[fic][dc/mk] Onions (5/?)
Onions (5/?)
by vikki
Parts 1-4
Summary: It's been 5 years since Shinichi was shrunk, and a lot has changed. But Kaitou Kid is still flying high ...
Part Summary: Shit has a high probability of hitting the fan.
For two days, everything was very quiet. Conan missed school the day after the heist after sleeping in late. His involvement in the Kaitou Kid heist was kept completely silent, he was gratified to see in the newspapers. He went to the library, returned some books and obtained new ones. He did his math homework. The next day was Sunday; he stayed in rather than attend soccer practice with the school club - all the better to avoid questions about his cut cheek, which was still healing. After all, he had research to do.
Shinichi felt pensive. Nervous wasn't quite the word, but it was close. After the heist, real life felt more surreal. Also, he couldn't help but keep chewing on the problem of why he'd been shot at. The culprit(s) had never leveled a shot at anyone except Kid; why would they shoot at Conan? It made no sense. No matter how alike their features were, it was impossible to mistake a twelve-year-old for the twenty-something Kaitou Kid dressed all in white.
The only explanation Shinichi could come up with was that for some reason, Conan was a target as well. It put his heart in his throat. Would the disaster of two years ago happen again ...?
On the evening of the second day, Shinichi emerged from the shower to find someone sitting on his couch.
Shinichi had an immediate panic attack. He grabbed at his wrist automatically, where he usually wore his watch, but it wasn't on - he had just changed into his pajamas, after all. For a moment Shinichi was frozen to the spot, trying to think of what to do.
The person turned to look at him, and even though the lights were off and the sunlight was dim, Conan recognized him: Kaitou Kid, only not dressed up to steal a jewel. He wore street clothes - jeans, a shirt, and a thin jacket, and his face was unobscured, mockingly like Shinichi's but with wilder hair. Automatically Shinichi looked for identifying marks - a school jersey, perhaps, or some sort of sign of Kaitou Kid's usual vocation, but there was nothing. His clothes were perfectly generic and practically as good as new, with no visible wear and tear.
Kid raised a hand, and Shinichi realized he wore black gloves. "Hello, detective. I figured since you already know my face, the monocle was a little bit of overkill." He smiled.
Shinichi relaxed slightly and pressed his hand to his chest to calm his racing heart. "You startled me."
"I apologize." Kid dipped his head in some semblance of a seated bow. "I believe I told you some time ago that you wouldn't see my face again unless you sought me out, but since you came the other night I guessed you wouldn't mind if I dropped by."
Shinichi was silent. He scrubbed at his hair with the towel around his shoulders, walked into the sitting room, and hoisted himself into his single cushion chair. He rarely used the thing, which had come with the apartment, because it was fluffy and wide enough that he sort of sunk into the cushions and had a hard time getting out - a problem, he knew, he wouldn't have if he wasn't barely a meter tall and twenty-seven kilograms. "Actually, I'm glad you came," he said at length, once he was properly seated. "I have a few questions."
"I'm at your disposal," Kid replied, upturning his palms as if to say 'go right ahead'. "But first, how's your badge of honor?"
"My what?" Shinichi blinked, then realized what Kid meant; he touched his stitched cheek. He had yet to replace the bandages after his shower. "Oh, it's healing fine. 'Badge of honor'?"
Kid kept smiling, but something about the look was humorless. "This was the first time someone other than me was maliciously hurt on an official Kaitou Kid heist. Aren't you proud?"
Shinichi scowled. "Black humor doesn't suit you," he said tartly, annoyed mostly because that very fact concerned him as well. "Is that why you came, to check on me? It's nothing compared to you six months ago."
"May it never come to that," Kaitou Kid replied, and now he wasn't smiling at all.
Shinichi sighed, flopping back in his chair and sinking a few centimeters into the space between the seat and back. He had to squirm to get back out and blushed irritably. "If that's enough of your whining," he snapped, "I want to know: the other night, the balloon you sent up before your heist - was it meant to explode? And if so, did it explode on time or early?"
Kid's eyebrows rose slightly. "Oh, that. It exploded at the proper time. Why do you ask?"
Shinichi ignored the question. "That's good," he murmured instead. "I heard from Inspector Nakamori that recently, you've been shot at regularly. Have you ever been shot at before you completed a heist, or has it always been afterwards?"
Kid seemed to be catching the drift of his questions now. "You mean, does the Black Organization mean to murder me, or steal what I've already stolen?"
Shinichi licked his lips. "Yes, something like that." It was a worthy question. Since the heist he had sat down and gone over the public records of the first International Thief 1412, both at the library and online; he had disappeared abruptly fifteen years before. There was no record of his body being found, which would have resulted in the revelation of his identity. Although it was just a hunch with no proof to back it up, Shinichi wondered if the Black Organization had a hand in his disappearance. Was it the death of the first Kaitou Kid that had led to this one? It was likely; Shinichi wondered what the first Kid had been to this one. A mentor? A family friend? Perhaps, even, a family member, an uncle or a father? If the Organization had wiped him from the earth, than it answered Shinichi's question from six months before, as to what they had taken from Kid.
But if they had killed the first Kid, why didn't they kill the new one? It would be one thing if they were trying unsuccessfully. They couldn't know the identity of either Phantom Thief. Shinichi felt a pang of envy.
"If they wanted me dead, detective, I would have been killed in my bed long ago," Kaitou Kid said.
Shinichi looked up in surprise as his theory was shattered. "Then - they know who you are!?"
"In all likelihood, yes." Kid leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his gaze focused on the carpet. "They killed my - the first Kaitou Kid in his civilian life. It wouldn't be a long leap to know who his successor is."
Your what? Your friend? Father? What!? Shinichi ached to ask, but Kid would deflect the question unless he was clever about it. The mystery would have to wait. "Then ..."
Kid looked back up and met Shinichi's eyes. "They probably think, 'It's okay if he dies, but if he finds Pandora for us, that will be good as well.' The fact they've become more active in their attempts on me is a concern, but it's odd they haven't come after me actively outside my, erm, antics if they really want me to die."
Shinichi leaned forward and slid backwards into the chair again. With a grunt of frustration he pushed himself out of the cushions. "Maybe they want you to hasten," he guessed. "I don't have any proof, but maybe they think that if you expect to die, you'll hurry up your attempts to find the jewel."
"Mm." International Thief 1412 made a noncommittal sound. "There's a lot of jewels left to steal in this world, though." He smirked.
Shinichi snorted, but instead of answering the goading statement, he changed the subject. "You never answered my question before. Did you come here to check on me?"
Kid sobered up immediately. "Something like that," he answered, his voice low. "You haven't seen anything strange in the last two days, have you?"
The quiet was oppressive. The only sound was the hum of Shinichi's fridge. "No," the detective answered. "But I've hardly left this apartment."
Kid nodded, his gaze drifting across the sitting room as if looking for something. "Keep your eyes open, detective. It's strange that you were shot at."
Shinichi said nothing. It was merely confirmation of his own suspicions and fears, hearing these words from Kid's mouth. He dropped his gaze towards his lap and bent his head forward as his gut twisted in his stomach. I haven't gotten close to anyone this time, have I? Will they trace where my funds are coming from? My parents and I have been careful but they have vast resources ... and maybe I'm just overreacting, and everything will continue on as it has before ...
He was sliding backwards in the cushions again. Shinichi growled with frustration and struggled to keep himself from getting wedged in the seat when a pair of hands came down and caught him under his armpits. Shinichi blinked as he was pulled free without effort and set back on his feet in front of the chair, then flushed with embarrassment and anger as he looked up at his rescuer. "Th-... thanks." He almost choked on the word.
"You looked like you were having trouble there," Kid said. His smile was smug to Shinichi's eyes, but Shinichi's pride was smarting so he was hardly objective at the moment. To Kid's credit, however, he said nothing more on the subject. "In any case--"
"Naturally, I'll keep my eyes open," Shinichi interrupted. "Don't you know it's impossible for a detective to walk around with his eyes closed?" He sighed, pulling the heavily damp towel off his narrow shoulders. "But answer me honestly, Kid - do you think ... do you think they recognized me that night?"
Kid crouched in front of Shinichi so they were nearly eye-to-eye - in fact, Shinichi was able to look down into Kid's face. "In perfect honesty ... I'm not sure." Kid laid light fingers on Shinichi's shoulder; Shinichi abruptly wanted, with a vehemence that startled him, to shake Kid's hand off. It was patronizing and unfair - no matter what his height and situation, he had earned the right to have Kid look on him as an equal. However, Kid continued and Shinichi stood stock still, his fists clenched at his sides and still holding his towel. "But I would lay the odds in favor of it."
Shinichi pressed his lips thin in frustration, but he nodded tightly. "I--all right. You're right."
Kid patted Shinichi's shoulder in a commiserating sort of way, and flicked his hand. A card appeared between his fingers. "Memorize this number, then burn the card," he said, handing it to Shinichi. "If you need help, give it a ring."
Shinichi took the card with his free hand, his breath catching slightly in his throat. "Your phone number?" he asked.
"A phone number. That if you call, you'll reach me, yeah." Kid rocked back on his heels. "Don't go thinking I'll make it that easy for you, detective!"
Shinichi gave a half-hearted smirk at that. "Hah. I wouldn't expect that of you, naturally." He examined the card - it was plain white, doubtlessly handled with gloves at all times, and the handwriting was the same as the heist notes. The Kid doodle was even present in the corner. "... Thank you," he said, more sincere this time.
Kid got to his feet. "No; this is only my thanks to you." A grin split his face, and Shinichi sensed the visit was at an end; the Kaitou Kid mask was back. "A gentleman thief never leaves his debts unpaid, detective."
Shinichi half-lidded his eyes. "Isn't that an oxymoron," he remarked as Kid stepped back.
Kid smiled a little wider. "If you say so. And with that--Adieu!" His last word was mostly lost in the sudden cloud of pink smoke that appeared when Kid snapped a finger.
When it cleared, Kid was unsurprisingly gone.
&
The problem was this: five years ago, Shinichi Kudou had become a thorn in the Organization's side by stumbling upon some of their most secretive operations. Inadvertently, however, in an effort to kill him, they provided the perfect disguise - they had turned him small. Inconvenient and troublesome as it was, Ai Haibara had good reason to want to remain a midget, and Shinichi came to understand this at about the same time that the 'disguise' of childhood became useless to him. With all the hubbub about keeping his real identity safe, it had never crossed Shinichi's mind that his assumed identity might become the new target.
Within a year of being shrunk, Conan Edogawa had become an even greater thorn in the Organization's side than Shinichi Kudou could ever hope to be. Within three years, he was a threat that could not be ignored.
For two years, Conan had toed the line. It was hardly fair, then, that the very first time he tested the waters, the sharks smelled blood.
&
On Monday, Shinichi went to school.
Saikoro Secondary High School wasn't a long walk from Shinichi's apartment. The uniform entailed a dark blue gakuran and white button-down shirt, which Shinichi kept neatly pressed, although it was two sizes too big - growing room, technically. It was a perfectly normal Monday morning, until Shinichi was about two-thirds of the way to his destination.
He was surrounded by a crowd of people - mothers going for their morning grocery trip, other students, businessmen - when someone bumped him so hard it made Shinichi stagger sideways several steps. Getting jostled was nothing new - every Tokyo prefecture was crowded and Shinichi was small enough to be overlooked - but the shove had been hard enough that Shinichi automatically reached for his wallet, suspecting he had been pickpocketed.
It saved his life. Shinichi's hand came down towards his pants pocket and intecepted something sharp. His palm sliced open and Shinichi couldn't help a yelp of pain, twisting to see what it was. He caught a glimpse of a black suit over his shoulder; he froze in surprise and the suit stumbled into him.
There was a brief, silent scrabble in the middle of the morning rush. Shinichi twisted to butt his shoulder into the suit's stomach and blindly reached back to grab for an arm. The suit's foot hooked around Shinichi's ankle and tripped him forward, causing Shinichi to stumble forward. Shinichi felt his clothes catch on something, likely a knife, and heard them tear, but it didn't touch his skin. For the first time in his life, he was grateful his uniform was too big. He got a grip on the suit's arm as he almost fell, but the knife was twisted up in his uniform. The suit struggled to get a better grip on it.
Up until this point it might have looked like an accident, a comedy of errors on a busy Tokyo street as a businessman in a suit tried to bypass a preteen, but now the man was half-hunched over Shinichi as the shrunken detective struggled underneath him. As soon as Shinichi got his breath back from his initial shock, he shouted. "H-help! Pervert!"
The man jerked away from Shinichi as if burned. A few heads turned towards the shouting child, but before anyone could take action, his attacker had melted away into the crowd. Shinichi heard the knife clatter to the ground.
Lucky! Shinichi couldn't believe his attacker had left behind his weapon! Panting for breath, shaking a little with adrenaline, he started to duck down to go after the weapon when an arm wrapped around his middle, bearing him up. He jerked up his gaze to meet the eyes of a young woman. "Oh, poor boy! Are you all right? I thought you were going to faint there!"
No! I need the knife! "I-I'm fine!" he stammered. "I just dropped my calculator because of him, so I have to find it!"
"Don't worry about that," the woman admonished. "Your mother will replace it, I'm sure. Are you sure you're all right ...?" Her eyes went to the bandage on his cheek.
Shinichi didn't need an overprotective mother right now, and he certainly didn't need the woman discovering his cut hand or the ripped waistline of his uniform. He tucked his hand into his jacket and squirmed out of her grip with the practice of someone used to shaking off a determined girlfriend-turned-older-sister. "I'm fine! I have to hurry or I'll be late!" He darted off into the crowds for a few meters, then doubled back, hoping against hope that the knife wouldn't be gone yet.
Unfortunately, it was no use. The knife had been kicked away, or his assailant had come back and collected it. He made a fist with his cut hand to stem the bleeding, searching the area for the next fifteen minutes while doing his best to avoid being trodden on. He was running extremely late to school by then, not that he cared much. I might miss Beginning English ... oh, the horror ... In his mind he was already concocting a story about a gang from Rintama Middle waylaying him for his lunch money. Another part of him was wondering why the hell he was going to school at all. He realized he was already assuming his attacker was one of the Organization - if he hadn't been accidentally shoved, if he hadn't reached for his wallet, he wouldn't be looking for a knife - he'd be laying dead on the ground from a stab wound.
Shinichi saw something glint in the morning sun, fetched up against the edge of one of the buildings lining the wide sidewalk. His eyes widening behind his glasses, Shinichi darted around the morning commuter's legs and briefcases to crouch next to the weapon he'd been attacked with.
It was an ordinary switchblade; the blade was still out and tinted by Shinichi's blood. Shinichi couldn't believe his good fortune; the man who had attacked had been barehanded. Gloves would have looked too odd in this early May weather. Although Shinichi hadn't gotten a look at his face, this knife would have his fingerprints. Gleefully he retrieved his handkerchief from his back pocket and reached out to wrap the knife in it when a high-heeled shoe came down on the blade. "And just what do you think you're playing around with, young man!?"
Shinichi cringed with guilt, looking up at the person who had just prevented him from getting at his quarry, childish apologies and excuses on the tip of his tongue, but he froze when he saw who it was.
"K-Kisaki-san!?" he stammered, his eyes wide and his cheeks draining of color.
Eri Kisaki, otherwise known as the most ruthless lawyer in the Beika Prefecture, otherwise known as Ran Mouri's mother, blinked in equal surprise, her hand covering her mouth. "Ara, Conan-kun!? You're in Japan? And going to school here ... isn't that the Saikoro uniform?"
This is really, really bad, Shinichi thought, as he felt the pieces of his carefully constructed wall come tumbling down.
tbc
by vikki
Parts 1-4
Summary: It's been 5 years since Shinichi was shrunk, and a lot has changed. But Kaitou Kid is still flying high ...
Part Summary: Shit has a high probability of hitting the fan.
For two days, everything was very quiet. Conan missed school the day after the heist after sleeping in late. His involvement in the Kaitou Kid heist was kept completely silent, he was gratified to see in the newspapers. He went to the library, returned some books and obtained new ones. He did his math homework. The next day was Sunday; he stayed in rather than attend soccer practice with the school club - all the better to avoid questions about his cut cheek, which was still healing. After all, he had research to do.
Shinichi felt pensive. Nervous wasn't quite the word, but it was close. After the heist, real life felt more surreal. Also, he couldn't help but keep chewing on the problem of why he'd been shot at. The culprit(s) had never leveled a shot at anyone except Kid; why would they shoot at Conan? It made no sense. No matter how alike their features were, it was impossible to mistake a twelve-year-old for the twenty-something Kaitou Kid dressed all in white.
The only explanation Shinichi could come up with was that for some reason, Conan was a target as well. It put his heart in his throat. Would the disaster of two years ago happen again ...?
On the evening of the second day, Shinichi emerged from the shower to find someone sitting on his couch.
Shinichi had an immediate panic attack. He grabbed at his wrist automatically, where he usually wore his watch, but it wasn't on - he had just changed into his pajamas, after all. For a moment Shinichi was frozen to the spot, trying to think of what to do.
The person turned to look at him, and even though the lights were off and the sunlight was dim, Conan recognized him: Kaitou Kid, only not dressed up to steal a jewel. He wore street clothes - jeans, a shirt, and a thin jacket, and his face was unobscured, mockingly like Shinichi's but with wilder hair. Automatically Shinichi looked for identifying marks - a school jersey, perhaps, or some sort of sign of Kaitou Kid's usual vocation, but there was nothing. His clothes were perfectly generic and practically as good as new, with no visible wear and tear.
Kid raised a hand, and Shinichi realized he wore black gloves. "Hello, detective. I figured since you already know my face, the monocle was a little bit of overkill." He smiled.
Shinichi relaxed slightly and pressed his hand to his chest to calm his racing heart. "You startled me."
"I apologize." Kid dipped his head in some semblance of a seated bow. "I believe I told you some time ago that you wouldn't see my face again unless you sought me out, but since you came the other night I guessed you wouldn't mind if I dropped by."
Shinichi was silent. He scrubbed at his hair with the towel around his shoulders, walked into the sitting room, and hoisted himself into his single cushion chair. He rarely used the thing, which had come with the apartment, because it was fluffy and wide enough that he sort of sunk into the cushions and had a hard time getting out - a problem, he knew, he wouldn't have if he wasn't barely a meter tall and twenty-seven kilograms. "Actually, I'm glad you came," he said at length, once he was properly seated. "I have a few questions."
"I'm at your disposal," Kid replied, upturning his palms as if to say 'go right ahead'. "But first, how's your badge of honor?"
"My what?" Shinichi blinked, then realized what Kid meant; he touched his stitched cheek. He had yet to replace the bandages after his shower. "Oh, it's healing fine. 'Badge of honor'?"
Kid kept smiling, but something about the look was humorless. "This was the first time someone other than me was maliciously hurt on an official Kaitou Kid heist. Aren't you proud?"
Shinichi scowled. "Black humor doesn't suit you," he said tartly, annoyed mostly because that very fact concerned him as well. "Is that why you came, to check on me? It's nothing compared to you six months ago."
"May it never come to that," Kaitou Kid replied, and now he wasn't smiling at all.
Shinichi sighed, flopping back in his chair and sinking a few centimeters into the space between the seat and back. He had to squirm to get back out and blushed irritably. "If that's enough of your whining," he snapped, "I want to know: the other night, the balloon you sent up before your heist - was it meant to explode? And if so, did it explode on time or early?"
Kid's eyebrows rose slightly. "Oh, that. It exploded at the proper time. Why do you ask?"
Shinichi ignored the question. "That's good," he murmured instead. "I heard from Inspector Nakamori that recently, you've been shot at regularly. Have you ever been shot at before you completed a heist, or has it always been afterwards?"
Kid seemed to be catching the drift of his questions now. "You mean, does the Black Organization mean to murder me, or steal what I've already stolen?"
Shinichi licked his lips. "Yes, something like that." It was a worthy question. Since the heist he had sat down and gone over the public records of the first International Thief 1412, both at the library and online; he had disappeared abruptly fifteen years before. There was no record of his body being found, which would have resulted in the revelation of his identity. Although it was just a hunch with no proof to back it up, Shinichi wondered if the Black Organization had a hand in his disappearance. Was it the death of the first Kaitou Kid that had led to this one? It was likely; Shinichi wondered what the first Kid had been to this one. A mentor? A family friend? Perhaps, even, a family member, an uncle or a father? If the Organization had wiped him from the earth, than it answered Shinichi's question from six months before, as to what they had taken from Kid.
But if they had killed the first Kid, why didn't they kill the new one? It would be one thing if they were trying unsuccessfully. They couldn't know the identity of either Phantom Thief. Shinichi felt a pang of envy.
"If they wanted me dead, detective, I would have been killed in my bed long ago," Kaitou Kid said.
Shinichi looked up in surprise as his theory was shattered. "Then - they know who you are!?"
"In all likelihood, yes." Kid leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his gaze focused on the carpet. "They killed my - the first Kaitou Kid in his civilian life. It wouldn't be a long leap to know who his successor is."
Your what? Your friend? Father? What!? Shinichi ached to ask, but Kid would deflect the question unless he was clever about it. The mystery would have to wait. "Then ..."
Kid looked back up and met Shinichi's eyes. "They probably think, 'It's okay if he dies, but if he finds Pandora for us, that will be good as well.' The fact they've become more active in their attempts on me is a concern, but it's odd they haven't come after me actively outside my, erm, antics if they really want me to die."
Shinichi leaned forward and slid backwards into the chair again. With a grunt of frustration he pushed himself out of the cushions. "Maybe they want you to hasten," he guessed. "I don't have any proof, but maybe they think that if you expect to die, you'll hurry up your attempts to find the jewel."
"Mm." International Thief 1412 made a noncommittal sound. "There's a lot of jewels left to steal in this world, though." He smirked.
Shinichi snorted, but instead of answering the goading statement, he changed the subject. "You never answered my question before. Did you come here to check on me?"
Kid sobered up immediately. "Something like that," he answered, his voice low. "You haven't seen anything strange in the last two days, have you?"
The quiet was oppressive. The only sound was the hum of Shinichi's fridge. "No," the detective answered. "But I've hardly left this apartment."
Kid nodded, his gaze drifting across the sitting room as if looking for something. "Keep your eyes open, detective. It's strange that you were shot at."
Shinichi said nothing. It was merely confirmation of his own suspicions and fears, hearing these words from Kid's mouth. He dropped his gaze towards his lap and bent his head forward as his gut twisted in his stomach. I haven't gotten close to anyone this time, have I? Will they trace where my funds are coming from? My parents and I have been careful but they have vast resources ... and maybe I'm just overreacting, and everything will continue on as it has before ...
He was sliding backwards in the cushions again. Shinichi growled with frustration and struggled to keep himself from getting wedged in the seat when a pair of hands came down and caught him under his armpits. Shinichi blinked as he was pulled free without effort and set back on his feet in front of the chair, then flushed with embarrassment and anger as he looked up at his rescuer. "Th-... thanks." He almost choked on the word.
"You looked like you were having trouble there," Kid said. His smile was smug to Shinichi's eyes, but Shinichi's pride was smarting so he was hardly objective at the moment. To Kid's credit, however, he said nothing more on the subject. "In any case--"
"Naturally, I'll keep my eyes open," Shinichi interrupted. "Don't you know it's impossible for a detective to walk around with his eyes closed?" He sighed, pulling the heavily damp towel off his narrow shoulders. "But answer me honestly, Kid - do you think ... do you think they recognized me that night?"
Kid crouched in front of Shinichi so they were nearly eye-to-eye - in fact, Shinichi was able to look down into Kid's face. "In perfect honesty ... I'm not sure." Kid laid light fingers on Shinichi's shoulder; Shinichi abruptly wanted, with a vehemence that startled him, to shake Kid's hand off. It was patronizing and unfair - no matter what his height and situation, he had earned the right to have Kid look on him as an equal. However, Kid continued and Shinichi stood stock still, his fists clenched at his sides and still holding his towel. "But I would lay the odds in favor of it."
Shinichi pressed his lips thin in frustration, but he nodded tightly. "I--all right. You're right."
Kid patted Shinichi's shoulder in a commiserating sort of way, and flicked his hand. A card appeared between his fingers. "Memorize this number, then burn the card," he said, handing it to Shinichi. "If you need help, give it a ring."
Shinichi took the card with his free hand, his breath catching slightly in his throat. "Your phone number?" he asked.
"A phone number. That if you call, you'll reach me, yeah." Kid rocked back on his heels. "Don't go thinking I'll make it that easy for you, detective!"
Shinichi gave a half-hearted smirk at that. "Hah. I wouldn't expect that of you, naturally." He examined the card - it was plain white, doubtlessly handled with gloves at all times, and the handwriting was the same as the heist notes. The Kid doodle was even present in the corner. "... Thank you," he said, more sincere this time.
Kid got to his feet. "No; this is only my thanks to you." A grin split his face, and Shinichi sensed the visit was at an end; the Kaitou Kid mask was back. "A gentleman thief never leaves his debts unpaid, detective."
Shinichi half-lidded his eyes. "Isn't that an oxymoron," he remarked as Kid stepped back.
Kid smiled a little wider. "If you say so. And with that--Adieu!" His last word was mostly lost in the sudden cloud of pink smoke that appeared when Kid snapped a finger.
When it cleared, Kid was unsurprisingly gone.
&
The problem was this: five years ago, Shinichi Kudou had become a thorn in the Organization's side by stumbling upon some of their most secretive operations. Inadvertently, however, in an effort to kill him, they provided the perfect disguise - they had turned him small. Inconvenient and troublesome as it was, Ai Haibara had good reason to want to remain a midget, and Shinichi came to understand this at about the same time that the 'disguise' of childhood became useless to him. With all the hubbub about keeping his real identity safe, it had never crossed Shinichi's mind that his assumed identity might become the new target.
Within a year of being shrunk, Conan Edogawa had become an even greater thorn in the Organization's side than Shinichi Kudou could ever hope to be. Within three years, he was a threat that could not be ignored.
For two years, Conan had toed the line. It was hardly fair, then, that the very first time he tested the waters, the sharks smelled blood.
&
On Monday, Shinichi went to school.
Saikoro Secondary High School wasn't a long walk from Shinichi's apartment. The uniform entailed a dark blue gakuran and white button-down shirt, which Shinichi kept neatly pressed, although it was two sizes too big - growing room, technically. It was a perfectly normal Monday morning, until Shinichi was about two-thirds of the way to his destination.
He was surrounded by a crowd of people - mothers going for their morning grocery trip, other students, businessmen - when someone bumped him so hard it made Shinichi stagger sideways several steps. Getting jostled was nothing new - every Tokyo prefecture was crowded and Shinichi was small enough to be overlooked - but the shove had been hard enough that Shinichi automatically reached for his wallet, suspecting he had been pickpocketed.
It saved his life. Shinichi's hand came down towards his pants pocket and intecepted something sharp. His palm sliced open and Shinichi couldn't help a yelp of pain, twisting to see what it was. He caught a glimpse of a black suit over his shoulder; he froze in surprise and the suit stumbled into him.
There was a brief, silent scrabble in the middle of the morning rush. Shinichi twisted to butt his shoulder into the suit's stomach and blindly reached back to grab for an arm. The suit's foot hooked around Shinichi's ankle and tripped him forward, causing Shinichi to stumble forward. Shinichi felt his clothes catch on something, likely a knife, and heard them tear, but it didn't touch his skin. For the first time in his life, he was grateful his uniform was too big. He got a grip on the suit's arm as he almost fell, but the knife was twisted up in his uniform. The suit struggled to get a better grip on it.
Up until this point it might have looked like an accident, a comedy of errors on a busy Tokyo street as a businessman in a suit tried to bypass a preteen, but now the man was half-hunched over Shinichi as the shrunken detective struggled underneath him. As soon as Shinichi got his breath back from his initial shock, he shouted. "H-help! Pervert!"
The man jerked away from Shinichi as if burned. A few heads turned towards the shouting child, but before anyone could take action, his attacker had melted away into the crowd. Shinichi heard the knife clatter to the ground.
Lucky! Shinichi couldn't believe his attacker had left behind his weapon! Panting for breath, shaking a little with adrenaline, he started to duck down to go after the weapon when an arm wrapped around his middle, bearing him up. He jerked up his gaze to meet the eyes of a young woman. "Oh, poor boy! Are you all right? I thought you were going to faint there!"
No! I need the knife! "I-I'm fine!" he stammered. "I just dropped my calculator because of him, so I have to find it!"
"Don't worry about that," the woman admonished. "Your mother will replace it, I'm sure. Are you sure you're all right ...?" Her eyes went to the bandage on his cheek.
Shinichi didn't need an overprotective mother right now, and he certainly didn't need the woman discovering his cut hand or the ripped waistline of his uniform. He tucked his hand into his jacket and squirmed out of her grip with the practice of someone used to shaking off a determined girlfriend-turned-older-sister. "I'm fine! I have to hurry or I'll be late!" He darted off into the crowds for a few meters, then doubled back, hoping against hope that the knife wouldn't be gone yet.
Unfortunately, it was no use. The knife had been kicked away, or his assailant had come back and collected it. He made a fist with his cut hand to stem the bleeding, searching the area for the next fifteen minutes while doing his best to avoid being trodden on. He was running extremely late to school by then, not that he cared much. I might miss Beginning English ... oh, the horror ... In his mind he was already concocting a story about a gang from Rintama Middle waylaying him for his lunch money. Another part of him was wondering why the hell he was going to school at all. He realized he was already assuming his attacker was one of the Organization - if he hadn't been accidentally shoved, if he hadn't reached for his wallet, he wouldn't be looking for a knife - he'd be laying dead on the ground from a stab wound.
Shinichi saw something glint in the morning sun, fetched up against the edge of one of the buildings lining the wide sidewalk. His eyes widening behind his glasses, Shinichi darted around the morning commuter's legs and briefcases to crouch next to the weapon he'd been attacked with.
It was an ordinary switchblade; the blade was still out and tinted by Shinichi's blood. Shinichi couldn't believe his good fortune; the man who had attacked had been barehanded. Gloves would have looked too odd in this early May weather. Although Shinichi hadn't gotten a look at his face, this knife would have his fingerprints. Gleefully he retrieved his handkerchief from his back pocket and reached out to wrap the knife in it when a high-heeled shoe came down on the blade. "And just what do you think you're playing around with, young man!?"
Shinichi cringed with guilt, looking up at the person who had just prevented him from getting at his quarry, childish apologies and excuses on the tip of his tongue, but he froze when he saw who it was.
"K-Kisaki-san!?" he stammered, his eyes wide and his cheeks draining of color.
Eri Kisaki, otherwise known as the most ruthless lawyer in the Beika Prefecture, otherwise known as Ran Mouri's mother, blinked in equal surprise, her hand covering her mouth. "Ara, Conan-kun!? You're in Japan? And going to school here ... isn't that the Saikoro uniform?"
This is really, really bad, Shinichi thought, as he felt the pieces of his carefully constructed wall come tumbling down.
tbc