Chapter 67
Detective Boys and the Broken Trio
5 years after the takedown of the black organization:
Japan, Tokyo
Several items were scattered across the cracked polyethylene floor. Broken glass panels lay on shelves that were either displaced or shattered. Fluorescent tubes, dangling from sparking, buzzing wires, had fallen from the plaster ceiling. Overhead, sprinklers sprayed down, creating streams that snaked around the wrecked goods. Mitsuhiko observed the scene with the same morbid curiosity one has when passing a car crash. He tapped his sports shoes furiously and sighed heavily, turning to the storekeeper who had been yelling at them for the past fifteen minutes. His gaze then shifted to the struggling scene unfolding before him.
Genta, now taller, leaner, and built like a bus, had a man in a chokehold. Using an impressive Judo stance, Genta was putting his training to good use.
Veins bulged on Genta's temples as he bit down on his lips, blood trickling from a cut on his chin. His eyes, wild and untamed, were like a pot of boiling water left simmering for too long. Simply put, Genta was pissed.
The target of his rage? A well-dressed man in his thirties, wearing a business suit, but with eyes that didn't match his refined appearance. He reeked of cheap cologne, and Mitsuhiko had noticed the man's strange laptop bag positioned awkwardly near his crotch. The man fidgeted with something inside the bag as he moved through the aisles, always hovering around women wearing skirts, adjusting his bag constantly.
Mitsuhiko had alerted Genta to the potential peeper. The hotheaded boy wanted to confront the man right away, but Mitsuhiko held him back.
"We need evidence, idiot," he chided.
"Why?" Genta shot back.
"Seriously, Genta? You can't just attack someone based on speculation. What if I'm wrong?"
"Then we deal with the consequences later."
Mitsuhiko pulled him back by the collar. "No. We observe first, then make a move."
Genta, towering over Mitsuhiko, folded his arms reluctantly. "Fine. But if he tries anything, I'm giving him a Genta Special Surprise."
"What exactly is that?"
"You don't wanna know."
Genta managed to keep his promise—for about five minutes and forty-eight seconds. He was doing well until the man switched his attention to Yoshida Ayumi. That was the last straw. Mitsuhiko had learned by the time they turned thirteen that no one messed with Ayumi without incurring the wrath of the "Bull." Usually carefree and focused on food or Judo, Genta became a charging rhinoceros when Ayumi was involved.
The "Genta Special Surprise" was revealed when he charged the man, grabbed him by the waist, and hurled him onto a shelf. What followed was chaos. The store clerk and cashier screamed as the two men clashed. Ayumi cast a glance at Mitsuhiko, who shrugged. Calmly, she pulled out her phone and made a police report while Genta tossed the man around like a bear with its prey.
"What are you going to do about this?!" the store owner yelled at Mitsuhiko, who could only sigh. As he stared up at the cerulean sky, he heard sirens approaching in the distance.
It had been five years.
"I told you to call me if something like this happened!" Satou-san scolded. With shoulder-length hair and a growing baby bump, she eyed them like a hawk. Her clenched fists hinted at barely contained frustration.
"I know," Mitsuhiko muttered, "but how was I supposed to stop Genta when that guy," he gestured toward the upskirter being led into a police car, "was trying to harass Ayumi."
"You're grown now," Satou said, gently knocking her fist against his forehead. "I understand you want to do the right thing but look at the damage you've caused. The owner might sue, and I can't keep cleaning up after you."
"Haibara-san always said the police budget was enough to fix mistakes they made…" Mitsuhiko grumbled. "Why not use it for us?"
Satou pinched the bridge of her nose. "Those two shrunken idiots are going to be the death of me," she muttered under her breath. Mitsuhiko caught the comment but chose not to ask further. He suspected there was more to why Satou and the others still watched over them, but he couldn't confirm it.
The question remained.
Where were they?
Their longing for answers wasn't satisfied by the letters Conan sent over the years.
"Get that scratch checked out," Satou instructed, pointing to a small cut on Mitsuhiko's arm. "Stay here. Don't get into any more trouble. I'll handle this."
Mitsuhiko lingered for a moment, then joined Genta and Ayumi in the back of the ambulance.
"Genta-kun…" Ayumi dabbed antiseptic on his chin. "How many times have we talked about controlling your temper?"
"Not you too," Genta groaned, flexing his bruised knuckles. Ayumi had grown taller since they were kids, her gentle eyes as beautiful as ever. Her petite, curvy figure often attracted attention, though she seemed unaware of it. Treating everyone equally, she was popular without realizing it.
Genta and Mitsuhiko had taken on Conan's mantle of secret protectors, terrifying any potential suitors. In fact, they'd scared off six boys and penned fake letters to ten more, all to ensure no one got too close to Ayumi.
As Mitsuhiko approached, he noticed Genta stealing a soft glance at her. Though they were childhood friends, he knew things were starting to change.
"It always would," Haibara's voice echoed in his mind.
Mitsuhiko sighed and joined the two by the ambulance.
"Satou-san was really mad, wasn't she?" Ayumi asked.
"Yeah," Mitsuhiko confirmed. Ayumi winced.
"How mad?"
"Genta-kun caught a pervert, sure, but he also destroyed half the store."
"He deserved it," Genta muttered.
"This is the third time in a month we've been scolded by the inspectors!" Mitsuhiko argued.
"Not my fault the sicko fought back!"
"I said we should gather more evidence first!"
"Not when he's about to photograph Ayumi's bunny undies!"
"We could've just called him out!"
"That wouldn't work. You're too passive!"
"Me? Passive? I'm the one who spotted him! You would never have noticed him filming Ayumi's pink lingerie without me, you idiot!"
"Wanna bet?"
"Stop it, you two!" Ayumi intervened, stepping between them. Her tone was the one she used when babysitting on weekends. "Yes, the store was wrecked, and the inspectors are mad at us. But we'll deal with the consequences together."
Her calm reasoning quelled the tension. Mitsuhiko took a deep breath and looked at Genta, who seemed slightly remorseful. Scratching his cheek, Mitsuhiko extended his hand.
"Truce?"
Genta hesitated, then shook it. "Truce."
"Good." Ayumi folded her arms. "Now, no more fighting—wait…" Her voice trailed off, and her cheeks flushed.
"How do you two know the color and pattern of what...I wear?"
Neither boy met her eyes. Her ears turned bright red.
"You're the worst!"
"Hey, we didn't mean to peep!" Mitsuhiko protested.
"Nonsense!" Ayumi fumed.
"Ayumi-chan," Mitsuhiko tried to explain, "we hang out every day. There's a high probability that we'd see something eventually…"
"Your skirt flips when you skip," Genta added matter-of-factly.
"Why didn't you tell me?!"
"How do you even say that? 'Hey, Ayumi, stop skipping. We can see your undies.'"
"Genta!"
"I can't believe it. You…you perverts!"
"Hey, we saved you from an actual pervert!"
"Ayumi-chan, I can't believe I'm agreeing with him, but Genta's right."
"But…but—"
Ayumi was about to retort when Ran-san appeared, panting as she ran toward them. The 25-year-old, working as an assistant in her mother's law firm, was clutching her side as she caught her breath.
"What…happened?"
They filled her in, and Ran listened patiently, though she winced at the idea of dealing with Satou-san. She handed Mitsuhiko her jacket and work bag, telling him the professor would pick them up. Patting each of them on the head, her gentle touch calmed them. Then, with the clatter of her high heels on the pavement, she went to speak with the inspectors, who were still arguing with the enraged store owner.
Later, as they rode in the professor's familiar yellow beetle, Ran chided them softly.
"I know you meant well," she said, "but Genta, you need to control your strength. Sometimes, doing what is right can cause more harm than good."
"What's the point of learning Judo if I can't use it?" Genta grumbled.
Ran eyed him in the rearview mirror and sighed. "Knowing when to use your strength is just as important."
"Now, now," the professor interjected. "Don't be too hard on them. They did catch the culprit, after all."
"We did," Ayumi smiled, patting Genta on the shoulder. He grinned.
"Hakase," Ran warned, "don't spoil them. The inspectors are running out of excuses."
They arrived at the professor's mansion, and Mitsuhiko paused on the front steps like a meerkat surveying its surroundings. His sharp eyes darted around, checking for any abnormalities. Genta and Ayumi mirrored his actions, their gazes scanning the area. Ran and the professor stood back, allowing them the space to perform their ritual, knowing it was part of their healing process. Wakaba-san, their counselor, had explained that the children's trauma left them vigilant. Only once Mitsuhiko was satisfied that the coast was clear did he open the door, allowing them to enter the familiar warmth of the professor's living room.
"Hot chocolate?" the professor offered as they settled on the couch. Ran made phone calls to the inspectors and their parents, updating them on the children's situation. Mitsuhiko lifted his cup to his lips, but his attention was drawn to a photo on the professor's wall. It was taken six years ago, during a camping trip. The memory of that day, full of laughter and adventure, played vividly in his mind. Conan had set up the camera for their group photo, and though the first attempt was blurry, Haibara had stepped in to adjust it, much to everyone's amusement.
"I miss them too," Ayumi whispered, leaning on Mitsuhiko's shoulder. A small, sad smile flickered across her face.
Everything in the professor's mansion felt the same—the layout, the familiar purple sofas, even the scent of hot chocolate—all unchanged. Yet, despite this, something was always missing.
"They probably forgot about us," Genta muttered, bitterness coating his words. "We were just kids to them. Just… children they met."
"Genta-kun…" Mitsuhiko paused, searching for the right words but finding none. There was a painful truth to Genta's claim. In the last five years, they hadn't seen Conan or Haibara. The only connection left was Conan's letters, delivered by the professor each month.
But even the letters felt distant. Simple questions about their well-being, repeated over and over. Over time, they began to feel mechanical, almost hollow. Genta had once confronted the professor, accusing him of writing the letters himself. Ayumi had scolded him for it, but as the years passed, even she began to lose faith.
"You're not just kids to them," Ran interjected, her voice soft but firm. "You're important."
"Then why haven't they shown up?" Genta snapped, his frustration bubbling over. Ran hesitated, unable to find the proper response.
"We deserve to know," Genta continued, his voice growing stronger. "Ran-nee-chan, we're not children anymore. You can't keep protecting us. Just tell us the truth."
"Ayumi-chan," Ayumi's voice trembled. "I want to know too. Why haven't Conan-kun or Ai-chan contacted us? Did they… did they forget their promise?"
"It's not like that—" Ran started, but the professor raised his hand, cutting her off. His expression was solemn, yet there was a glimmer of something in his eyes.
"They deserve to know the truth," the professor said softly.
"But, Hakase, they told us—" Ran began again, but the professor silenced her with a shake of his head. The children watched him intently, anticipation growing as they waited for long-sought answers.
"So… you'll finally tell us?" Mitsuhiko asked, his grip tightening on the mug, hope and fear mingling in his voice.
The professor grinned cheekily, his eyes twinkling. "After your school trip!"
"Ha…ka…se…" the children groaned in unison, their exasperation filling the room.
5 years after the takedown of the Black Organization:
America, New York
A cerulean sky was dotted with fluffy clouds. Sunrays danced on the water's surface, casting glimmers that playfully reflected off the sleek curves of a red sports car. A salty breeze whipped around Shinichi as he adjusted his sunglasses. It was an almost perfect day. The weather was warm yet comfortable, the ocean calm, with no hint of a storm on the horizon.
Earlier in the day, he had visited the florist, moving with a flamboyance reminiscent of his mother. Shinichi graced the store with his extensive knowledge of flowers and his considerable wealth. The florist, a twenty-year-old adorned with gothic piercings she had yet to outgrow, was not impressed. However, once she understood the nature of his gift, she helped him extensively, picking and arranging bouquets that now filled the back of his open-top sports car. The flowers shifted and ruffled as the wind picked up, spreading petals along the cracked asphalt. Turning into a car park surrounded by spiked fences, he glanced at the concrete bridge built to cross the ocean.
Squinting, he caught sight of the box-like buildings across the way. Everyone knew about Riker Island; it was the stuff of legends. It was located between the East River and LaGuardia Airport and isolated from the rest of the city. With its own bakery, central laundry, tailor, print shop, maintenance and transportation divisions, and power plant, it was practically a city unto itself. Yet, everyone living in New York was aware of its dark secrets. A prison facility that housed over 10,000 men and women.
With a sigh, Shinichi held the bouquet tightly before shaking his head. He still remembered his first visit to that place. It had been raining, and the skies were cloudy and gray. Thunder clapped in the distance, and lightning streaked across the sky like witches' fingers curling over innocent children's throats. As he boarded the city bus that ran every thirty minutes, he couldn't help but flinch at the frayed leather seats and the overwhelming musky smell. After taking a seat, the bus chugged along the bridge. While Shinichi consoled a teenage mother sitting beside him, the unfriendly, stoic faces of the guards added to the foreboding atmosphere.
The teenage girl, like him, was there to visit. As soon as the bus arrived, they rushed out, and Shinichi marveled at the crowd of "visitors" lining up outside the guardhouse. The situation was chaotic, to say the least. Shuffling, paperwork, shouting, and babies crying. Anxiety hung thick in the air as everyone squeezed in, hoping for a chance to meet their loved ones. It was no surprise— they had only a mere hour. Shinichi still couldn't believe that she had chosen this.
Two weeks had passed since the operation. With Rum and Gin confined and the Black Organization finished the media wasted no time sinking their teeth into every juicy detail they could find. Since the professor's mansion was flooded daily by ravenous sharks, they had no choice but to seek shelter at one of the FBI's secure facilities, preferably one equipped with medical resources.
Three broken ribs, a cracked clavicle, and a sprained leg were the prognosis. It was a miracle that she could still walk, though the doctor frowned at her condition. Healing was necessary, but rest was not forthcoming. Shinichi found himself overwhelmed by a mountain of paperwork. Crimes buried by the Black Organization were suddenly exposed. It was an Everest of information, and he spent countless hours poring over the details, trying to discern fiction from truth.
The prosecutions followed. Individuals involved in the organization were arrested and brought to court. Shinichi and Akai, who had been working together, suddenly found themselves at odds. While not supportive of the verdict, the stoic agent still proceeded with the ruling, and Shinichi found himself shouting at him—first in cold, calculated anger, then in unbridled rage. The tension escalated into a cold war, and Shinichi found himself standing outside Shiho's room, grumbling distastefully at the developing situation.
It was Jodie-sensei who brought the newcomer with her. The man had reached out first. After hearing the media coverage, he contacted Akai, who, after much consideration, decided it would be best for him to visit.
"Still not talking to Shuu?" Jodie took a seat beside Shinichi. As he tapped furiously on the marble floor with his feet, he half-considered barging into her room. Jodie held him back with a fierce stare and a grip rivaling Ran's.
That didn't mean he couldn't complain, though. And—he would.
"Does it look like we're on speaking terms?" he snapped, and Jodie shook her head.
"Seriously, I understand your concerns, but it isn't your decision."
Shinichi snorted and jabbed a finger at the oak door. "Who is he anyway?"
Jodie sighed at the change of topic before shrugging. "He introduced himself as an old acquaintance."
"Acquaintance?" Shinichi wrung his fingers together before staring at the cackling fire burning softly in the fireplace. Warm flames danced and flickered in the hearth, and as he inhaled the scent of wood smoke mixed with the earthy fragrance of damp leaves and pine needles, Shinichi tried to relax.
The FBI had procured the cabin in Kanazawa-Kita, just isolated enough to provide some peace and quiet. Built of rough-hewn timbers and covered with moss and lichen, it had a rustic charm as if it had grown from the ground like the foliage around it.
Inside, it was just as cozy. Books and trinkets lined the walls. A worn but comfortable sofa sat beside the fireplace, its upholstery faded with gold specks. Two steaming mugs of tea rested on a small wooden table. Having just been made, tendrils of warmth rose upward to join the dancing smoke.
At this moment, however, the cabin—meant to be a refuge from the hectic world—was anything but. A stranger was in the house, and Shinichi heard soft laughter coming from Shiho's room. It was unsettling.
"That's it!" Shinichi headed for the door but was stopped by a sharp pain in his shin. Bending over, he cupped his hands over the injury and glared at Jodie-sensei, who was calmly sipping her tea.
"Honestly, boy, there are more pressing things to worry about."
"What could be more worrying than a stranger, a man no less, casually conversing with my girlfriend in a locked room?"
"Oh, so many things," Jodie placed her teacup sharply on the table. "You see, boy, trust is very important between couples. What you're about to do will not end well. You could even call it a woman's intuition."
After a brief pause, Shinichi sat back beside Jodie. The woman nodded, patting his head like a mother would a rebellious child forced into submission.
"I still don't like it."
"You don't have to. But trust me, it ain't anything romantic."
"Sure," Shinichi resumed, tapping his feet against the wooden floorboards. "Tell that to the six-foot-tall man with dashing green eyes and abs."
"He is indeed handsome, hot, I might add."
"Not helping, Jodie-sensei."
"Well, you asked for an opinion. Don't be so jealous."
"I'm not! I look quite similar, thank you very much."
The woman paused, taking another sip before raising a finger.
"One might differ, and well—"
"Though I may look like a child, I'm actually quite dashing as an adult!"
Shinichi was about to launch into a debate when the door cracked open. There was an exchange of soft laughter as the man bowed before closing the door. He turned, with tanned skin, green eyes, thick eyelashes, and a perfect body framed by the tight white shirt he wore. His muscular thighs filled out his jeans. As the stranger's gaze met Shinichi's, the man flashed him a smile, revealing pearly white teeth.
Jodie-sensei was right; he looked like a Greek God, and Shinichi was beyond flabbergasted. "Ah, the famed Kudou Shinichi," he greeted, squatting as he did so. He held out a hand as Shinichi gawked at his gesture. "I've heard so much about you."
"Have you?" Shinichi muttered, hesitantly extending his hand.
"Yes, I must thank you," he said, giving Shinichi a firm handshake. "You have given her a new lease on life."
The man stared intently at Shinichi. The smile faltered slightly, turning melancholic. A bitterness emerged, but he still held on. It was a rather long handshake, and Shinichi realized the man was not letting go.
"I could not. I was scared," he whispered, squeezing Shinichi's hand tighter. "I was young, stupid. I... Well, I couldn't save her like you did."
"Erm…"
"Daniel," the man introduced, still staring intently at Shinichi. "Daniel Solis."
Shinichi was immediately reminded of a childhood friend Shiho had spoken of—a parting so cruel she had long buried it. She had said he hated her, and Shinichi glared at the man, suddenly wary of his intent.
"Look, if you came here looking for revenge—"
"No," Daniel stopped him, smiling wryly. "I understand if you doubt me, but I never had that intention. I could never…"
Shinichi was still wary. After all, the articles did not paint Shiho in the best light. There were cries for indignation and calls for justice to be served. To them, Shiho was still Sherry—a monster who had committed many crimes and was still part of the organization. Threats had been made, which was part of the reason they were tucked away in the middle of nowhere, isolated from both friends and foes.
"I could never," Daniel continued, "not to my first…love."
"You—"
Daniel grasped Shinichi's shoulders. "Take care of her, Kudou Shinichi. Protect her."
Shinichi looked at him before pushing him away. "Of course," he snorted, dusting off his shoulders.
A moment of silence followed before Daniel burst into hearty laughter. "As she predicted," he said warmly, "you do look like a fancy know-it-all."
Why that infuriating woman!
Shinichi stormed into her room as Jodie erupted into laughter. He found her seated on the hospital bed, a soft smile on her lips. His anger subsided as he approached her, gently wrapping his hands around hers.
He recognized that smile; it did not reach her eyes—a facade she put on to hide emotions far greater than she could manage. "Shiho," he nudged her, "are you okay?"
It has become the norm these days. The pain from the operation sometimes manifested in torrid nightmares. Nightmares that woke Shinichi every night in a symphony of sharp screams. He found her drenched in sweat, clutching the golden locket tightly, whispering feverishly the name of the man who had tortured her.
Wakaba Haruka, her counselor, said it would take time. Though lost, the progress she had made a few months back could be regained. The dosage of her medication was increased, and Shinichi, through his business, spent time with her. They spent most days bantering, though occasional snuggling and hugging ensued. Shinichi sneaked in a couple of kisses here and there. The doctor had put a stop to it once Shiho's wounds opened up. He hadn't done it since, not after the earful he received from Ran, who visited occasionally, and the torrent of giggles from his mother, who teased him endlessly.
Though the days passed uneventfully, a lingering question hung in the air—a noose that tightened around their necks, seeming to constrict more each day. Shinichi, pondering furiously, could never devise a plan that seemed to work.
So, faced with any issue he could not solve, he dealt with it like any young adult would—by lashing out. Quite childishly, Jodie might add.
There were things even the great Kudou Shinichi would not give in to.
"Shiho?" he tried again, and she turned to face him. In her hands was a black cat-like keychain that she was squeezing tightly.
"Regarding Akai's deal," she declared. "I'll accept it."
A heaviness settled over him as if he were sinking into a dark, lonely ocean. Her decision loomed over him, solid and cold. Shinichi realized he could never change her mind about this as he studied her—emerald green and unfaltering in the face of what was to come.
"No," Shinichi could not face it. "No. Not like this, not when you're—"
"I have been a pawn my entire life."
"I understand. I can see the logic behind your actions, but," he gazed at her, fist clenched at his side, "it need not be so cruel."
He turned away, defeated, staring at his bare feet. The reality of the situation sank in. A sharp, throbbing ache settled in his chest, and he bit his lip. "Shiho, I—"
Light, feathery fingers touched his cheeks, closing the distance between them. Her hands thawed the iciness, and he looked at the smile on her lips. It wasn't her ironic smirk; he recognized that. The bitter curl of her lips, sharpness flirting in her eyes like a knife—no, this was different. A softness he had never seen before. She was resolute, but it wasn't in vain.
"I want to forge my own path," she whispered. "I don't want to...run away...anymore."
For once, he regretted ever saying that to her.
"Will you wait for me?" A blush settled on her cheeks as he gently cupped her face. "Shinichi?"
There was simply no dissuading her. She was stubborn, like the hardness of a diamond. And like everything else, she was a Rubik's cube—something he could never figure out.
Pulling her close, he embraced her tightly.
"Who knows?" he said, his lips curling into his signature smirk. "There might be another strawberry blonde who might appear in my life."
"Well then," Shiho gently bumped his forehead, "I guess…I'll have to win you back."
A week later, they left, bidding a tearful goodbye to the professor and Ran. They flew to New York and wandered the streets for a few days. He kissed her in the pouring rain with the gray weather mirroring his heart, and she returned it. After one last hug, he stood there as the bus took her away, disappearing into the distance.
The visits continued for years after that. They were held behind glass, with bloody windows often keeping them apart. He was glad to have seen her, at least. Even though their visits were brief, Shinichi always looked forward to them.
Today, however, felt different; mixed in with his tepid emotions was bubbling excitement, and as he tightened his grip on the bouquet, he couldn't help but grin. The sunny weather mirrored his mood. It had been five years. And—
He had waited long enough.
3 years after the takedown of the black organization:
Riker's Female Corrections Facility
Her parents named her Scout Finch. Coined as the Mockingbird character, she endured relentless teasing from classmates every time they studied the book in class. Though she often complained to her parents about it, they were adamant. Like the character, they wanted her to be honest and brave—ironic, considering she was anything but.
After 23 years of reckless living, an irreversible mistake had led her here. The dingy cell was narrower and shorter than an average school bus, smaller than any room she had ever lived in. A toilet was in plain view, in a corner right next to the bunk beds. Fortunately, Scout occupied the lower bunk, spared from the glaring fluorescent lights during morning roll call. The walls, once white, had taken on a gray hue, stained with dirt and dust that darkened the interior like the everlasting sins of its inhabitants.
"Take it as a really bad budget holiday," a fellow inmate had joked with her on their first day. Scout had merely scoffed at the idea, but the inmate's words lingered in her mind. The only difference was that holiday hotels did not lock their guests in with padded steel bars that constantly rattled in the passing sea winds through the tilted windows.
If there was anything good to take from this, it was that her cellmate, who was not with her at the moment, was clean. Scout often heard other inmates complain about their roommates, especially cells that smelled like urine. She had the misfortune of rooming with one such individual two weeks ago, and apparently, everyone knew about that woman's hygiene habits.
Shuddering at the memory, Scout looked at the letter in her hands. She had received it two days prior from a guard. The letter, light as a feather, felt like an anvil. She could barely glance at the sender's name without feeling nauseous.
Shutting her eyes tight, Scout stuffed the envelope under her worn-out pillow. Breathing out a shaky sigh, she was startled by a metallic rattle from the cell grate. Turning toward the noise, she was greeted by a guard affectionately nicknamed "Big Mama" by the inmates. No one knew the woman's real name or the color of her eyes, hidden behind oversized sunglasses. She towered over everyone, leading some to speculate that she was part giant. With short, shoulder-length curls tucked neatly under a dark blue police cap, chocolate-brown skin, and full lips, she commanded authority and respect.
At first, Scout was intimidated by Big Mama, but knowing her true nature made it hard not to like her. She was known to be strict but fair, and her strength meant that she was rarely challenged. Those who dared were often put in their places. However, she respected people and treated the inmates like humans—a far cry from some of the other guards, each with equally odd nicknames.
"Time for your break, Scout," Big Mama signaled to her. Unlocking the grate, Scout exited the cell and stretched a little. She glanced down the bare corridors of the facility, wincing at the bright white lights before making her way down. The rubber soles of her sandals slapped against the cracked cement floor. Big Mama opened the other inmates' cells, and soon, a stream of them shuffled toward their destination.
Scout automatically joined the others as they congregated in the cafeteria. A slight tension filled the air—an invisible spark, as Scout called it. Sparks that would fly if you did not play your cards right. Breaks in prison were like lunch in high school, with groups sorted by crimes instead of clubs. The loud, laughing cliques held most of the power, usually gang members who had found their way inside. Then there were the ghosts, those who skirted around the edges and did not wish to make a spectacle of themselves. Lastly, there were the outliers—those who did not play by the rules.
Newcomers like Scout were eyed and jeered at, testing the waters, as they would say. Scout had heard of a test the prisoners liked to partake in, and newcomers were fresh meat. She had managed to avoid such interactions by keeping a low profile and skirting around the shadows. However, it seemed today was not her lucky day.
Unknown to the guards, the appointed shadow leader of the place was a woman nicknamed "One-Eyed Joe." Rumors circulated about how she got that name—some said she lost her eye in a gang deal gone wrong, while others claimed an FBI agent shot her. Tales of her horrific dealings before her incarceration were abundant, and some inmates bore scars to prove it.
Unassuming at first glance, the woman— a head shorter than Scout—was skinny and frail. She had no muscles to speak of, with skin hanging loosely from bones that looked like they might crack. Middle-aged with yellowing teeth, she resembled Gollum from The Lord of the Rings. However, Scout knew not to underestimate this tyrant. Mayella Hobskin was the gang leader of one of the most notorious gangs in New York. Before her capture, she had ruled the underground drug scene with such savagery that even the Russian mobs refused to mess with her. She was the wife of a prominent politician who knew about her dealings. She might have gotten away with it if it hadn't been for a certain bust gone wrong.
Mayella had often bitterly declared that she could not escape the workings of a bloodhound from the East. Apparently, the FBI had damning evidence against her corrupt husband, which led to her downfall. Arrested and charged with drug trafficking two years ago, she was given a 15-year sentence. However, rumors circulated that murder charges had been added, potentially changing her stay in the facility to a permanent one.
Scout usually tried to keep her wits about her, bending forward, shoulders slumped, and looking at the ground, hoping to deter attention. She hoped that she wouldn't attract the shadow boss of this realm. She was unsuccessful; the woman, with a smile rivaling that of a rattlesnake, placed an arm around Scout's shoulder when she sat down.
Scout turned to stone, forcing herself to meet the woman's gaze while wincing at the sight of her crooked teeth.
"Well, well, well," Mayella began, sounding like a typical villain, "I see you have graced us with your presence today."
Chills ran down Scout's spine. She had heard of those who had failed the test—three ended up in mysterious accidents that required trips to the hospital, and four mysteriously died under "natural" circumstances. It was one of the reasons why Mayella had murder charges placed against her in the first place. The evidence, though circumstantial, was still up for debate.
"Cat got your tongue, young lady?" the woman purred, tightening her grip around Scout's shoulders. "Don't you know how to greet your elders?"
"Sorry," Scout responded quickly, swallowing to keep the tremor out of her voice. She could not show weakness; predators like Mayella would sniff it out a mile away. "Nice to meet you, Miss Mayella."
The woman's grin widened, her grip tightening like a constrictor.
"I have a task for you," she crooned. "You see, I have a problem with ladies who do not know their place." Mayella's fingers curled around Scout's short black curls. "Do you know who I'm talking about?"
Scout had her suspicions. After all, she had observed a somewhat intimidating standoff in the showers a few days ago. A certain strawberry blonde had stood with her arms folded as Mayella taunted her, mocking the scars on her body. However, the woman did not back down.
"Saggy man tits, was it?" Scout heard snippets of the aftermath. Inmates tired of Mayella's tyranny had been discussing it.
"Yes, and get this," the inmates continued, laughing softly at the words exchanged between the level-headed woman and Mayella. "She asked that old hag to brush her teeth."
The rumors ranged from snippets of the quarrel, which was stopped by the guards, to pure borderline fantasy. Supposedly, the woman had won a brawl against Mayella, who was left scampering like a rat back to the sewers. When Scout had asked her about it, the strawberry blonde shrugged. "I'm used to it," she replied with a wry smirk. Scout could never quite figure out her cellmate. The woman was not exactly American; rather, she was a "hafu," or what the Japanese called a mixed-race child.
She had many nicknames. Many knew her as "the doctor," as she was given free rein in the medic bay. Of course, as an inmate, she had to be monitored by a guard at all times. However, she was proficient with her diagnoses, and many of the older women swore by her medical expertise.
She had other names, too—"Ice Queen," a favorite crown title, for her tongue was as sharp as knives if anyone sprouted anything of inconceivable fallacy. Others called her "spy," "government watchdog," "princess," or most commonly, "Big Mama's bitch." She was famous among the inmates, and it was not uncommon to see her standing with the well-liked guard. Occasionally, Big Mama would laugh loudly. It was no secret that she was a special case, and though the news kept her crimes rather silent, rumors floated around—one stating that she belonged to a "black organization," which had made quite a headline three years prior.
To Scout, however, the woman was known as Miyano Shiho. Mostly quiet, Shiho was soft-spoken but firm. She was often aloof, minding her own business, but surprisingly gentle. Three weeks ago, Scout woke up to find a blanket draped over her. She had been crying the night before, the severity of her actions replaying constantly in her mind. When she awoke, Shiho was without her sheets, and when Scout inquired, the woman simply shrugged.
"They're in the wash," she had lied. Scout had been grateful ever since and made it a point to greet Shiho every morning. They rarely talked, as Shiho often read thick books filled with scientific jargon that made Scout's head spin.
"They're from an idiot," Shiho had replied when Scout inquired about them.
Other times, Shiho was off for her daily medical duties, and when she returned later, she would sleep. Sometimes, when the woman was away, Scout would steal glances at the photographs on the wall beside her bunk bed. There were many, kept in pristine condition—pictures of an old round-bellied man with happy eyes, of children who seemed to have grown over the years, of a raven-haired beauty with cheerful, kind eyes, and of a Japanese young man with dashing blue eyes and an ironic smirk. He was rather handsome, and when Scout casually remarked about him one day, Shiho merely stated not to be fooled that the man was indeed a "corpse magnet."
Though she said it rather crudely, Shiho wore a small, genuine smile as if sharing an inside joke. Her green eyes softened every time she glanced at the photo, making it clear to anyone that the man was important to her—somehow.
"So, Scout, was it?" Mayella's grating voice pulled her back to her predicament. "Do you understand what I want from you?"
The woman's smirk widened as Scout remained silent.
"I want you," her hands encircled Scout's neck, "to give her a lesson."
Mayella then forced a sharp metal fork into Scout's hand. It was not permitted here; most metals weren't. If Scout were to be found with this, she would be looking at least a week in solitary confinement. The thought alone made her blood run cold. She had no idea where this vile woman got it, but it was a weapon nonetheless.
"I'm counting on you, girl," the woman smiled, flashing her teeth, "and if you fail, well…" Mayella motioned to her neck. "You know what happens."
Scout was left with a sinking pit in her stomach. Hiding the fork in her pocket, her heart raced like a bullet train toward certain hell. Fear and dread threatened to burst from her chest.
She couldn't…
But there was nowhere else to go.
Glancing toward Shiho, who was talking to Big Mama, Scout held back a strangled sob. Just thinking about what she must do made her head spin. Resting her forehead against the cool plastic top of the table, she recalled Mayella's threat.
With fingers curling around the weapon, a decision was made through shaky resolution.
She was named Scout. Scout Finch—after the book. Even so, she was no heroine.
She was only—a coward.
5 years after the takedown of the black organization:
Japan, Kamakura
Mitsuhiko gazed at the train chugging along the old, forested tracks. Raising his digital camera, he shot the well-rounded, retro train. The Enoshima Electric Line was famous in these parts. During its lifetime, this single-track railway carried many commuters up and down Kamakura's coast.
After taking a few more photos, he felt a gentle nudge from a girl beside him. She pointed toward the teacher, who was calling for them up ahead.
"Thanks, Yuki-chan," he smiled at the demure girl, who nodded in response. She joined Ayumi as the girls gathered in front of the boys. Aside from Ayumi-chan, Yuki-chan was the only girl whom Mitsuhiko was on a first-name basis. She was mostly quiet, rarely smiled, and often seemed reserved. Unlike Ayumi's boisterous nature or Haibara's cool attitude, Yuki moved stiffly, often walking without moving her shoulders. Mitsuhiko had often joked that she was a robot, which made her blush. He had meant it without malice, and she hadn't taken offense, privately sharing that she enjoyed the occasional space-robot anime that popped up on television.
Donning thick glasses and a shoulder-length bob cut with fringe covering her eyes, she wasn't what most would consider conventionally pretty. In fact, she hadn't had many friends. Like most loners in school, the rooftop had become her regular spot. Mitsuhiko had found her there two years ago, during his first year in middle school.
Trying to revitalize the struggling photography club, he wanted to capture a shot of the sunset to entice new members. He had been given free rein over the club and was happily proclaimed its president by the graduating seniors. However, it didn't make much of a difference; he was the only member, after all.
While snapping photos, he chanced upon Yuki. She had been hiding between the rafters of the air-conditioned machines. When she appeared so silently, Mitsuhiko thought she was a ghost. His unmanly scream was met with embarrassment when he realized she was a real person. He quickly discovered that he had frightened her too, and he spent hours coaxing her out of hiding like one would a wildcat.
At first, Yuki could barely speak or look at him. But as the days passed, she slowly blossomed, speaking in short sentences instead of one-word answers. She would blush, giggle softly at his jokes, and share her opinions by tugging at his sleeves. Ayumi and Genta joined in later, with Yuki integrating into their little group.
In their second year, Yuki Harada joined the photography club at Ayumi's insistence, officially becoming the vice president. Though, it didn't make much difference as there were still only two members.
Either way, shy Yuki became an integral part of the club, learning quickly and assisting him with their various activities. Joining him on random hikes, Yuki grew stronger, brighter, and soon—closer. Observing her growth, Mitsuhiko couldn't help but feel like a proud parent, and he soon grew protective of the girl he had found.
"Finally making your move?" Genta asked, causing Mitsuhiko to jump at the boy's sudden appearance.
"Wh…what?"
Genta motioned to his camera, and Mitsuhiko realized his finger was on the trigger, subconsciously snapping photos of Yuki conversing with Ayumi. Scowling at Genta's growing smirk, Mitsuhiko stuffed the camera into his pouch and snatched a roasted chestnut from the paper bag Genta was carrying.
"It isn't like that. She's just like Ayumi!"
"Whatever you say, dude," Genta said, resting his heavy arm on Mitsuhiko's shoulder, grinning like a chimpanzee. Mitsuhiko was about to smack his childhood friend when a girlish, lithe voice interrupted them.
"Hi, Kojima-kun," a tall girl almost matching Genta's height greeted him. As usual, she was surrounded by two other girls. Everyone knew about her; in fact, she was the prettiest and often broke hearts.
With stylish chestnut brown hair reaching her hips and bright green eyes described as precious jewels by the male populace, Aya Minato had almost every growing boy at her feet. Even Mitsuhiko was not immune to her good looks and often found himself gawking at her lean, slightly muscular legs. She was part of the track and field club and was a star, with a fan club that cheered for her as she trained.
"Mi…Minato-san," Mitsuhiko stuttered but was pushed aside by Aya's friends.
Emi Utada and Mai Yamada were pretty girls, too. Emi had rosy cheeks and full-bodied lips, and she wore her raven-black hair in a ponytail. Like Aya, she was a member of the track and field club and was known for flirting with and teasing rejected stragglers.
Then there was Mai. She was quieter and more refined, carrying herself like a princess. With regal movements and sharp blue eyes, she was not to be messed with and was often seen hitting Emi on the head when the girl went too far.
Mai had her fan club, though she was unaware of it. Her fans, unlike Aya's, liked to keep a low profile. Mostly consisting of introverts, they often talked about her beautiful chestnut brown hair and ice-princess demeanor. Mitsuhiko, being one of the members, could only stare at her as she stood behind Aya, who was greeting Genta.
Aya was twirling her hair and smiling, flashing her teeth while purposely standing in front of the boy, who was still munching on his roasted chestnut. The girl might have had better luck flirting with a wall, as Genta was painfully oblivious to her advances.
"Oh hi…Haneda, was it?" Genta started.
"Minato, Genta," Mitsuhiko corrected the dense idiot, who nodded at Aya as he walked away.
"Hey, Ayumi, wait up!" the buffoon shouted at their childhood friend, who turned around with a frown. Ayumi gestured to the chestnuts he was holding.
"Eating again! Genta, didn't the coach ask you to lose five kilograms before the next season's match?"
"Aye," Genta continued, munching on the snack. "Don't fret the small details. Besides, you and Mitsuhiko would nag me constantly next month, so why start now?"
"Genta, I am not your mother!"
Mitsuhiko observed this with amusement. They looked like an old married couple to an outsider, but he knew better. This had been their dynamic since childhood and showed no signs of changing soon.
"I'm Sorry about Genta, Minato-san." Mitsuhiko apologized to the girl left hanging. "Did you need anything from him?"
Aya was staring at Genta with pursed lips. Mitsuhiko hadn't quite seen the charming girl this way before. She was usually confident—almost stuck-up, in a way—but never this…lost.
"None of your business," she muttered, storming away with heavy strides and pushing past him.
"Aya! That was rude!" Emi followed after the girl.
"Sorry about that," Mai sighed.
"Oh, not at all," Mitsuhiko stuttered at the girl, who gave him a slight nod before strolling after the others.
Mitsuhiko could only gawk at her before Genta and Ayumi called for him. He joined his other classmates as they made their way up the forest path into the shopping alley of Kamakura. The day unfolded like any typical school trip, with mandatory visits to the temples that made Kamakura famous. They admired the Buddha at Hase, known for its forbidding and imposing figure, and strolled through the well-kept gardens of Kitamura Temple.
Hydrangeas bloomed in a riot of blue, pink, white, and yellow, nestled among lush green bushes and bursting from the shoots like jewels, preserved and cared for by the temple staff. As they walked along the gravel paths, marveling at the 700-year-old trees and bells, they eventually boarded the old train toward Yuigahama Beach.
After a lengthy briefing of do's and don'ts, the boys and girls were separated into their respective levels at the hotel overlooking Japan's Inlet Sea.
"Woo-hoo!" Mitsuhiko's roommate, Isamu Saeki—a bubbly baseball athlete—was bouncing on the made beds. Their room, fortunately, faced the sea, offering a magnificent view of the sun setting over the horizon.
"Don't mess up the bed, Saeki-san," Mitsuhiko chuckled as the hyperactive teen bounced out of the bed and flung open the balcony windows, letting in the salty sea breeze. It was a beautiful sight, and Isamu whistled at the view again.
"Hurry, Tsuburaya-kun!" the teenager signaled to the setting sun, which spread golden pink hues across the azure, cloudless sky. "Snap a shot before it gets dark!"
Mitsuhiko obliged, capturing shots of the setting sun coupled with the sparkling waves. His thoughts wandered as he observed the scene, memories rushing back like the frothing waves of the Pacific Ocean—innocent childhood memories of a time spent on a beach five years ago, the scent of roasted marshmallows thick in the air, and the out-of-tune humming of the professor as he set up the tent. Genta and Ayumi laughed at the somewhat childish argument happening between Conan-kun and Haibara-san.
As usual, a heaviness settled over Mitsuhiko, causing him to lower his camera. A deep longing seeped into his chest, bringing a slight stinging sensation that made him grimace.
"Hey, you okay?" Isamu noticed Mitsuhiko's sudden quietness and nudged him gently.
"Y…yeah," Mitsuhiko smiled weakly to reassure his roommate. "Just tired."
"I've got just the remedy!" Isamu exclaimed, grabbing Mitsuhiko's shoulders and leading him back to the room. The boy with the short crew cut and wide, bright eyes flung open the cupboard with the force of an elephant and pulled out two sets of striped yukata.
"Soaking in the hot springs should do the trick," Isamu threw a yukata at Mitsuhiko.
"That's a swell idea," Mitsuhiko grinned. Burying the surfacing memories, he donned the yukata before exiting the room with Isamu.
"Hey, Samu!" a voice greeted them as they walked down the long corridor. Running toward them was a short, bespectacled teen. He had freckles running down his cheeks and hair as curly as Medusa. Like Genta, Kenzo Fubuki was part of the judo club, and despite his short stature, he was quite muscular.
"Yo, Ken!" Isamu chest-bumped his best friend before waving frantically to Genta, who was slowly strolling over with a packet of potato chips.
"Ayumi is going to kill you," Mitsuhiko warned, causing Genta to stiffen.
"She doesn't need to know."
"My lips aren't very tight."
"Here," Genta tossed Mitsuhiko a coin, which he caught effortlessly.
"Nice doing business with you."
"Likewise," Genta grinned while munching. Mitsuhiko didn't have the heart to tell him that Ayumi would figure it out. The girl, the judo club manager, had a sharp eye.
And—mainly because Genta never wiped his mouth. The boy, blissfully unaware of the crumbs on his yukata, continued munching as Mitsuhiko popped a coin into the vending machine, suddenly craving something cold.
"Ooo…" Isamu's exclamation brought their attention to the common area. There were girls here; like the boys, they were donning yukatas. Light pink in color, some girls had their hair down, causing some boys to swoon at the change of scenery.
"This is what a school trip is about," Isamu clapped his hands and licked his lips. It was no secret that Isamu was the most mischievous of the bunch and had gained a reputation among the girls for being a giant prankster. However, the girls mostly gave him a chance because Isamu was also incredibly kind.
"There's Yamada-san, Emi-chan, Minato-sama… oh, and Harada-chan," Isamu listed, causing Mitsuhiko to frown. "And… ooo… Yoshida-san! She's beautiful as always! Look at those shapely thighs!"
Genta smacked Isamu before he could continue, wearing a scowl. Isamu laughed nervously, looking to Kenta for help, who snickered at his plight.
"Look," Isamu tried to explain, "I wasn't trying to—"
"Mah, mah," Kenta came to his rescue. "Isamu, you should know not to eye somebody's girl."
"What?" Genta's scowl shifted to confusion, and Mitsuhiko sighed deeply. Ayumi might be oblivious to her feelings, but she wasn't dense. Genta, on the other hand, was a different story. You could confess to the idiot with a loudspeaker, and he still wouldn't notice.
"You better hide that bag of chips," Mitsuhiko interjected, changing the topic before his childhood friend had a brain aneurysm.
"Thanks, man." Genta hid the bag immediately, crumbs from his endeavor now dusting his yukata.
As they were about to call out to Ayumi, they were stopped. Isamu pushed them into the corner behind the vending machines.
"Ouch! Why did you—" Kenta started, but Isamu placed a finger over his lips.
"Shh," he motioned toward the girls. The boy was surprisingly perceptive to the change in mood.
Emi and Mai had been talking rather candidly with Ayumi about the various detective adventures she'd had in her childhood when Aya rudely interrupted them.
"Oh, I thought those were just rumors," Aya sneered. "So you were one of the hostages in the white mansion on Beika Street all those years ago."
With arms folded and a steely glare, Aya faced Ayumi with a cruel smirk. "How did it feel?"
Aya neared Ayumi, who was studying her carefully. "To be a damsel in distress?"
There was a harsh quiet. Yuki stood out immediately, the usually shy girl placing herself between Aya and Ayumi. "I… I think that was uncalled for, M… Minato-san."
"I wasn't talking to y—"
Emi slammed a hand over Aya's lips, looking at her as if she had grown a pair of horns on her head. She wasn't the only one who had to hold back a friend; Mitsuhiko did the same as he struggled with Genta, who was gritting his teeth.
The boy struggled against Mitsuhiko, Isamu, and Kenta's grip. "It isn't worth it," Mitsuhiko tried to placate him. "Let Ayumi handle this."
"But!" Genta protested. "She—"
"Yes," Ayumi began, and Genta paused. Mitsuhiko watched as his childhood friend stood with fists clenched. She faced Aya with clear, unrelenting eyes and smiled without malice. "I was with Genta and Mitsuhiko when it happened. It was a long time ago, and I can't remember how I felt then. I apologize if my answer was… disappointing."
Her words stunned Aya into silence, and her friends immediately reprimanded her. Emi and Mai apologized, quickly changing the subject to lighter topics about the trip's itinerary. Emi offered to buy them drinks, which Mai insisted on. Ayumi and Yuki joined the girls as they headed down the corridor.
However, as soon as their backs turned, Ayumi's smile dropped, and she used a hand to wipe her eyes. There was a deep sadness rooted in fear and loss—one that Mitsuhiko unfortunately understood. He released Genta, who immediately marched over to the girl who was lagging behind.
Mitsuhiko watched as Genta grabbed Ayumi by the shoulders. He observed the girl forcing a smile on her lips as she told Genta she was fine. He watched as she pointed out the crumbs on Genta's lips, which led to a light-hearted quarrel about his nonexistent diet.
The commotion drew the attention of those around the area. Aya turned away, smothering her expression, while Emi and Mai chased after her. Yuki tried to break up the argument, and their classmates giggled at the scene.
"Man," Kenta muttered, breaking the silence about Aya's behavior. "What was that about?"
Isamu and Kenta raised their eyebrows at Mitsuhiko, wanting answers he could not provide.
The incident with the silver-haired man was still fresh in their minds. The terror and fear of that moment were tangible, leaving them with many nightmares. It was why Genta took up judo, why Ayumi started her first-aid courses, and why Mitsuhiko brushed up on his information-gathering skills. They had discussed it and agreed to take on new skills. The healing process was long and arduous—they never wanted to remain that helpless again.
The disappearance of their two friends added to the hurt, and Mitsuhiko could only resign himself to the fact that they might never receive the answers they so craved.
"You were useless," an insidious voice echoed continuously in his psyche, sounding eerily like the silver-haired beast. "That was why they left."
Ran had told him that those thoughts were rubbish when he confided in her—that he should not entertain them. But it was harder to hold onto the truth when everything had proven otherwise.
"Just an old quarrel," Mitsuhiko answered Isamu and Kenta, who frowned. He gestured toward the hot springs, burying the pain deep. "Let's go before it gets too crowded."
It had been five years, and the Detective Boys were now—
Three.
Hello, I am back. I apologize for the long wait. Work has been hectic, and writing chapters while editing them has not been smooth. Even so, I hope you enjoy the first installment of the last six chapters :D.
The detective boys are now 15 and would have to navigate through situations without Conan or Haibara. As for Shiho and Shinichi, my decision was not made lightly. Shiho had indeed committed crimes, and forgiveness does not come easier, especially on matters pertaining to murder. I hope I can illustrate her healing process in the coming chapters, and I wish you a lovely week ahead. :D
I would finish this story, but it might take some time. So please give me time. Again, I thank everyone for their support and kindness.