girl, I don't think that it will take her long to find a family. A nurturing, real one this time around.

And then… It'll be goodbye.

The click of Yor's stiletto heels brought him back to reality, if only to watch her quietly settling a tray on the table. He sat back up slowly, and found his gaze drawn to the four steaming tea cups that she had prepared for them.

Conan reached over, and could not help but smile softly at the feel of his fingers warming up.

Anya was undoubtedly yellow, while Yor always picked the red-colored cup and Loid had to be green.

The boy looked down at his own cup. Though there was no written rule about it, it was curious how he had accustomed himself to choose the blue one. As if this was but a pattern he was not allowed to break, for some senseless reason he couldn't think of.

Yes, we'll all go our separate ways after this.

Anya is young, Loid-san and Yor-san will go on with their adult lives. Before long, they'll all forget this ever happened at all.

Eventually, even I…

Again, the phone booth stumbled into his mind, uninvited.

He frowned, his hold on the cup tightening a little.

Even Conan Forger will become nothing but a distant, faded photograph ─ a memory washed over with time, not to be thought about ever again.

"But to be honest, hell will freeze over before any of you pass."

Anya appeared shocked at Loid's crude honesty, and curiously enough, Conan felt like he wanted to laugh.

"I-I'm sure everything will be okay!" Yor pipped in. "It'll all work out!"

Anya nodded eagerly. "The grandpa with the glasses and the grandpa with the half-glasses were really nice!"

"Yes, exactly! I'm sure they'll vouch for us! Let's believe in them."

He didn't know exactly why, but he felt himself unable to stop looking at them, or rather, at the bright smiles illuminated by a long forgotten sense of hope.

"Yes. Let's leave the result to fate," Loid decided, his gaze shifting from Yor to Anya, and then finding Conan's hesitant ones, staring from a little far back, "and try to recover from how exhausting that exam was."

Teacups were picked up, exactly the way the boy had predicted. Smiles were exchanged, and Conan found himself standing on the tip of his feet so that he could properly toast, just like the rest of his pretend little family.

"To our family's bright future!"

As cups clinked with each other, Conan felt his lips twitching in a timid little smile of his own, and decided that, maybe, just a little more wouldn't hurt.

Just for a little longer, he'd be there ─ for as long as this feeble, unmemorable existence of his lingered in their minds.

A strange clattering noise made all four jump as one, started out of their minds. Together, they turned around to find, much to their bewilderment, that their family portrait had randomly fallen off the wall and onto the floor.

An awkward silence followed afterwards, the tea forgotten in the face of the bad omen that had, quite literally, fallen right onto them.

"Our family portrait fell to the floor…" Yor observed.

"It just fell…" Loid murmured to himself.

Conan was the first to wake up from their stupor, crouching over it to assess the damage. Little fingers picked it up, and somehow, he found himself gazing down at it ─ at Loid's flawless smile, at Yor and Anya's shared stiffness, and even at his own bored eyes staring right at the camera lens.

His stomach might have turned on itself, but Conan stubbornly convinced himself that hadn't happened. Instead, he wondered if this photograph would eventually be forgotten as well.

"At least the crystal didn't break?" Conan voiced it more as a question. "From the height it fell from, it could've easily shattered into pieces, but it managed to…"

He blinked slowly, as if waking from a dream.

"... to hold itself up together," he murmured, his eyes wide open as though amazed by his own words.

Anya was now crouching right beside him, her gaze bright as she gazed down at their family portrait, more or less the way he had been doing before her. From behind him, he heard Yor's gentle giggling, and couldn't help but feel as though the knot on his stomach had loosened somehow.

Loid, on the other hand, merely sighed. He leaned over, taking the portrait out of the 'twins' hands so that, Conan supposed, he could place it back where it belonged.

"Come on," he said. Conan knew it had been for him somehow, even though he was carefully examining the nail stuck on the wall and not looking at him. "Finish up your tea and bring your books. You're still grounded."

He grimaced in response. "I was hoping you forgot."

His words unwittingly drew Loid's attention, but unlike the raised-eyebrow stare he had been waiting for, Conan found a hand landing on top of his head. He blinked confusedly, lifting up his chin to find, much to his utter bewilderment, that his expression was… soft, much gentler than he had been expecting.

Loid smiled warmly down at him.

"I would never forget."