Chapter 69
Detective Boys and Fire Starters
5 years after the takedown of the black organization:
Riker's Female Corrections Facility
It was a sunny day—a stark contrast to day when she first arrived. The air was hot, and Shiho stripped off the long leather coat they'd returned to her. She sat alone in a private room, her hands stained with ink from a faulty pen that had leaked as she signed the necessary documents. As she penned the last paper, she sighed, the tension finally releasing. She smiled briefly before sinking into the rusted, frayed chair.
"You're a free woman now, Shi," announced Big Mama, a.k.a. Maxine Woods, as Shiho exited the confined room. Maxine gave her a hearty pat on the shoulder, causing Shiho to stumble slightly before being caught by a young woman. Scout Finch steadied her, then pulled her into a tight hug.
"I'm going to miss you."
"I'll write. You have my number," Shiho replied. "It'll only be a few more months. I'll visit when you're out."
"Promise?"
Shiho nodded, and Scout tightened her hug. Just a year younger, Scout felt like a little sister. Over the years, they had grown close, and with Shiho's encouragement, Scout had enrolled in an undergraduate program in social science. When asked why she chose it, Scout would simply point to a letter she opened two years ago. The letter of forgiveness influencing her decision and well—
"I want to help others the way you helped me."
"I didn't do anything," Shiho scoffed, but Scout just snorted.
"Learn to take a compliment. A little affection wouldn't hurt. You're so cold. I pity your boyfriend."
"Why should you? If anything, that corpse magnet deserves all the scolding he can get."
"Admit it," Scout chuckled. "You adore him too much to be that harsh."
Their conversations often turned into lighthearted teasing, and though Shiho wouldn't admit it, Scout was right.
She did miss him.
As her release day approached, so did her anticipation. Excitement gnawed at her, keeping her awake—its sharp edges digging at her like a rat burrowing into the ground.
Now, as she stood before the iron gates, hesitation set in. The anticipation vanished, replaced by nervousness. Taking a deep breath, she braced herself as Maxine and Scout waved their goodbyes.
For five years, she had served her sentence. She had worked to help others in the facility, using her medical expertise, and faced her demons, her past. Shinichi had once called this place a prison, but to Shiho, it had been a turning point. Now, she was leaving it—stepping back into a world where the prison walls could no longer protect her.
"I don't know, Shinichi," she'd once confided to him on a particularly bad day. She'd been plagued by nightmares of Gin and of her dead sister, visions tainted by blood and grief.
"I don't see a future. I still see them…those I gave the drug to…those I killed."
The phantom chains dragged her deeper into her regrets as the faces of those she'd condemned with her creation screamed silently. Blank, accusing eyes whispered to her, tormenting her. There was no point hiding what she'd done.
She had killed.
The memories festered, turning into a poison coursing through her veins. Shinichi had simply listened, silently placing his hand on the glass and urging her to do the same. She couldn't bring herself to; a chill spread through her as if she'd swallowed liquid helium.
The visit ended, and Shinichi had to leave. Reluctantly, he'd said goodbye while she remained despondent.
The days crawled by with no escape from the relentless memories. Her scars throbbed like an unending fever, haunted by Gin's abuse, her actions, and never-ending guilt. Her decline worried Big Mama, who nagged her to eat, to drink—to live.
Shinichi returned a week later, holding a book that he passed through a guard to her.
"The Tempest," he said, resting his hand against the glass.
"Shakespeare?" Shiho retorted with sarcasm, trying to mask her pain. "Are you trying to put me to sleep?"
"O brave new world," Shinichi quoted, "that has such people in it."
"I'm not in the mood for riddl—"
"You're scared." His gentle smile silenced her. "You don't know where you fit in this new world, but things change, Shiho…and—" He placed his hand against the glass again, almost pleading.
Slowly, Shiho mirrored him, placing her hand on the glass. Though she couldn't touch him physically, she felt something—his presence chasing away the darkness threatening to consume her.
"We have to live on, to face what's ahead," he was adamant. "Like Miranda in her brave new world. Shiho…the possibilities with me…are endless, aren't they?"
It was the cheesiest confession she'd ever heard, and Shiho bit her lip to stifle a retort. But—
"An endless possibility of corpses, you mean," she joked, the ache within her lightened by his words.
"I was thinking of something more positive."
"I see why you like her."
"Miranda?"
"You're like her."
"Well, I don't mind. She's beautiful, isn't she?"
"She was also known as the naive fool, wasn't she?"
"I beg to differ." Shinichi's brows tightened in displeasure, and Shiho chuckled.
"And what would you be?"
"Well, since you're Miranda," she smirked as his lips formed a line, "it's only fitting that I'll be the dashing Ferdinand."
"Nope." Shinichi crossed his legs and leaned back into the plastic chair. "I think Prospero suits you better."
"He's an old man."
"Exactly. A grumpy, brooding cynic—"
"So, Kudou Shinichi, the great detective of the East…is attracted to old men?"
"You—"
"Remind me to tell Ran about this."
"You would do no such thing."
"Ara, what happened to your positivity? Uncovering a hidden fetish could be your brave new world."
"Unfortunately, that's a brave new world I refuse to partake in."
"But I thought you said I remind you of Prospero?"
"Are you an old man?"
"You implied it."
"Now you're being ridiculous."
"Oh, is Miranda…upset?"
"Nonsense!"
And their banter continued.
That night, she read the book he'd given her. It was dated. The words were long and arduous. Shakespeare wasn't her cup of tea. But as she continued, the story of redemption and forgiveness brought a rare comfort—hope she could cling to.
"It's time," Big Mama's voice cut through her thoughts, and Shiho turned toward the mechanized iron gates as they began to open. They groaned under their weight, and bright light poured through the widening crack.
The endless blue sky, the salty scent of the ocean, and the cries of seagulls greeted her all at once. Vibrant colors flooded her senses, transforming the grays into a brilliant rainbow. Her once-dull world opened up, and she took her a step forward.
5 years after the takedown of the black organization:
Kamakura, Municipal Hospital
"All right. All finished…"
Haibara was cupping his cheeks. Her touch was gentle. Her tone, however, was anything but.
"Now, just lie face down and stay still. Understand?"
Her instructions were sharp and curt, yet the warmth of her hands lingered on his cheeks. Genta reached out, recalling the girl's narrowed gaze.
"Haibara," he muttered. Her face blurred and morphed into that of a bespectacled boy.
"Conan…" he groaned. The two figures drifted further into the distance, their forms losing the childlike quality he had always known. Now young adults, they stood separated by a gulf—a vast body of water.
"Hey! You guys!" Genta shouted. He plunged into the ice-cold water, wading deeper and deeper into the depths. But no matter how far he went, the distance between them grew.
"Guys!" he cried desperately. "Wait! Please, wait!"
Their silhouettes became hazy. He could barely remember their faces.
"Why!" he screamed as the water swallowed him, its acrid taste burning his throat, bitter like the ache in his chest. "Why did you leave?"
"Kojima-kun!" A voice called out to him. "Kojima-kun, wake up!"
He gasped, ears ringing and vision blurring. Taking a sharp breath, he choked, coughing violently. The air reeked of antiseptic. He reached for the oxygen mask strapped to his face, but a hand stopped him.
"Do you know where you are, Kojima-kun?" asked a woman in a nurse's uniform. "Do you remember what happened?"
"W…what?" he stammered. His throat was sore and raw, every word a strain. Everything ached.
"I told you something was wrong! He has amnesia!" exclaimed Isamu, popping out from behind the nurse. Her furrowed brow betrayed her annoyance.
"Saeki…" Genta addressed his classmate, wincing as broken fragments of memory came flooding back. The last thing he recalled was pulling Aya out of the wreckage—
"Ayumi!" He bolted upright, yanking off the oxygen mask and shaking off the nurse, trying to hold him down. He stumbled out of the bed, collapsing forward, only to be caught by Kenta and Isamu.
"Easy, man. Relax!" Kenta chided, but Genta couldn't.
"Where are they?" he demanded.
Dragging the two boys with him, he stumbled through the ward. The nurse's orders to stay put fell on deaf ears as he navigated through the symphony of beeping machines and the glare of fluorescent lights.
"Ayumi! Mitsuhiko!" he called out.
"Kojima-kun!" Yuki appeared before him, motioning toward the beds a few meters away. "They're safe. Please, calm down."
Genta hurried over, pulling back the curtain to reveal Ayumi's sleeping form. His panic subsided instantly, and he sank to his knees.
"Hey, man! Come on!" protested Isamu and Kenta under his weight, but he didn't care.
"What happened?" he asked.
"There was a fire. It started in our carriage. I don't know the exact details, but the firefighters said it was caused by an electrical fault," Yuki explained.
"We thought you guys were goners!" Isamu cut in. "But you, Genta—you pulled Aya out! Then you disappeared into the smoke again!"
"How…" Genta muttered. "Who saved us?"
"Oh," Kenta began, but Yuki interjected.
"Firefighters," she clarified. "They rushed in and got you all out."
"Which was lucky," the nurse scolded. "A few more minutes, and you wouldn't be here."
Genta absorbed the information, his body sagging with exhaustion.
"Is Minato-san ok?" he asked.
"She was hysterical," Isamu replied. "Kept blaming herself for your injuries. Eri and Mai are with her now. Don't worry, rest."
Unable to stand any longer, Genta collapsed into the chair beside Ayumi's bed. The nurse groaned in exasperation, dragging over his oxygen tank.
"Fine, stay here. But use this! I can't have you fainting on my watch!"
Hours passed as Isamu and Kenta filled him in on the chaos. They left after a while, leaving Genta alone with his thoughts. He noticed Yuki standing by Mitsuhiko's bed, her hand brushing over his forehead every now and then. Her quiet concern brought a smile to Genta's face. He couldn't help but wish he had his phone to capture the moment—a perfect scene for teasing his freckled friend later. But for now, his worry outweighed any thoughts of mischief.
She was breathing deeply, sometimes whispering, occasionally breaking into soft sobs. For a fleeting moment, she resembled the 10-year-old Ayumi who had once cried into his shoulders—sobbing uncontrollably over their vanished friends. She had never spoken about that incident again, yet Genta had quietly watched her over the years. He had seen her grow—taller, prettier, more self-assured in her abilities. He had known her all his life, yet there was always something new to discover.
Genta could never tire of the girl who cared so deeply for others…even for those who had hurt her.
A faint sniffle broke his thoughts, drawing his attention. Genta turned to see Ayumi stirring. Her eyes fluttered open, dazed at first, before locking onto him. Her azure gaze filled with recognition.
"Genta-kun?" Her voice felt like a balm.
"Ayumi!" He moved closer, only to be pushed aside by Aya Minato.
"Yoshida-san, I'm so sorry!" Aya sobbed remorse pouring from her. Eri and Mai stood beside her, patting her back.
Alarmed, Ayumi tried to sit up but broke into a coughing fit.
"Ayumi!" Genta supported her, helping her breathe easier.
"You're…ok…" Ayumi whispered, her tearful gaze locking on Aya. She grabbed the other girl's wrist. "I'm so glad you're ok."
Aya's eyes widened in disbelief. "Why…" she choked, "Why did you save me? I… I've been so horrible to you."
"Why shouldn't I?" Ayumi replied as though the question made no sense.
"That's right," Genta added firmly. "Everybody deserves a chance."
Silence hung in the air as Aya, Emi, and Mai exchanged glances, their eyes drifting between Genta and Ayumi.
"Well, Aya-chan," Emi slapped her friend on the back with a knowing grin. "I told you, didn't I? You never stood a chance."
Genta frowned, confused by the cryptic exchange between the girls.
"What do you mean?" he asked, eyebrows furrowing.
Aya sighed heavily but offered a warm smile. "Thank you, Yoshida-san," she said softly before turning to Genta. She stepped closer, clutching his sleeve tightly.
"Take care of her, Kojima-kun," her grip firm. "If anything happens to her, there will be hell to pay."
Before he could respond, she let go and gave him a somber smile. "Goodbye, Kojima-kun," Aya murmured as she turned and left the room. Eri and Mai followed after her, patting her back and shoulders in quiet support. Genta could have sworn he caught a glimpse of tears glistening in Aya's eyes as she left.
"What was that all about?" Genta muttered, bewildered by the girls' behavior. He turned to Ayumi, still seated on the hospital bed. "Don't I always take care of you."
As he leaned closer to check on her, he placed a hand on her forehead, his expression growing concerned.
"Do you have a fever? Your cheeks are so red! Should I call the nurse?"
Ayumi spluttered, slapping his hands away. "Mo, Genta-kun!" she chided as she turned her head to hide her flushed face. "You're such an idiot."
"Hey!" he protested. "I was just worried about you!"
"I'm fine," Ayumi said quickly, brushing off his concern. "What about Mitsuhiko-kun? Is he alright? And the other passengers—are they safe?"
"He's fine… they're all fine. Yuki said there were no casualties," Genta reassured her, pausing momentarily before his gaze shifted toward Mitsuhiko's bed. "Speaking of Yuki..."
The freckled boy was still fast asleep, but beside him stood Yuki, stroking his forehead. Genta watched the scene unfold and silently cursed himself for not bringing his phone again.
"Don't worry about your boyfriend," he remarked, grinning mischievously. Yuki immediately shrank back, her cheeks turning a bright shade of red.
"Genta-kun!" Ayumi scolded, her voice rising indignantly.
"What?" he said, feigning innocence.
About an hour later, Mitsuhiko awoke, groggy but otherwise fine. As expected, he immediately began bombarding everyone with questions.
Not long after, the police arrived, followed by their teachers. Statements were taken, and the teachers decided it was best for the group to remain in the hospital overnight for observation.
Yuki volunteered to stay behind and look after them, a decision the teachers readily approved, given her responsible nature. She then snuck in laptops and a map of Kamakura.
Mitsuhiko was thoroughly impressed. "Yuki-chan, this is amazing!" he said, practically glowing with admiration. His effusive praise only made her cheeks redden further, and Genta couldn't help but notice how much she resembled a tomato.
"Stop gushing over your girlfriend," Genta teased Mitsuhiko later. The boy choked on his water, sputtering.
"I… I'm not!" Mitsuhiko protested, though his attempt to deny the "girlfriend" comment was far from convincing.
Later, the group gathered around Mitsuhiko's bed.
"Alright, everyone," he began, a spark of excitement in his voice. "We have a serial arsonist to catch!"
5 years after the takedown of the black organization:
Riker's Island
Two hundred and sixty times.
"Ok," the guard, Thomas Sowell, handed Shinichi the usual pass. "You're free to enter the waiting room."
"Thanks, Thomas."
"Must be a special day." Thomas gestured toward the bouquet in Shinichi's hands, a sly grin creeping across. "You finally gonna tell old Sowell who the lucky girl is?"
Two hundred and sixty times, Shinichi thought, hugging the flowers tightly to his chest. He had visited this place two hundred and sixty times. Each visit was counted and logged in his mind, each parting etched with excruciating clarity.
Each time, his hatred for glass windows renewed itself.
"No," Shinichi replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"Aww, come on. We're old buddies, aren't we?"
"What can I say? A famous detective like me enjoys a little mystery."
"Dammit," Thomas threw up his hands in mock frustration. "How's business, by the way?"
Shinichi shrugged. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, poorly concealed by the sunglasses he wore. Not that it mattered—the girl would see through him anyway.
"Unfortunately, it's booming."
"Unfortunate? Business is business, kid. Though I have to admit, I never thought a detective from the East would make it so big over here. And yet, here we are."
Shinichi frowned. "Thomas, you were part of that case too."
"True," Thomas shot back with a smirk. "Guess that means you owe me a commission for all this booming business."
"What do you want?"
"Only the name of the mysterious lady who helped us out."
"You're never going to stop asking, are you?"
"Hey, we've got some time. Humor this old fart for a bit."
"Fine," Shinichi sighed, giving in to the pestering man of forty. Thomas Sowell was as infuriating now as he had been the first day they met.
Tall and broad-shouldered, Thomas had sharp gray eyes and an undeniable charm. Most women fell for him—something Shinichi had never quite understood. Apparently, his leather jacket and southern accent were enough to win them over.
The first time Shinichi had encountered Thomas, the man had been shamelessly flirting with a single mom, leaving her blushing in the hallway. Shinichi would never have imagined they'd grow close. But seeing the same man nearly every week for the past five years has a way of forging bonds.
"Her name is Miyano—"
"Miyano Shiho? The Miyano Shiho?" Thomas cut in.
Shinichi narrowed his eyes. "Why ask when you already know the answer?"
"Because you make it too easy. And, well, it's fun messing with you."
Rolling his eyes, Shinichi turned toward the locked gates ahead. His expression softened into a smile. No amount of teasing could ruin his mood. It had been two hundred and sixty visits, but the wait—was over.
He still couldn't believe he'd made it this far. If not for the detective agency he started, he might have lost his sanity entirely.
The agency's beginnings had been slow. Its location—a seedy backstreet in New York—didn't help matters. Shiho had chided him for choosing such a spot, but Shinichi had been resolute. After all, it was the closest place to Riker's Island. And on clear days, he could see the island from his window.
"A hopeless romantic," Sonoko had teased during one of her visits. The heiress, having heard the whole story from Ran, had been hysterical for days. When she finally calmed down, she stormed into Shinichi's mansion and, in true Sonoko fashion, berated him for hours.
She could have offered help, she argued. She could have provided him with resources, with connections, with anything he needed to dismantle the organization. Most of all, she was hurt that Shinichi hadn't trusted her enough to confide in her sooner.
Despite her anger, when Sonoko heard about Shinichi's current plight, she was the first to step in. Without hesitation, she purchased the apartment where his office was now located.
At first, the apartment was barren. But, slowly, over time, furniture began to fill the space, much of it impulse buys meant to soothe the ache. Pieces he imagined she might like, scattered around as if they could somehow bridge the distance between them.
Ran had chastised him for the wastefulness. "Don't spend all your money on things you don't need," she'd shake her head at his childish whims. Then, with a softer tone, she'd brought up the children.
Shiho always mentioned the children. Their visits—though far too short—were often filled with light-hearted banter, candid advice, and quiet, bittersweet moments about the kids.
"My only regret is leaving them behind," she confessed. Shinichi saw the weight of that guilt in her eyes, mirrored by his own.
"You don't have to worry about them," he'd said, but she only snorted in reply. "I'm fine, Shinichi," she'd insisted, wearing a brave front. Yet, he could see it—how the memories of her past haunted her. This time, though, she wasn't hiding it as she once did. Instead, she allowed him glimpses into her hurt, sharing pieces of herself that she'd always kept locked away.
All Shinichi could offer in return were hollow words of comfort and the aching simulation of touch—a phantom press of their palms against the cursed glass that separated them.
Their solution to connecting with the children was through letters. Often, Shinichi brought pen and paper during visits so they could write their thoughts together. But the letters were never enough. Ran had told him that the children were growing weary and sad, their young hearts heavy with their absence.
Worried for their well-being, Shinichi resolved to pay the children a short visit. Yet the plan was delayed when Akai requested his help cracking a high-stakes case involving the Russian mafia and corrupt politicians.
The case blew wide open. Kingpins were dragged into the light, brought to justice at last. Shiho, against his furious protests, had played a pivotal role in taking down one of the mob boss's most dangerous allies—his wife, Mayella. Shiho's calculated risk succeeded, but it had left Shinichi both awed and enraged.
"How could you put yourself in danger like that?" he'd demanded during one of their visits.
"Because someone had to," she retorted, unapologetic. And she was right. Her plan worked, Mayella was behind bars, and Shinichi's name was splashed across headlines. His once-quiet office was suddenly flooded with work.
"This is all your fault," Shinichi muttered one day, bringing a stack of case files to their meeting.
"How is it my fault?" Shiho asked, arching an eyebrow.
"You called me a corpse magnet. The curse must have transferred over."
"Ara, it's not my fault your curse is international."
Her teasing eventually turned into collaboration. Despite her confinement, she began offering insights that proved critical to solving his cases. The scientist's sharp mind and unerring logic cracked clues he might have overlooked.
As weeks turned into months and months into years, Shinichi found his feelings growing exponentially. Shiho, the woman behind locked doors, was becoming more radiant with each passing day. Her smiles came more easily now. Therapy sessions helped her confront her trauma. Her work as the prison's doctor gave her a sense of purpose—proof that her skills could be used for good.
It had been Shinichi who requested she take on that role three months into her incarceration. "I can't sit still anymore," she'd admitted, frustration bubbling over. "All this time with nothing but my thoughts…it's unbearable."
Hearing this, Shinichi spoke with Akai, who pulled some strings. Soon after, the prison director granted Shiho special authority over the medical bay.
Reports came regularly from "Big Mama," the prison guard, who took great pleasure in teasing Shinichi. "Your doctor is a popular one," she'd say. And it was true. Shiho's diligence and talent quickly earned her admiration among inmates and staff alike. Her days became as full as Shinichi's, and the weight of her responsibilities gave her renewed purpose.
Still, the growing distance of time and work only made Shinichi's longing for her more unbearable. At night, he dreamed of her, and each time he woke—drenched in sweat, his yearning was sharper than before. It consumed him, an insatiable ache that grew larger with each passing day, threatening to topple over and unleash an unstoppable domino effect.
Restless, Shinichi found himself diving headfirst into any activity or work he could get involved in. Free time was a curse—a slow, unbearable torture. On the rare occasions his parents visited, they often stumbled upon him wandering the neighborhood in the middle of the night, aimlessly running laps in a futile attempt to exhaust his thoughts.
As the day of her release drew nearer, sleep became a luxury he could no longer afford. His excitement, burning like a tiny spark, flared into a blazing inferno. No amount of work could quiet his racing mind, nor could it dull the intensity of his longing.
It grew…and grew.
He couldn't wait anymore.
"When is she coming out?"
The sharp rhythm of his tapping shoes echoed against the concrete floor.
"Relax, you've waited five years. What's five more minutes?" Thomas chuckled, clearly amused.
Shinichi didn't respond. His grip on the bouquet tightened, his knuckles white as the tension rolled off him in waves. Every muscle in his body seemed to vibrate with restrained energy, his patience stretched impossibly thin.
Then, at last, the locked doors groaned as they began to open.
His heart pounded furiously, the thundering pulse in his ears drowning out all sound. Blood surged through his veins, igniting his senses as "Big Mama" stepped forward, grinning broadly.
Shinichi's breath hitched. His chest swelled, emotions crashing over him like a tidal wave as he walked toward the open gates.
5 years after the takedown of the black organization:
Kamakura, Municipal Hospital
The nurse had made her rounds a few minutes ago. After a futile attempt to nag them back into their beds, Mitsuki Anna—a plump nurse in her 20s—had warned them about the inevitable aches and sores that came from staying up too late.
Her warnings, however, fell on deaf ears. Shaking her head every time she passed by their ward, she had finally given up and left them to burn the midnight oil.
Under the dim, softened glow of the hospital lights, Mitsuhiko, Genta, and Ayumi huddled around Yuki, who was typing furiously on her laptop. Ayumi leaned over her shoulder, pointing to something on the screen while the boys hovered nearby.
Mitsuhiko sat nearest to Yuki, trying—and failing—not to get distracted by the faint scent of bergamot wafting from her freshly washed hair. The nurses had allowed her a bath earlier, and she'd returned an hour ago, her hair still carrying that mellow fragrance.
"Stop sniffing her, dude," Genta teased in a low whisper, grinning as he elbowed Mitsuhiko in the ribs.
Mitsuhiko's eyes widened in horror. "I am not!" he hissed, slapping a hand over Genta's mouth before the boy could say anything louder.
Oblivious to the exchange, Yuki continued typing, engrossed in Ayumi's instructions.
"I am not," Mitsuhiko whispered again, turning back to Genta with a mortified glare. His heart pounded in his chest as he caught the mischievous glint in his friend's eyes.
"So you admit you like her?" Genta barely contained his laughter.
"I admit nothing!" Mitsuhiko retorted, his voice rising slightly before he quickly lowered it again. "And even if I did, you would not be the first to know!"
Genta leaned closer. "I am the first. I will always be your first." Then, with exaggerated kissy noises, he broke into silent laughter.
Mitsuhiko clenched his fists, his face burning with embarrassment. "Focus on yourself first!" he snapped through gritted teeth, struggling to keep his voice down.
"If you two are done," Ayumi interjected, her stern tone cutting through their antics like a knife, "can we concentrate on the task?"
The boys froze, caught like deer in the headlights. Mitsuhiko turned to Yuki, his cheeks flushed as he met her gaze. She was smiling, flustered but trying to stifle a chuckle.
His chest tightened, and he quickly looked away, settling beside her as casually as he could manage.
Shucks… he thought, his mind swirling as he watched her turn back to the laptop.
How could I have been so blind?
"There have been approximately thirty-five unexplained fires since the start of the year," Yuki said, her voice steady and precise.
Pulling out a map of Kamakura, Ayumi began marking the locations of the outbreaks as Yuki recited each point of contention.
Her cool demeanor, sharp focus, and the determined glint in her eyes captivated Mitsuhiko. His attention drifted from the discussion to the curve of her long eyelashes, his thoughts wandering—
"Earth to Mitsuhiko!" Ayumi snapped her fingers in front of his face, jolting him from his reverie.
"W…what?"
"Do you have any opinions about this?" Ayumi asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Nah," Genta interjected with a grin. "All he's got are opinions about Yuki-chan."
"Shut your trap!" Mitsuhiko hissed, glaring at Genta. His hand twitched, tempted to swat the smirk off his friend's face. Instead, he turned his focus to the map Ayumi and a now-blushing Yuki had been preparing.
"Look for patterns," Mitsuhiko murmured, recalling Conan's advice. The bespectacled detective's words echoed in his mind. "A single occurrence is normal. A second is a coincidence. But a third…is a pattern. Remember, Mitsuhiko, there's always a pattern in every case."
"The fires all occurred in Kamakura," Mitsuhiko recited the basic facts, his eyes scanning the scattered marks on the map. The points appeared chaotic, sporadic, and without any apparent order.
"The time between the fires is getting shorter," Yuki added.
"Does that mean the culprit is getting bolder?" Ayumi asked, glancing at the others.
"Bold?" Genta leaned closer to the map, squinting as he examined the points. Without thinking, he placed a finger on one of the marked spots and traced a path, moving from point to point across the map.
"Wait!" Mitsuhiko's voice sharpened, startling the group. "Do that again, Genta!"
"What?"
"Trace your finger down the map again," Mitsuhiko urged.
"Why?"
"Just do it, Genta-kun!" Ayumi chimed in, voicing Mitsuhiko's growing frustration.
Grumbling under his breath, Genta complied, running his finger across the map once more, following the sequence of marked points.
As he did, a realization struck Yuki like lightning. Her breath hitched.
"Mitsuhiko-kun…"
He nodded, meeting her wide-eyed gaze. "You see it too, don't you?"
"What is it?" Ayumi leaned in.
"The culprit is setting fires along the Enoshima Line," Mitsuhiko tapped the map for emphasis.
"What does that mean?" Genta scratched his head, still trying to piece it together.
"It means," Mitsuhiko said patiently, "the culprit must be traveling along the tracks, looking for targets."
"Oh…" Genta muttered, the gears in his mind turning slowly.
"But," Ayumi interjected thoughtfully, "that doesn't narrow down the suspect list. The culprit could be anyone, and we don't have the time to sift through CCTV footage or stake out all the locations."
"True," Mitsuhiko agreed, brow furrowing. "But I don't think we need to wait for them to strike again. Remember what Conan-kun said about arsonists? There are different kinds. Some do it for revenge, others to hide a crime. But some…" His voice lowered as his eyes darkened. "Some do it as a form of release."
"A release?" Yuki repeated.
"Exactly. Yuki, you said the time between the fires is getting shorter. They're getting reckless. We just need to figure out their pattern because there's no doubt they'll strike again—and soon."
"Oh!" Genta exclaimed, his face lighting up with realization. "So you're saying we'll be waiting when they do?"
"Exactly. Now, all we need is to pinpoint their pattern."
Yuki studied them, her expression a mix of awe and disbelief. She shook her head, "How are you guys so calm about this?"
The Detective Boys exchanged knowing looks before grinning in unison, their teeth gleaming confidently.
"We've been solving cases since we were seven," Genta boasted, puffing out his chest proudly.
"Exposed is the correct word," Mitsuhiko corrected, his tone matter-of-fact. "We didn't really solve them."
Yuki frowned, clearly perplexed by their nonchalance.
"Yuki-chan," Ayumi placed a hand on her arm. "Have you ever heard of the corpse magnet?"
Yuki blinked, her confusion deepening.
Before she could get an answer, a piercing scream echoed through the night. The sound was haunting, like an animal in its death throes.
The group froze for a split second.
Genta was the first to react, bolting for the doors. Mitsuhiko, Ayumi, and Yuki were right on his heels as they burst out of their ward and into the dimly lit corridor.
The hallway was alive with chaos. Patients, roused from their sleep, peeked hesitantly from their rooms. Nurses on the night shift emerged from their stations, their faces a mix of concern and wariness.
Murmurs and whispers rippled through the halls like an undercurrent of dread.
"Was that coming from Ward One?" a nurse rushed past them. She slid open the door at the end of the corridor, and that's when it hit them—a stench so vile it clawed at their senses.
Mitsuhiko froze, his stomach churning. He'd smelt it before. It was unmistakable—the acrid, nauseating odor of burning flesh.
"What!?" Ayumi exclaimed, covering her nose with her hand.
Without hesitation, the trio darted toward Ward One, their hearts pounding. Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed ominously, the sound cutting through the suffocating tension.
The scene that greeted them as they entered the ward would be etched into their memories forever.
On the bed nearest to the door, a man writhed in agony. His body twisted and jerked unnaturally as though an unseen force was tearing him apart. His screams—raw and guttural—filled the room, echoing off the sterile walls.
The nurse who had rushed in earlier froze in place, her face pale with horror. Then, gathering her courage, she stepped forward, reaching to help the man.
"Wait!" Mitsuhiko shouted, his instincts telling him that something was wrong.
But before the nurse could do so, the lights of the ward flickered, and they were suddenly plunged into darkness.
"Don't touch him!" Hayate Kamiya's commanding voice boomed through the chaos.
The man they had met earlier that afternoon emerged from the shadows, motioning urgently to the bed with the other. "Step back. Now."
As if on cue, the darkness peeled away, illuminated by an unnatural blue light. The man's screams grew louder as the source of his agony became clear.
Blue flames—ethereal and ghostly—danced across the bed frame, licking at the sheets and burning through the mattress. The fire seemed alive, moving with a strange, deliberate malice, and the man's body convulsed as it consumed him.
The nurse stumbled back, trembling, her face ashen.
Mitsuhiko, Ayumi, and Genta stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear their eyes away from the horrific scene. The man on the bed let out one final, bloodcurdling scream before collapsing, his body going still.
The ward was silent now, except for the faint crackling of the ghostly flames.
"Call the police," Hayate said grimly. He stepped forward, positioning himself between the children and the smoldering bed.
"What…" Ayumi stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Hayate turned to them, his expression grave. Adjusting his glasses, he extended an arm to block them from getting closer.
"We have a murder on our hands."
5 years after the takedown of the black organization:
Riker's Island
There—she stood in the middle of the concrete bridge connecting the visitor's lobby to the prison ward, wearing the same outfit she had worn five years ago. A long brown leather coat brushed against her ankles, framing the crimson dress beneath it—a dress that still hugged her figure with an effortless elegance. She looked thinner now, but her emerald eyes… shone brighter, clearer, no longer shadowed by the weight of her past.
Shinichi's breath caught in his throat as he took her in. The golden rays of the afternoon sun dappled on her soft, strawberry-blonde hair, painting her in ethereal hues of light. Her serene smile—a faint, quiet curve of her lips—set his heart ablaze. The sea breeze played with her hair, carrying the faint scent of salt.
She stopped midway across the bridge, her gaze lifting to the horizon as though savoring her first real taste of freedom. But Shinichi didn't stop.
He dropped the bouquet.
Desires overflowed, spilling out of him like an uncontrollable tide. He broke into a run, closing the gap between them in an instant. And before she could react, he swept her up off her feet, cradling her like she weighed nothing at all.
"Shinichi!" she exclaimed, startled, but he didn't care.
He swung her around, his laughter mixing with the sound of the sea breeze. When he finally stopped, he pulled her close, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She smelled like the ocean—familiar, soothing.
She smelled like home.
His throat tightened as relief coursed through him, filling him from head to toe. Five years of yearning, longing, waiting—it all crashed over him in a single moment, and he tightened his grip around her like she might disappear if he let go.
"You're late…idiot," he murmured, his voice muffled against her skin.
"Are you done?" she teased softly, her tone as cool and composed as ever, though there was a warmth in her voice that made his heart swell.
He pulled back just enough to frown at her.
"Never."
"You're squeezing me like a boa constrictor," she complained.
"Firstly," he corrected with his usual pedantic flair, "a boa constrictor has a squeezing force of 2,000 pounds. That is physically impossible for a human being."
"Ara, it may be," she tilted her head, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. "I could hardly breathe."
"…Are we seriously having this conversation right now?"
"Yes."
"You infuriating—"
Before he could finish, she caught him off guard, leaning in and capturing his lips with her own.
His mind went blank as she kissed him softly. Her lips moved against his with tender purpose. Then, as though a switch had flipped, the heat between them surged. Her kiss grew deeper, more insistent, and he could feel her need—years of pent-up emotion pouring into him with every movement.
Shinichi's hands settled at her hips as he responded in kind, losing himself. By the time she pulled away, both of them were breathless.
A giant grin spread across Shinichi's face as he leaned in again, eager to recapture the moment. But before he could, she stopped him, pressing a firm palm against his chest.
"Down, boy," she whispered, her voice tinged with amusement even as her ears burned a vivid crimson.
"...Did you just order me… like a dog?"
"I might have insinuated."
"Well," his grin turned wolfish as he stepped closer, "you can't blame me for what happens next."
"Wha—"
He carried her effortlessly, his arms wrapping securely around her as he strode toward the exit of this dreaded place. The heavy, suffocating walls of the prison faded behind them, replaced by the open promise of freedom in the courtyard beyond.
Shiho struggled half-heartedly against his hold.
"Shinichi, put me down."
"Not happening," he replied, resolute, his pace unrelenting.
She sighed.
"This is unnecessary. You're being ridiculous."
"Nope. This is your punishment."
"I already did my time."
"Not on my watch, Watson."
"You have no case, Sherlock."
"Oh, but I do," he countered, the corners of his lips tugging into a mischievous grin as he finally set her down on a wooden bench nestled under the shade of a nearby tree.
Shiho crossed her arms, giving him a wary look.
"What are you planning now?"
"Simple." He stood before her, hands on his hips, his grin widening. "A bath. A nice meal. And some privacy."
Her lips parted slightly in surprise, but then she pursed them, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and irritation.
"Has being alone rendered the great detective into a cat in heat?"
He scoffed, undeterred by her sharp wit. Stepping closer, he leaned in, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "I missed you, Shiho."
Her eyes flickered briefly, her cool demeanor wavering ever so slightly. She remained silent, her face expressionless, though the deepening red creeping up her neck betrayed her.
Taking his time, Shinichi reached out to tuck a stray strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. His hand lingered, his thumb brushing against her cheek as he cupped her face, letting the warmth of her presence soak into him.
Happiness swelled within him, threatening to spill over. Five years apart. Five long years of imagining this moment, and yet nothing could compare to the reality of having her here, safe and real, in his arms.
"So?" he whispered, his voice husky with anticipation. "How about it?"
Shiho stared at him, her gaze softened by something he couldn't quite name. For a second, she seemed to consider.
"We could…" she began tentatively. "If we don't run into a dead body along the way."
His face immediately fell into a frown, the spell of the moment briefly broken by her infamous penchant for snark.
She always had to have the last word, didn't she?
"I'm not stopping for them," he said firmly, his brows furrowed.
"Are you sure?" she asked, her lips quirking up into the faintest hint of a smirk.
"I've waited five years."
Her smirk faded, replaced by a sombre look of something deeper—something—
"You shouldn't have," she reached up, her fingers brushing against his hand on her cheek.
The words were soft, spoken almost too quietly to hear, but they struck him like a thunderclap.
"You asked me to," Shinichi's voice was filled with quiet resolve.
For a fleeting moment, neither of them spoke. The world seemed to still, the sea breeze whispering through the courtyard as they stood frozen in their fragile bubble of shared vulnerability.
"I did," she admitted, as though it were almost a confession in itself.
She looked up at him.
"I like it gentle," her voice barely audible.
"I won't bite."
"Not like a boa constrictor?"
"...You're never letting that go, are you?"
"No," Shiho replied with a playful grin before pulling him closer, her hands snaking around his waist again. The closeness between them felt like a natural pull as if they'd always belonged this way. Her breath was warm against his neck; each exhale sent a shiver through him.
Then, in the quietest of whispers—
"I missed you, Shinichi."
The words were genuine, raw, and so achingly honest that they pierced through.
Her declaration reached deep into him, and without a second thought, Shinichi swept her up in his arms again. He held her close, feeling the familiar weight of her body against his, a feeling so right that it made the ache of separation vanish in an instant.
Shiho buried her face in his chest, her breath calming, her presence soothing all the pain and yearning that had taken root in him over the years.
"Take me home... corpse magnet."
Shinichi paused, raising a brow.
"Seriously?"
"Honestly, that was worth the wait," Shiho responded with a chuckle that melted the last remnants of unease.
"Oi…"
Ok, finally, I managed to get this out XD. Writing this between lunch breaks at work has been hectic but worth it. I would like to thank my friend (she would like to remain anonymous for helping me check my grammar. There were so many mistakes, but she was a life-saver :D) Grammer is, and will always be, the bane of my existence. Again, I would like to thank you guys for reading and supporting this story. I am slightly nervous about this chapter. I am not good at writing romantic scenes, and I have tried to get them right for weeks. I hope it satisfies the readers :D, and I hope to churn out another chapter, hopefully by next week).
Again, thank you for everything, and I wish you guys a great week ahead.
Episodes used:
Episode 467 - The Unmashable Snowman