Being absolutely honest to himself, Shinichi didn't have a great grasp of what exactly was going on.
All he knew was that the rain was slowly draining what little warmth his body had left, that he was struggling not to trip on his own clothes as he ran, and that there was a wild Pichu trembling against his chest. The hair in the back of his head was standing up, and he sure hoped it was from a chill instead of a sign that he was about to be fried alive any second now.
Hesitant, he threw one glance over his shoulder, to the endless darkness and the vast sea of trees that extended all over what his eyes could see. A wild Pokémon screeched in the distance and he winced, the smell of burning flesh lingering in his nose as a warning of what exactly it could do to him if it somehow caught up to him. He felt himself gulp at the thought, hastening his pace and tightening his hold around the little mouse cuddled against him ─ he could hear it, piercing through the pitter-platter of the rain with dizzying clarity, the whooshing sound of blades, the crackle of leaves as they were viciously sliced out of existence, and worst of all, the silence that came after.
Heart in his throat, Shinichi twirled around.
And then, the Scyther plunges back down, its blades posed in front of it as it dove through the fire. The enemy Fuecoco barely even gets the chance to react, clumsily moving out of the way of a sure death. The trainer hisses and the Scyther stands back, puffing out its chest in a loud battle cry.
Conan finds himself blinking behind his father's oversized glasses, his brain mushy as though he had just woken up from a dream. From his arms, his Pichu peers up at him, and the boy tries to dismiss it with a shake of his head and a smile on his face, turning his attention back to the battle in front of him before he has the chance to wonder if his little partner had been convinced at all.
Even though he knows the scrutiny would hardly be far from over, and not because of the tiny mouse Pokémon narrowing his eyes with all the fierce intimidation of a day-old Togepi, but the gelid intensity of a teal-colored stare that, he knows, is right there.
Which, predictably, melts away the moment the brownish fox-like creature rolls on her back, bumping on the girl's folded knee. A soft smile lights Haibara's face up as she runs her fingers through her Pokémon's fur, and it's the most serene Conan has seen her since they left Sandgem Town about a week ago.
It was bad luck, really; of all things, sweet timid Maria had to catch herself a Murkrow of all things, didn't she? Granted, Gin has a fully evolved Honchkrow ─ Shinichi would most certainly know, he sighs dejectedly, the back of his head itching at the mere memory ─ but it was understandably close enough to send her not-so-merry way down memory lane. Fortunately for them, just as the concerned questions arose, Mitsuhiko single-handedly convinced everyone and himself that this was nothing but a phobia ─ a fear illogical to others, illogical to Haibara herself, but that makes perfect sense for the narrative they're going for.
That they are just that, children ─ ten-year-olds in their search for new exciting adventures, clueless yet to what the world held for them. For the better or the worse.
Sitting there on the grass, cross-legged with his Pichu pressed to his chest, he's starting to wonder how long they'd have to go on like this before the truth becomes relatively believable. Probably not that long, he muses, as Haibara brings her partner over her lap for a cuddle, looking suddenly younger than he has ever seen her. Really, moments like these remind Conan that Eevee are among the most impressive species he's ever known, and he doesn't only say it because of its evolutionary potential.
Everything shatters away in an instant, as Ayumi screams and draws their attention back just in time to see Turtwig fall back with a cry of pain.
He sees him struggle to stand upright, but then he just slumps over with a groan. A closer look reveals he's full of burns, and the culprit gives himself away with a wince. Not that it wasn't obvious as it is, Conan reflects with mild interest.
"Come on, Genta-kun!" Conan doesn't really know since when Ayumi is standing up, her Popplio at her feet glaring just as intensely as her trainer, but he doesn't question it. "You were supposed to cover Mitsuhiko-kun, not burn him!"
"It wasn't like I did it on purpose!" Genta argues, even though it's obviously a lost cause. Ayumi levels him with a flat glare. "It's not my fault that Turtwig is so slow-!"
Mitsuhiko snaps his head back to him, flashing him a glare as he clutches his fallen Pokémon closer to him. "It's Gregor!" he corrects him. Turtwig perks up just to stare at his trainer.
"What… What kind of name is that?!"
"You literally named him Pepper!" Mitsuhiko screeches, single-handedly and wildly gesturing to the red crocodile, which very clearly resembles a chili pepper, standing idly in the middle of the field. Fuecoco turns to stare at his trainer, but even though he tries his darndest, Conan fails to see a single thought behind those eyes.
"This is hopeless," Conan decides, dipping his head. Not a novel thought at all, but a thought nonetheless.
Haibara hums in agreement, without an ounce of hesitation. "Makes you wonder what made them think they could win in the first place."
"Bold of you to assume they ever did think," Conan points out, and raising her hands, Haibara agrees.
Though she has every right to it, the other trainer isn't smirking and tasting the victory as Conan should have expected. Weird for anyone not to take advantage of it, this senseless arguing between the opposing party, and command her Pokémon to deal the finishing blow, but soon, he notices the fallen figure of a Pokémon at her feet.
So he did land a blow, huh, Conan thinks, sort of surprised, and watches her tend to her Pokémon before doing anything else. Once in her arms, the raven haired girl gazes upon her Ralts, her sky-blue gaze clouded by something that not even he, a respectable detective shrunken by nothing but a series of bad decisions and abysmal luck, could piece together.
She wastes no time in recalling it, but stares at the Poké Ball for a second too long before clipping back to her belt. In doing so, Conan's attention is caught by the third ball, that to his knowledge, she has yet to use, and can't help but tense up. With Mitsuhiko's only Pokémon down for the count, Genta's already a tough battle ahead of him, type advantage or not. Dealing with whatever she had yet to store would shatter any chances of winning he might have, no matter how scarce, almost mythical in nature, they may be.
But her fingers do not even as much grace it, instead fixing her twin tails higher in her head. Once she is done, she raises a hand and calls out her last attack.
Needless to say, Scyther absolutely obliterates its rival, and soon, Genta is on his knees, cursing out loud. Mitsuhiko takes it much better, managing a smile as he stretches his hand to the winner, thanking her for such an amazing fight. Amazing for him, maybe, because even if she won't admit it, it's likely that this girl already has quite a solid opinion on their battle ─ their movements awfully predictable and the challenge as exciting as watching a Slakoth climbing down a particularly tall Honey Tree.
"No, not at all!" The girl shakes her head frantically, and only then Conan realizes that his opinion did come to light ─ if not from his lips, but from Haibara's. "I was scared for a moment that I'd lose the fight. Especially after my Ralts fainted, I thought Scyther wasn't going to make it!"
Momentarily forgetting about his defeat, Genta stands up. His face glows with a wide, sheepish grin.
"Is that so?" Conan blinked up at her. She was a little taller, maybe a bit older ─ physically ─ but not that much so. "But why didn't you use your last Pokémon? I could've sworn that's allowed, even in double battles…"
She stares at him for a full second, until she doesn't. "Oh, you must mean this little guy?" Her hand reaches instinctively for the mysterious Poké Ball latched in her belt, her laugh tight on her chest. "He's not for fighting. He's… kind of special."
Conan falls in a thoughtful silence, one that Ayumi fills by humming low in her throat, her eyes sparkling at the yet unseen wonders of life. "Special?" she parrots, little fists pressed to her chest. "Can we see him?"
She flinches back. "W-Well…" Eyes darting from place to place, without a clear aim or intent, convince Conan of her reluctance to delve in the matter any further. "Your Popplio's pretty cute, actually."
"She definitely is!" The Popplio nuzzles as her trainer crouches to hug her. "Her name is Aria. Doesn't it suit her?"
Smiling, the black-haired girl nods. Content, Conan can only guess, that the previous matter had been forgotten within seconds.
Yuki Otani is a mystery on her own, in every sense a stranger can possibly be ─ they have only known her for a few minutes, when she met eyes with Mitsuhiko and decided they had to battle. Genta only tagged along because, in his words, it wasn't fair that he got to battle and he didn't. Fortunately for both of them, she was eager to engage in a double battle instead.
She seems to be young, a loose fit in that well-loved white hoodie she is wearing. Not a great choice, especially if you were traveling all over the region and getting your hands dirty in each patch of grass and dirt you could find – inexperienced then, two weeks into her first Pokémon journey, he would bet. Scyther are not commonly used for newcomers, mostly for their fierce temperament and difficult upbringing, so it's not her starter. Ralts are not common either, so the third Pokémon was her starter, or she wasn't given one by a professor, like he and Haibara. Possibly some she befriended, or a family pet perhaps.
Well, it isn't like they had any more experience, even put together in between all five of them. They can't even call themselves trainers, only plain normal children who happened to be allowed a Pokémon. Taken on a school trip all the way from their beloved Hearthome City to the western side of the region and released into the wild like a bunch of lab-breed Rattata that have never ever hunted a mere bug in their life and are somehow expected to make it a few towns over in a single piece.
"Oh, your school exam?" Yuki says, a nostalgic smile caressing her features. Funny, because Conan suspects it must have been a year ago, at most, considering her apparent age. "So it's getting to Floaroma this year too, huh."
It always is, but Shinichi certainly can't say that if he wanted to avoid questions. Although Ran telling him directly could have been a possibility, he's not risking the one-in-million chance of them mentioning it in front of her, forcing Conan to talk the confusion out of her mind.
The conditions to pass the exam rarely vary from year to year, or at least, it has remained the same for about ten years at least. And for a reason, too, since the path from Sandgem Town to Floaroma Town is said to be among the easiest to take and is especially recommended for beginners. Therefore, it makes sense that they were taken here in the first place, all of it to get a stupid card to prove they survived by some sort of a miracle or just plain luck.
Make it to Floaroma Town and catch at least one Pokémon all on your own, Kobayashi-sensei told him, as if he didn't know already. And then, you can get a proper Trainer License.
Sounds ridiculously easy.
Only that Shinichi knows, better than anyone else out there, how ridiculously easy it is for things to change in a moment.
But apparently, there are a few things that have remained unchanged over time. At first sight at least, Jubilife City is essentially the same as it had been about a decade ago, and Shinichi's heart races before he can recognize it himself.
Before he can realize the white rabbit Pokémon is nothing but a mirage his mind conjured to mess with him, his grin radiant as his wavering hands tried to catch him, and seeing a game of tag where Shinichi saw a fire hazard. Ran's laughter as she followed, even Sonoko's grumbling over being left behind, echoed all throughout his heart.
Smiling, he places a hand over it, breathes, and takes off running after Pichu instead ─ the rest of the group following close, feeling maybe for the first time in a while, that they may be able to sell the story of them simply being nothing but jovial, free spirits. Just like he, a long time ago, used to be.
"I'm telling you, Conan; she's got to be a murderer or something!"
It takes everything in Conan's power not to stare back at his friend, eyebrow raising exponentially to incredible heights as he realizes that, maybe, Fuecoco and Genta really are made for each other. But he finds a savior in Pichu, which is not unusual at all, as he jumps into his arms with a happy little squeal. For the third time today, perhaps, but that is only if he bothered counting.
"Why, because her hair isn't pink?" Conan drones blankly, adjusting the Pokémon's minimal weight to walk off. Genta's silence is far more telling than a verbal answer and it makes him sigh. "Look, we talked about this. Pokémon Center nurses are not clones of one another." His mouth opens, and Conan quickly interjects, "No, it's not their family business either. They have to get through nursing school and everything, like normal people."
Although he looks as if he wants to either argue or vocally defend himself, Conan never hears his actual answer. Genta throws a glance over his shoulder instead, to see Haibara walking up to the counter.
Where he expected to see a jovial pink-haired lady, full of life and kind-hearted to a fault, he finds an auburn-haired, middle-aged woman ─ hunched over like a wilted flower, massive dark bags that her glasses couldn't hide. Practically counting the hours until her shift is over, Conan can infer, and relate to some degree. He was only nineteen when he shrunk, barely even out of school by then, but he has pulled his fair degree of all-nighters in the Police Department, and dear Arceus, they were tough.
"You watch too much anime," Conan says finally, and casually walks away when Genta frowns.
"It's not that!" He hurries alongside him. "She… She told me she hopes to see me again!"
"You're aiming to be a trainer, bound to visit a Pokémon Center at least once a day," Conan explains, trying to draw in all the patience he certainly doesn't have. "Not seeing you around means you're dead in a ditch somewhere, so I'd argue it's actually a good thing."
Genta, however, doesn't look too convinced. He grumbles something under his breath, most that Conan can't truly catch, and skips ahead. Conan stays back for a little longer, taking one last, curious look backwards.
Ayumi and Mitsuhiko are beaming, cradling their Poké Balls and gazing upon them like they are nothing but a treasure their eyes have just discovered. He can't help but smile, softly, at the realization that these kids have barely changed at all since last year at the Professor's house, excited beyond belief at the prospect of a new creature to raise, train, and hopefully, befriend for life.
Typically, Pokémon Professors hardly bother with offering anything but the classical, Turtwig-Chimchar-Piplup trio that everyone in this region is already accustomed to. They are relatively rare to get, but not as much as to run out of them ─ easy to breed, easy to take care of, so it is a given that nobody would bother fixing a system that's perfect as it is.
But Agasa has always liked to be different, to be creative. Throughout all those years of living next to the old man, Shinichi has come to learn that, aside from failed inventions and poor-grounded theories and investigations, above all things, the Professor is a man who likes to have fun.
At first, even Shinichi had the nerve to wonder why, on certain nights, the light on his room would be on until well into the morning. He wasn't a detective for nothing, so he eventually connected the dots; these so happened to be the nights before another trio of children would come up at their door, knock with expectant little smiles, and walk out right afterwards, radiant with their brand new starters in tow.
It didn't take Shinichi long to figure out that Agasa enjoys making wild guesses on children's personalities from the moment they reach out to him asking for a Pokémon, and decides which starter would be perfect for each of them, individually. He doesn't tell them when they arrive and simply presents all three options at once.
So far he has never been wrong, the kids always end up choosing the one he picked for them beforehand. Were the truth to come out, that he actually enjoys giving kids the illusion of choice when their fate is already accounted for, he would probably never hear the end of it from their offended parents. But it doesn't take the fact that they always end up loving their quote-unquote 'choice' dearly regardless, and besides, it helps avoid heated disagreements between kids wanting the same Pokémon, so Shinichi doesn't really see the harm for some subtle, well-intentioned manipulation just this one time around.
"Thank you for waiting," the nurse says. For the first time, Conan notices an accent. Kantonian, perhaps? "We've restored your Pokémon to full health."
Three Poké Balls, small feminine hands picking them up ─ Conan can't help the tug of curiosity, the urge of finding out what secrets this girl was guarding so closely, but even so, there's virtually nothing he can do.
Yuki smiles in thanks, fixing them all back in place, and once content with having her team complete again, she turns around to leave. She doesn't make it to the door, Conan observes, but dives in down the hallway. The exact direction where, if he remembers correctly, the Pokémon Center are keeping their old, dusty video phone machines.
I should call Ran, he only now remembers. She made him promise, forced him with all the gentle strength of a regional Champion, to call her when he has the chance ─ what a mother-hen, he would have thought, if it wasn't that she kind of had a point there.
She does know about the murder-suicide case they ran in just a few steps into Route 202, courtesy of Kobayashi-sensei, so Conan supposes she has the right to know none of them have turned into a victim themselves yet.
Sighing, he intends to head into the hallway, but ends up bumping into someone else. Before he can even raise his head, the teenager is already apologizing ─ panicked whispers stumbling one after another, and for a moment there, Conan could have pegged him for Maria Higashio's older brother.
The gray angular eyes do not quite match, however, and the orange mop over his head is much messier than hers had ever been, kept in a low and sad ponytail that must have taken about two seconds before he called it a day. Maria does take care of her appearance better, to say the least.
"Hey, Kazuki-kun!"
Conan sees the teen wince at the sound of his name, or at least, what he assumes it is. Who had called it, he doesn't know, but he isn't sure Kazuki is aware either. He watches him take a deep sigh, as if trying to soothe his nerves, apologizes one last time to him and walks away.
At the reception desk, there are two other boys of his age ─ the same wild platinum blonde, the same emerald in their gaze, identical in everything but the smile. The left one is grinning, wide enough to remind him of a sugar-high Sharpedo, while the other is smirking, for the most part. There is a sharper glint in his eye, cold where the flames danced in his twin's, and that is far more telling about their relationship than anything else.
"Yo," the cheerful twin greets again, as if he hasn't already. "Long time no see!"
Kazuki only stares, taking a step back.
"Don't bother, Taro," the calm one says, pausing to collect his Poké Balls. "This guy already knows we saw him, even if he's an expert in playing dumb."
Taro seems to want to say something before he thinks better of it and sighs. Despite the accusations, Kazuki stands still in front of him, as if he really believes that the lack of movement will help to diminish his presence.
"Dai and I saw you arguing with Satoru-kun," Taro finally admits. Conan can swear that, for a fraction of a second, he sees the nurse making a face before she disappears into the back, presumably to continue her hard work. "I… want to battle him so bad! I refuse to lose like I did, not like this!"
"What he's trying to say is," Dai takes over, "that we're looking for him. Is he back yet?"
A sudden weight in his head brings Conan back to reality, to the yellow critter climbing up his head to stare down at him, with an expression he can't see but can deduct with terrifying accuracy.
"Right, I got it," he grumbles. "Call Ran first, get distracted later. That's what you're saying, right?"
Pichu squeaks cheerfully, though Conan is barely there where enthusiasm is concerned. He doesn't bother in hiding an eyeroll, though his lips are probably betraying him, as he decides that he should better deal with this as soon as he can.
He doesn't even get to turn away when the front doors slide open, a ragged figure stumbling in. One step, two steps ─ he promptly collapses into a heap on the floor, and with him, the whole room plunges into a deep, impenetrable silence.
Conan is the first to react, if only because the newfound quietness gives way to choking noises. The teenager rolls into his back as the faux child drops at his side, blue tinted lips struggling to form words, yet failing spectacularly in producing a single sound at all.
Somewhere in the background, Conan thinks he hears the shuffling of steps, but right now, he only has eyes for the hand ─ pale, weak and trembling, unlatches from where it clutched at his throat. It goes to the flower pinned on his shirt and clutches it. Tightly.
Before it drops limply, falling flat at his chest. After a single beat of a heart that has stopped altogether, the silence is finally lifted, broken into a whispering that rises to a crescendo until there's nothing but yelling and panic. The news spreads like a disease, and soon, there's a mass of people rushing to the exit.
Pichu, having climbed down from the nest on his hair, looks expectantly up at Conan.
"Watson," Conan whispers, and the Pichu nods once before vanishing from sight.
The crackle of electricity doesn't take long to reach his ears, transforming the panic into bewilderment, but he doesn't even turn to check. Everything he's able to focus on is this, the six-petaled enigma that lay in front of him ─ delicate and pink, six pistils sitting on top. A fragrance he has always found overwhelmingly sweet, clouding every other sense until he's forced to scrunch his nose. Sonoko, of course, would always fight him on that, but thankfully she isn't there to argue ─ or to spray some of her stupidly sweet perfume on him, just because.
A Gracidea, he concludes, even if right now, he doesn't have a clue of what that means.
"S-Satoru-kun!"
It took them a while, but the trio Conan spotted earlier seems to have awakened from their stupor. Normally people forget that there's more than fight or flight as a response to stress, and as he came to learn, freezing is fairly more common ─ and convenient, when it comes to preserving the crime scene. Or what he assumes to be a crime, to be fair.
"Don't!" Conan snaps. Either that, or the narrowing of his eyes, works wonders in sending them back to freezing in their tracks, equally pale-faced as they observe, from a healthy distance, the body sprawled across the Pokemon Center's tile, spotless floor.
Out of the corner of his eye, Conan spots a few locks of strawberry blonde as Haibara leans closer for a look, the rest of the kids standing reasonably far from them as they should. The nurse is allowed to frown from close and place a finger to check the pulse she isn't going to find.
Shaking her head, she sits back up, her hands cradled to her chest. "Who could've done such a terrible thing?" the nurse says, her voice barely above a whisper, seemingly unable to look away from the teen rapidly growing cold at her feet.
Conan doesn't openly acknowledge her, instead lifting his head, and the first person he sees is quiet, trembling Mitsuhiko. "Call the police," he instructs, urging him when he doesn't move. "Quickly."
He only flounders about for a second, before he finally takes off in the right direction, leaving Genta and Ayumi to exchange a concerned, almost frightful glance. From the girl's arms, where he more often than not magically finds himself, Watson gazes down at his trainer, silent.
Privately, Conan wonders if there's a way to skip this one, isolated incident on his next phone call.