cinders - 730kc (94k) - 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan (2024)

Chapter 1: Don’t play in the mud anymore, all right young man?

Chapter Text

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01. Don’t play in the mud anymore, all right young man?

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The badge was shimmery gold and about one thumb's length across, engraved with elaborate twin lions insignia and the royal motto. And in elegant cursive letters:

I am trueth to mine own kingdome;

Royal Inspector - Kudou Shinichi

Shinichi stared at the badge with a sigh, feeling a dull headache setting in.

The badge weighed heavily in his grasp—his fingers were barely enough to wrap around its expanse.

He never thought the weight of his title was heavy, but the risks that came with his job were finally starting to weigh down on his shoulders.

Shinichi took pride in his work as the Royal Inspector, he really did.

It wasn't a glamorous role—it came with knitty gritty kind of responsibilities, but without any public grandeur like those from the Royal Knights enjoyed.

As such, not many knights were keen to take on his title, but frankly, not many would even be qualified to take his place.

Shinichi didn't like to boast too much, but he knew he was the best at his job because he was the only one who cared enough to do it.

He'd take months to traverse the continent, wearing down the sole of his boots, to track down the worst of criminals.

Shinichi preferred poring over case files under the lamp lights in tavern rooms to the cushy chair in his office.

Now he didn't need to go on solo investigations, but they were often more efficient, since being discreet was his top priority.

Relying on his sharp deductions alone, he brought countless criminals to justice, leaving behind a trail of grateful townspeople he had saved.

Shinich was much too busy to visit the same town twice to see any of them again though, but he preferred it that way.

There always reached a point when the abundant praise and gifts of gratitude became more burdensome and awkward the longer he stayed.

Shinichi was just doing his job, was all.

It was his duty.

Chasing leads after leads, hopping from town to town, criminals after criminals. Despite Ran’s insistent worry, Shinichi never let the looming risks get to him.

If not him, the Royal Inspector, then who else could pull this off?

Shinichi sighed again as he tucked the badge back into his pocket. His tunic sagged heavily and the weight of his responsibility was cool against his chest.

He dropped his eyes to stare down at his hands for what must have been the tenth time that morning.

Short, thin fingers. Unmarred, baby smooth skin stretched over soft knuckles and faint flush of veins. Small stubby nails.

Shinichi flexed his hand this way and that, still quite shaken at how thin and scrawny his own wrist became.

At some point, Shinichi had become too complacent in his consistent success that his confidence turned into arrogance.

And that arrogance was his downfall.

It was a few days ago, when Shinichi was in the thick of chasing a lead in a distant town, pretending to be a errand boy, having bought a modest green cloak, beige tunic, and deep brown pants to supplement his cover.

After asking around the neighboring village for a passing caravan, he was able to pinpoint its location to the dense forest nearby.

He had taken the entire afternoon combing the perimeter of the woods, eyes tracking for wagon prints and overturned sign posts for a hint of direction. He was engrossed with his work that he failed to notice that the moon had taken its place in the sky.

Before he could investigate the deep tracks in the mud, Shinichi’s attention was stolen by low muttering behind the bushes.

The townspeople had told Shinichi about the pack of wolves that prowled through the forest during the night— and any unfortunate soul that wandered through them would inevitably be mauled, unless they had a weapon on them.

And any men who were armed— were dangerous.

Treading quietly, Shinichi found the source of the murmurs.

He pressed his back against the rough trunk of a tree, glancing over his shoulder to see two suspicious shadows standing in a small clearing by the trail.

It could be an innocuous, late night gathering, but Shinichi’s instinct told him otherwise. By the way they spoke, low and secret, Shinichi was keen on deciding whether these people were related to his case.

Under the moonlight, Shinichi could make out their figures— they were cloaked in black, handing satchels that jingled with coins.

In that surge of excitement, Shinichi was careless.

To begin with, he was unarmed, and he didn’t scan his surroundings for hidden enemies before he investigated the noise.

Shinichi should’ve gone back to the village, grabbed his weapon, perhaps even a flare for any semblance of backup from the villagers.

But he didn’t.

The low rumble of voices were alluring, and he couldn’t bear to leave when he caught wind of the directions towards the distant village where the weapons smugglers were staking out.

Hidden behind the dense trees, Shinichi held his breath as he listened on for a good while, heart pounding in his rib cage as he realized this was the lead he was chasing for the past two weeks—

But then he heard the faint snap of a twig behind him.

He whipped around in alarm, a second too late, hand reaching for the hilt of his sword that wasn’t there.

The next thing Shinichi knew, a resounding crack rang in his ears and the world spun, not with him, but away from him.

His head felt like it split open.

Gasping, he crashed onto his knees, palms pressing into the damp ground, dark spots swirling in his vision.

Panic rushed in his blood as he tried to stagger back to his feet.

He was caught.

He had to get up now, get away, but a cold, blunt steel pressed against his nape and shoved him down. Sharp bits of stone grazed into his cheek.

“Che, you let a stray rat get this close to you," a low, smooth voice muttered above him.

Several twigs and leaves were crushed under footsteps that quickly ran over.

A sheepish, gravelly voice then answered, “Looking at his clothes, it looks like he’s from the nearby town; not like it matters really.”

“That carelessness will cost you.”

Shinichi could barely make out his own muffled yelp when he felt his jaws being forced open and a strange, cold liquid was poured into his cracked lips.

The liquid seared its way down his throat and to his stomach, and in the midst of agony and white heat, he started hearing a piercing scream.

He then realized it was coming from his own mouth.

The voices started to drift further away despite the stinging grasp in his hair.

“Is that the new toxin?”

There was a low hum of acknowledgement.

“Kills without leaving any traces; he’ll be gone in a few minutes. The unlucky bastard who finds the kid will think he just fell and cracked his skull open.”

Shinichi dug his fingernails into the gravel and mud as white, scorching pain lurched in his organs.

Don’t pass out, don’t pass out—

“Let’s go.”

The footsteps crunched over the fallen twigs. One pair stopped shortly in front of him, sounding vaguely apologetic. “Sorry, kid, you were just at the wrong place, wrong time.”

The shadowed figure—two? three of them?—bobbed around in the corner of his vision before disappearing altogether.

It felt like a thousand sharp needles were stabbing his nerves and muscles. He couldn’t get his body to move no matter how he willed himself to get the hell up, Shinichi, stay awake—

He couldn’t.

Light prickle of needles sank into his hair. He felt a flutter against the tip of his nose and a chirp before a light wind brushed against his cheek.

Was he dead?

Shinichi cracked his eyes open, taking in the dapple of brightness through the shadows above him. He flinched, squeezing his eyes against the searing light.

His head was pounding in agony, and his eyelids heavy as lead .

Sharp pieces of–gravel? —dug all over his back as he painfully rolled to his side with a gasp. He cleared his vision several times, finally seeing the mud-caked rocks beneath him.

He shuddered his eyes closed again, the air scathing through his lungs.

His throat was burning in parched dryness.

Water—he needed water.

He forced his eyes open again, blinking hazily.

The dense layer of green leaves rustling in the wind above him slowly came into focus.

Leaves?

Trees. Forest—

His eyes snapped open in terror as he suddenly remembered .

Panic rushing through his blood, he ignored the stabbing pain in his muscles as he forced himself to sit up, eyes darting around wildly.

All around him was endless green foliage, appearing deceptively friendly—trees, and bushes, and more trees.

The forest looked eerily calm bathed in the day glow, in contrast to the ominous dark shadows it casted last night.

The warm sunlight filtered through the web of leaves from the east—must be near nine in the morning—and casted a wave of bobbing shadows on the grassy ground.

A crisp, chilled breeze blew past his hair, rustling the leaves around him peacefully.

There was no trace of the shadowy figures anywhere.

They even made sure to wipe away any shoe prints they would’ve left on the ground.

Likely, they left him in the forest alone to die—but they might return to dispose of his body if he stayed any longer.

Clenching his teeth, Shinichi pushed himself onto his feet—and promptly tripped over the excess pool of fabric.

“Ow,” Shinichi groaned as he got back up, lifting his hand to rub at his pounding head, fingers digging through his hair matted in sweat and grime, when he realized something was off .

His arms were swimming in his tunic sleeves—was his wrist always this scrawny?

There wasn’t time to think or deduce, though.

He had to leave now.

Despite the ominous weight growing in his stomach, Shinichi wrapped up his suddenly too-loose clothes close to his body and clambered off.

Shinichi staunchly ignored how small and short his own fingers suddenly looked, and how his toes knocked everywhere within the hard leather boots.

But he couldn’t shake the creeping feeling of how the ground felt—much too close to his face and how the trees loomed over him, like they were about to swallow him whole.

Bile grew thicker in his throat as the shimmery surface of the lake came into view.

His mind raced in slow sinking horror.

What the hell did those criminals do to him?

Shinichi took in a shuddering breath as he rushed to kneel by the edge of the clear bank of the lake.

He braced himself for—he didn’t know what he braced himself for, but the reflection he saw almost made him slip and fall head first into the water.

Soft, undeveloped jaws.

Baby fat along his round cheeks.

Frail shoulders and lanky arms.

His tunic no longer fit snugly on his waist, but rather, was barely draped all over his body by his own tiny, soft hands.

His body had shrunken .

Kudou Shinichi, the Royal Inspector, did not look a day older than thirteen.

Shinichi didn't have much time to mull over the how , just that he focused on what to do next.

First, he had to find a way to make himself decent, at least minimally. He couldn’t go back to the village, at least not like this: swarming in a raggedy tunic with a large blood stain draping down his collar.

Shinichi repeated the meditation mantra from his sword lessons from his academy days— quiet down, bring the mind to a stillness. Breathe calmly.

He had shaken himself out of the shock after splashing several handfuls of water on his face, washing away the lingering blood from his forehead.

He took even, deep breaths to suppress the trembles lacing up his muscles as his fingers fumbled to tear apart his beige tunic.

The rough fabric dug against the creases of his fingers almost painfully as he realized his grip was weak and lacking his usual strength.

But with sharp yanks and persistent tugs, he managed to tear off the excess fabric so that the tunic could roughly fit his smaller body. Shinichi hiked up his pants and fastened them with a strip of his green rag.

He dug a hole under the bushes and buried the torn cloth, leaving no trace that he had ever survived or died.

Fingertips bruised from digging, Shinichi wiped the sweat from his brow and squinted against the sun.

Now that he was decent, he had to get out of the forest and to the woodcutter’s shack that he had turned into his makeshift base.

It was an hour-long trek away to the east on the outskirts of Hanamori town, and it was lent to him by the huntsman whom Shinichi had helped some months ago.

With a solid direction, Shinichi set forth towards the east.

It took his short legs two hours to arrive at the base.

Thankfully, the only people he ran into were a group of elderly women carrying baskets and gathering berries near the foot of the mountain.

He scurried past them, ignoring their bewildered glances at his state of dress.

Shinichi could make out their disdainful, hushed voices muttering about dirty orphans rummaging in their forest.

It seemed that proper clothes were in order if he didn't want to be mistaken for and treated like a miscreant.

Once he was safely inside the shack, he wasted no time collecting his belongings.

He gathered his coin pouch and messenger bag. He collected his annotated maps and his badge. Shinichi grunted as he hoisted his sword, now spanning across his entire body, along his back.

Giving the shack a last sweep over, Shinichi shoved open the creaking door and let it shut heavily behind him.

Finding the seamstress’ shop wasn’t hard in the small town, but entering it was a whole other matter.

He grasped the handle with two hands and pulled it open, the door jingled sharply as he slipped in through the crack. The door slammed shut.

Shinchi entered the shop with dusty footprints and ragged, torn fabric for clothes.

The seamstress, seated on a chair by the display window, looked up from her book.

“How can I help—you—...” The seamstress trailed off, her eyebrows rising to her hairline.

He nonchalantly brushed off the strange look she gave him, and instead went to scan the array of mannequins that stood along the wall. Where the shop specialized in breadth in sizes for all ages and genders, it lacked variety with colors and styles.

This modest town, being on the outskirts of the capital, was a little outdated with the capital’s current trends.

Though Shinichi couldn’t afford to be too picky with his clothes now.

Shinichi’s eyes settled on a clothing set: a boy’s gray tunic, charcoal pants, and rugged brown boots. It was plain, but it was practical.

The seamstress’s stare swiveled between Shinichi and the mannequin he pointed at. Her warm, brown eyes scanned up and down his figure, and his finger wilted slightly in doubt.

She closed her book and got up from her chair.

“Is it for you?”

Shinichi blinked and then nodded.

Her eyes creased into a warm, understanding smile.

“Then I think it’ll be too big. Those are for older senior school boys, at least year 5,” the seamstress said kindly. She gestured to Shinichi to follow her to the back of the shop.

Shinichi frowned as he glanced back at the tunic he pointed at. Year 5? Then how old was this body then?

He scampered behind her as she pulled out some boxes, and started digging through them.

“You’re lucky that I still have these. I haven’t been able to sell these since boys nowadays in our town grow so quickly.” She pulled out something from the old box. “Ah ha! These will fit you better. Want to try them on?”

The lady flourished a—much laughably tinier set of clothes in dusty red and blue.

Shinichi balked, eyes widening as he cringed at the clothes. Those— those were for babies!?

Ignoring his state of shock, the lady unfurled the tunic against his body to show him the fit.

“Well, since these are from years ago, I’ll sell them on a discount—only fifteen coppers for the set with boots! They were very popular designs back then. Perfect size for you, see?”

The lady stepped aside, revealing a mirror that was behind her. The tiny tunic was still pressed against his body, but now— he could see it on him .

Shinichi suppressed a double take when he saw his reflection for the second time that day—except it was much clearer this time.

His cheeks were full and round.

He had a small nose and thin shoulders.

Scrawny arms, scrawny legs, knobby knees that looked like they'd keel over.

No wonder the floor felt so jarringly close to his face—he looked tiny .

So tiny, that his tuft of hair only came up to the seamstress’ waist, and the tunic held in her hand overlapped his figure in a seemingly perfect fit.

Shinichi coughed sheepishly.

“Oh, I see—”

He gasped as he clapped a hand over his lips. Why was that unexpectedly high pitch coming out of his own mouth?

“Yes, go try them on! Do you need help getting dressed?”

“N-no thank you! I can do it!” he squeaked, voice cracking a little.

Before the lady could insist on helping him, he snatched the tunic and made a dash to the fitting room, locking the door swiftly behind him.

“Oh, my! You look so handsome when you’re properly dressed.”

The lady lit up when she saw him, looking quite pleased with her own pick.

“You even managed to tie the shirt lace so nicely. You have quite the clever handiwork for your age, don’t you?”

Shinichi scrunched his nose as he shifted in these— impossibly stubby boots of his.

He's a grown adult— it'd be sad if he couldn't even lace up his own shirt.

Shinichi couldn’t help the flash of offended look on his face, and it was even worse when she cooed and pinched his cheek.

“Your mama must’ve sent you here to buy your own clothes! Did you come from the village over the mountains?”

Gently— or as gently as he could, he flicked off her hand with a disgruntled noise. Now that she had a proper look at him, the seamstress seemed bent on engaging him in nosy conversation.

“Um, I’ll take these, then,” he muttered, fishing out a few coins from his pouch. Shinichi desperately wanted out of the patronizing coo over how he was even able to pull on his boots correctly.

His eyes pointedly avoided the mirror looming next to him. He didn’t need to see it again—the image of a lanky child was already seared into his mind.

Just what the hell did these bastards poison him with, that turned him into this sad thing ?

After making payment, Shinichi swiftly turned to leave, grasping his bag strap close to his chest.

“Oh, hold up, before you leave—”

The seamstress grabbed his wrist, and shoved something into his palm.

“ —here you go!”

Shinichi looked down at his hand in confusion.

It was a hard candy, wrapped in a cheerful red and white striped wrapper. It sat squarely and strangely full in his tiny palm.

Shinichi dumbly stared at it, and then back at the seamstress, bewildered. “Um…?”

The seamstress winked. “I only give those to good children, you see. You got brand new clothes now, so you have to treat it preciously. Don’t play in the mud anymore, all right young man? It’ll cause too much mischief to your mama.”

Mud?? Playing in the mud?

He was clobbered on the head with blunt force for crying out loud.

Shinichi sputtered, heat rushing to his cheeks, caught between wanting to laugh and cry.

Before he could shove the candy back into the seamstress’ hand, the door chime jingled loudly behind them.

The door swung open, and a gaggle of town girls poured in, stealing the seamstress’ attention away.

“We saw this lovely chiffon dress from the window, and we had to come in! Mayumi-san, is this one new?”

The tallest of the ladies tugged at the corner of a dress on the display by the window.

Like a flash storm, the seamstress’ attention shifted away from him and to her new customers.

“Yes, yes! I just finished it this morning. I also have it in deep green color at the back—”

“Oh, wonderful. Please show us!”

Shinichi stumbled back as a rush of skirt hems pushed past him, and the excited squeals grew fainter as the girls disappeared into the back of the shop.

Their lively chatter quickly faded to an indistinct hum, and a quiet stillness settled in the empty display room.

Leaving him standing alone, awkwardly, with the hard candy, still sitting on his outstretched palm.

It seemed that the seamstress wouldn’t be returning anytime soon.

Not sure what else to do, Shinichi pocketed the candy with a long sigh, and pushed the door open to leave.

Finally fitted with new clothes and boots, Shinichi set off to the capital.

He needed to make an urgent report to the crown prince— about the weapons caravan, about the shady characters in the forest, and most importantly, this so-called toxin that turned him into this.

If in a rush, Shinichi was capable of pushing past his bodily limits to shorten the journey.

However, he learned one important thing as he made his trek back: his walking pace was much slower now with his smaller gait.

He also realized that he couldn’t walk for too long. He was easily tired; his calves strained and the soles of his feet ached.

Shinichi had to take multiple sitting breaks to recover strength in his legs.

In retrospect, children’s bodily constitutions were weaker.

That was common sense.

And while Shinichi was not a child—his body was sadly as frail as a child’s now.

To make matters worse, on day four of his supposed three day journey, his sword, along with his coin pouch, was stolen in an ambush by a band of thieves near Beika village.

(He'd heard Hattori's occasional complaints about the pesky thieves near Beika forest before—a pity that he didn't remember early enough to avoid the path altogether.)

With his small body, there was little he could do to fight off the gang. Not that he didn't try, but all he had to show for his efforts was a busted lip and bruised leg where he got kicked away.

Clothes dusty after knocking against the ground, he bitterly clenched his teeth as he watched his precious sword get chucked into the wagon full of stolen loot.

"How did a street rat like you get your hands on a high grade weapon like this?"

The thief squinted at him.

"He probably stole it, duh," Another thief shrugged. "Not that it matters, it's ours now. It looks fancy as hell, don't it? You reckon them merchants at the capital's gonna buy it for fifty coppers?"

Shinichi bristled, as he pushed himself up from the dusty ground.

That sword was a priceless gift from the crown prince's royal armory, definitely worth more than just fifty measly coppers!

"Oh, look at the brat. He looks like he'll bite you any moment now."

"Ha! I'll make him piss himself in tears before he can even try."

Their obnoxious laughter grew fainter as they leisurely pushed their wagon along.

Shinichi angrily glared at their retreating figures.

He'll hurry back to the Capital, grab Hattori and his men, hustle to Beika village, throw them in jail, and reclaim his sword.

You just wait and see!

With newfound resolve, Shinichi left a trail of dust as he gunned down the rocky path to the Capital. (with frequent breaks, of course.)

By mid-morning of day five, Shinichi finally found his way to the familiar sights of the bustling Capital.

Chapter 2: Help! I’m being assaulted by a beggar child—

Chapter Text

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02. Help! I'm being assaulted by a beggar child—

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A cherry blossom petal flew in Shinichi's face just as he came up the uphill cobbled path towards the palace.

What unfortunate timing.

He grumpily guarded himself from the gust of petals cascading from the pink blossomed trees above him.

Spanning in front of him were market tents and stalls lined up the streets on both sides, colorful and cheery. The street was bustling with people crisscrossing in front of him.

It must be the first lunar day of the month for the market stalls to be out.

Relief flooded his veins. If it was the first day, Shinichi didn't actually miss the Crown Prince's monthly report meeting, despite his small body taking longer to travel.

That meant Shinichi could address the pesky issue of the gang of Beika thieves.

Well, that'd be after he rescued his sword.

If the thieves’ aimless chatter were to be trusted, they intended to sell it off to the merchants once the festival ended, for a measly fifty some coppers like the idiots they were.

Time was of the essence.

Readjusting the too-long straps of his messenger bag that draped past his knees, Shinichi trekked uphill.

The wind carried the buttery scent of freshly baked bread sticks all around the market.

Street vendors were bellowing deals to peddle their wares, while echoes of children’s laughter rang as they ran up and down the cobbled steps.

Amidst the lively chattering of the market goers, Shinichi could hear the faint fiddle music of street performers.

Shinichi had no interest in enjoying the atmosphere though, as he squeezed past another sea of legs lined up at another popular stall.

He sighed in annoyance, more so at himself than them.

Nearly everyone towered over him, accidentally shoving or stepping into him.

Only the young children avoided bumping into him, though there was more than one occasion where they asked him to play.

“Just to let everyone know, we’re almost out of the strawberry flavor. Get them while the stock lasts!”

This particular stall was crowded with ladies who chattered passionately about the Dowager Queen’s new hair style and fashion of some sort.

Shinichi tsked in distaste at the sweet scent of fruity sugar and cream wafting to his nose.

He hurried along, keen on getting away from the macaron stall and the gossip.

He had barely scurried past it when the wind was knocked out of his lungs. The nose of his boot stubbed into a stray cobblestone, and he caught himself before he fell.

Irritated, Shinichi spun around with a snap. “Hey, watch it!”

A scrawny boy, who looked to be around twelve, flashed him a cheeky, unapologetic smile.

“Whattaya say to a duel with me?”

Shinichi narrowed his eyes, hating how the boy looked down on him as the child pointed a splintered wooden sword at the center of Shinichi's chest.

“...Excuse me?” Shinichi furrowed his brow.

Behind the boy was a stall full of wooden swords stabbed into barrels, unkempt and in a disarray.

A burly man with a mustache—the owner, likely the father of the boy—grinned at him from behind the counter encouragingly. A sweat-stained bandana nearly covered the man’s dark eyes.

The man pointed up at the rugged fabric sign with chicken scratch handwriting, hanging from the stall roof: “Duel Deal: free sword if you win against him!”

What a waste of time.

Shinichi rolled his eyes and briskly walked past them without a second glance.

“Aww, what a baby! Not man enough for the challenge, I see!” The man’s booming laughter echoed from behind him.

Shinichi ignored the taunt; he hadn't picked up such childish swords since over a decade ago, thank you very much. That fetus with a toy sword would not last a second against a master swordsman like him.

In fact, the bumbling baby should practice his footwork more if he wanted to hold a sword against Shinichi’s chest.

Shinichi looked up at the tallest spire of the palace, growing more and more impatient by the minute.

He wasn’t getting anywhere near the palace itself.

Shinichi had gotten too used to people parting to make way for him in the Capital when he was dressed in the royal official's uniform.

But now, no one recognized him as the Royal Inspector. People rarely gave a second glance at him—a small, nameless child wandering alone in a bustling market.

Sighing, Shinichi pressed forward.

He had barely left the vicinity of the annoying sword stall when another solid leg knocked into his side.

Shinichi yelped, staggering off-kilter until he felt soft grass under the soles of his boots.

He swung his arms at a tree trunk for support, wincing as the scratchy bark dug into his tender palms.

He whipped around to snap at whoever pushed him, but the crowd kept flowing like an even tide—he couldn't even tell who bumped into him. And they were probably gone with the sea of people.

Shinichi took a breath, smelling the strong green scent of the fresh grass and earth below him. He dusted off his hands with a sigh.

After enduring days of stumbling over his own feet and being subjected to unfortunate events, being in the heat and mess of people made him crankier than he was ever used to being.

Looking around, Shinichi realized he had been pushed off the road and was now standing on the grassy hill.

Usually, as the Royal Inspector, it would be unseemly to trod upon the grassy area beyond the proper path.

Yet, the grassy hillside was blissfully devoid of people.

Mind made up, he hastily started trekking up again, carefully avoiding the neatly arranged tulips and daffodils under his boots.

The warm spring sun had climbed higher in the sky by the time Shinichi finally arrived.

The path widened into a plaza lined up with limestone monuments and statues. Thankfully, it wasn't as crowded as the markets.

Feeling a slight ache in his ankles, Shinichi stepped through the bushes and onto the paved plaza that led up to the palace gates.

Although he should be familiar with it, the wide expanse of the plaza seemed to engulf him. He paused his steps, craning his neck to look up at the royal palace gates.

The ornate pillars were carved in intricate patterns of the twin lion royal insignia. The archway covered the now-striking midday sun, casting a deep shadow on the cobblestones below.

The gates loomed over him, looking much taller and more intimidating than he remembered.

He recognized the guards on duty, though.

Shinichi straightened his posture, about to march right up to Ito and Koizumi, who were munching on some bread, when his stomach made a loud rumbling noise right then.

It must be past noon.

Come to think of it, he had been so busy trekking back, he just about forgot to eat breakfast and lunch. Shinichi scratched his cheek with a sigh.

All right, maybe he could afford a small food break before dashing through the palace gates.

There were always a few people lingering near the gates.

Sometimes they were there to wait for someone but more often, they were there to see the palace up close. The capital had always remained peaceful, especially since Hattori took over the position as the Royal Chief of Guards.

Thus, the guards weren't particularly on high alert on a leisurely market day full of curious civilians roaming about the plaza. They certainly didn't mind Shinichi camping by the wayside for his afternoon lunch.

Shinichi found a wooden bench near the gates and plopped down to rest under the shade of an oak tree.

As he shook his aching feet, he felt the sag of gravity and exhaustion weighing down on his bones. He definitely ignored his bodily limits when he was trying to shorten his trip back as much as he did.

Since he was within reach of the palace, a short rest wouldn't be too bad.

Shinichi made himself comfortable on the bench, stretching out the kinks in his legs and leaning back.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the badge once more to watch the shine of sunlight across the metal.

Ever since his sword had been stolen, Shinichi was ever more keen on reminding himself that he still had this , at the very least.

Satisfied that the badge was where it should be, Shinichi placed it back in his pocket and pulled his messenger bag to his lap.

He found his rolled up parcel of food stuffed past his maps. He unwrapped it and shuffled through some stale bread, a block of cheese, and his small canvas bag of candied plums.

After his belongings got ransacked yesterday, some kind villagers from Beika gave him spare food out of pity.

Looking like a pitiful prepubescent boy did have its advantages, though the bread had already hardened to something akin to a rock and the cheese crumbled into dust.

Shinichi unwrapped his bag of plums and slowly nibbled on one—sweet, with a pinch of sour.

From a distance, Shinichi could faintly hear the jolly tunes from the street performers roaming the market downhill. There were frequent eruptions of children's laughter and the low, indistinct chatter from the crowd.

A soft breeze grazed past the tree branches, quietly rustling the petals.

What an annoyingly peaceful day.

But the gentle wind felt warm against his sunburned cheeks, and a small bit of tension left his muscles.

He was down to the last three plums when he heard a distinct soft chime from above, and a shadow eclipsed him.

Shinichi squinted up at the offending figure—a tall young man around his own age and height, with windswept, unruly hair.

And a grin.

A boyish and mischievous grin.

“Care to share with the less fortunate?”

The stranger asked with a playful lilt in his voice. He plopped down noisily next to Shinichi, uninvited. On his ear, a peculiar shaped charm dangled.

The man held out a hand—covered with black fingerless gloves— expectantly, and waited.

Shinichi stared at the exposed skin of his fingers, hardened and full of calluses from wielding tools—or more likely, weapons, particularly swords and daggers.

Shinichi warily eyed the stranger with a tense frown.

His black tunic was worn down and threadbare, his gray pants and dark boots equally dirt-stained and rugged.

A pendant hung loose around his neck—a precious blue jewel adorned something that looked like a pearl. It jingled softly as the man leaned forward.

With just a quick glance, Shinichi could tell this man wasn’t a beggar.

How dare this man try to swindle him, Kudou Shinichi, the Royal Inspector, simply because he looked like a goddamn child.

Even as Shinichi continued to scan him up and down with a prickly gaze, the stranger's friendly smile didn't waver.

Unimpressed, Shinichi took a bite out of his plum and turned away.

“No.”

The stranger scrunched his nose and sheepishly retracted his hand.

“Boo, you're a stingy one. Guess I gotta work for my food today,” he sighed with a defeated huff, but he easily gave up and left Shinichi alone.

Shinichi watched him saunter away, presumably to bother some other unsuspecting civilian.

He saw a lot of things during his travels, and he had developed a sense for these no-good characters.

There were always the kinds of dregs in society who, instead of working an honest job, were bent on taking advantage of others’ kindness and goodwill. This stranger wasn’t any different.

And he, who took advantage of children , was especially the worst out of them all.

With a shrug, Shinichi went back to slowly chewing on his plum. With nothing too interesting to see, his attention inadvertently swiveled back to the not-beggar.

The man’s gait was lackadaisical and carefree. The same soft jingle trailed behind him with each long step he took. It was a unique sound, melodic and ambient, much like wind chimes.

If he was so hungry, he should sell off that precious pearl around his neck.

The man didn’t travel too far from him though, perhaps only a few steps away. He stopped and swung his arms out with a dramatic flair.

There was a moment, Shinichi scrunched his eyebrows, confused and bewildered at how the strange man became even stranger.

But then the sudden chirping noises and flapping of wings stole his attention.

Seemingly from the trees surrounding the plaza, an eruption of sparrows swarmed into the sky and landed around the man as he pulled out a hat from under his tunic.

“Welcome all, welcome none to my magic show~ You’ll find no tricks as amazing as this!”

Shinichi narrowed his eyes as a few children and bystanders paused to glance at the way the wild sparrows swirled around him, landing on his outstretched arms.

Without a moment’s pause, the man immediately snapped his fingers, and the sparrows burst into a shower of glittering confetti.

The sudden pop of noise made Shinichi flinch back in surprise, but it drew the bystanders closer, their eyes wide in amazement. Some children grabbed their parent’s hand and yanked them straight into being his audience.

"How did he do that, Mama?"

"Perhaps he’s a traveling street performer?”

“Let’s see, let’s see!”

A little girl actually pushed Shinichi from behind as she ran past the bench he was seated on.

A plum was jostled and almost rolled off his lap.

Shinichi barely caught it, and shot a dirty look at the girl tottering towards the man to join the small ring of audience.

With the amassing crowd, he could barely see the man’s cheeky grin, much less what kind tricks he was performing. (As if Shinichi was interested in it anyways.)

But, much to his annoyance, the crowd was starting to swarm dangerously close to his bench. He barely avoided a man's elbow that nearly knocked into his head.

Tsk, so noisy .

Shinichi pinched his temple with a long sigh. Why couldn't the not-beggar guy do this a bit further down, you know, away from him?

Shooting a withering glare at the back of the performer's head, Shinichi wrapped up his remaining plums and tucked them back into his messenger bag.

Although his stomach had growled noisily earlier, the collective oo’s and aa’s from the crowd stamped away his appetite.

Shinichi stood up, readjusting the strap over his shoulders, and dusted his pants. One plum was enough to tide him over until he could meet the Crown Prince.

Now, back to his original goal: getting inside the castle gates.

As Shinichi took a step away, he vaguely heard the performer holler behind him.

“All right, and for my next trick! I would like to ask for a volunteer!”

Several children jostled Shinichi in their excitement, and before he could even curse the performer for being so annoying , something grabbed him by the scruff of his tunic and yanked him off his feet.

"Thank you Mr. Stingy for volunteering!”

The airy voice tumbled over him as Shinichi sputtered, instinctively flailing against the hand that was dragging him away from the gates and to the center of the ring of audience.

“What?! Let go of m—”

Shinichi tried to claw his way out, but he was soundly dropped on his feet. Then a splayed deck of white playing cards were shoved in his face.

Shinichi staggered back a few steps, bewildered.

“Pick a card! Any card~”

The man was beaming, lips pulled up in a sly grin. The sun was high behind his head as Shinichi squinted up at him with a prickly glare.

“Well, don’t keep them waiting.”

Grinning widely under the brim of his hat, the man nodded at the growing number of people gathered around them.

Shinichi’s eyes darted to the left and right— the audience held bated breaths. Some children were tense with anticipation and staring at him with burning jealousy.

There wasn't a smooth, quick way out of this, aside from complying with the strange man's childish request.

Sighing, Shinichi reluctantly grabbed a random card from the center of the fanned out batch.

He could feel the bated breaths from the crowd, as they inched closer to squint at the card he had picked out.

Ace of Spades.

Shinichi wasn’t even sure what this man was trying to do with these cards. Or why he was doing this to him.

The man seemed satisfied with his cooperation. He shuffled the cards, flicking from one hand to the other in a showy display of dexterity.

Shinichi was presented with another fanned out card batch.

"Now, please go ahead and put it back in the pile.”

Shinichi did as told, impatiently glancing towards the palace gates.

He didn’t care much about whatever cheap trick this man had up his sleeve when there were much more pressing matters at hand. He just needed to go.

“All right, now, I’ll shuffle all these cards again and—”

The man tossed all the cards into the air, letting them flutter all around him, stopping Shinichi in his trek from weaseling away.

As the cards fell around them, the man reached over again, his arm hooking around Shinichi’s chest and hauling him close—

The man’s finger tickled against the side of his bangs as he heard the crisp sound of a card being flicked out.

“Oh my, how’d the card get here~”

And then he brandished it for everyone to see.

“Ladies and gentlemen, could this be the card he picked out?”

Shinichi shoved the man’s arm away, frowning in distaste at how overly familiar this not-beggar was. And to make his mood worse, the man was holding up— an Ace of Spades.

The crowd clapped noisily in response, and really, Shinichi hated that he was being made a spectacle against his own will, but he couldn’t lie that there was the slightest bit of curiosity on how the man did it.

(Well. Some mysteries were too inconsequential for him to solve.)

With a huff, Shinichi wrestled for a good minute out of the man’s grasp. Thankfully, a gaggle of children immediately took his place, screaming about wanting to volunteer next.

It took him a good while to fight his way out of the cheering crowd and into a clearing. Looking back, the swarm of people had grown even bigger, and the man had brandished rose petals into the air, causing even more ruckus.

Annoying.

Once Shinichi has his affairs sorted inside the palace, he’ll have the palace guards do something about this noise pollution right in front of the palace gates.

Without another glance, Shinichi composed himself.

He walked off to the direction of the palace gates with purposeful steps, completely missing the way the performer's cautious gaze trailed after him.

Ito and Koizumi were back on duty, having put away their rucksacks of food, and were now standing imposingly tall on each side of the gate.

The sunlight glinted off the metal badges on their chest, not a hair out of place in their pristine white and gold uniform. There wasn’t even a speck of bread crumbs on their fitted white gloves.

Shinichi was rather particular when it came to uniform and mannerisms— after all, the royal knights were extensions of the Royal Crown Prince.

Anything that could be unseemly would reflect badly on their prince.

Which— reminded Shinichi of his current state.

Shinichi swallowed thickly and tried to smooth out his wind-swept hair.

Many times in the past when Shinichi came back from his travels, he had passed by them as the Royal Inspector with a courteous nod of head.

The royal guards, whoever were on duty at the time, would light up and greet him with a gusto at the sight of his badge and sturdy amble.

However, Shinichi didn’t look the part of the Royal Inspector now.

His royal uniform had been left in the palace for his undercover mission, and instead of returning tall and proud, he was coming back with a tattered, dusty tunic and mud-stained shoes. And he couldn’t forget the tender bruise that was starting to blacken on his forehead from his run in with the bandits.

As Shinichi continued his purposeful walk, the guards glanced down at him with a steel, hard gaze, making him shrink back minutely as if he did something he shouldn't have.

Of course, they wouldn’t believe that the Royal Inspector had been reduced to this.

But he was returning from his mission! He had important reports to relay to the Crown Prince.

They had to let him in, whether he looked like one of them or not.

Heaving a steady breath, Shinichi announced with as much authority and command he could muster despite his higher pitched voice, “Good day, sirs. I’d like to humbly request an audience with his royal highness; it’s very urgent.”

Seeing the guards’ dubious look, Shinichi reached a hand into his pocket for the familiar weight of his insignia badge.

Except.

It was gone.

Shinichi’s eyes widened in panic as his fingers grasped at empty air in his pocket.

He could feel the increasing intensity of the guards’ gazing at him.

“Um, please give me a moment!”

Frantic, Shinichi dug into his thin pocket lining inside out with no luck. He patted down his pants and ran his fingers along the inner creases of his messenger bag.

Where did it go?!

Shinichi made sure that it was safe— after all, it was the only remaining proof of his identity as the Royal Inspector, and it was his only way into the palace!

He had held onto it while he was eating, and the only time his hand even left his pocket was—

Shinichi jerked around, eyes zeroing on the busker who was now cheerfully pulling out an endless string of handkerchiefs from his hat.

That thief!

In a mad dash, Shinichi ran back toward the area, his boots slapping noisily on the cobblestone.

He shoved through the crowd of people, just as the busker was laughing among the thunderous noise of clapping.

“Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen. If you enjoyed the show, please consider parting with your coin! Every copper counts, thank you, and thank—”

Shinichi launched himself, wrapping his arms around the man's midsection and knocking him backwards.

“You thief! Give me back my badge!”

Ignoring the surprised yelp, Shinichi scrambled to dig his hands around every nook and cranny the thief had on his tunic.

But all he could fish out were some stray playing cards and scraps of colorful confetti ribbons.

Shinichi growled in annoyance as he wrestled out a never-ending string of flags. He didn’t get very far in his mad search when his shirt collar was yanked up to meet an incredulous, narrow glare from very blue eyes.

“Excuse me? Your badge? You shouldn’t be walking around with that, you little thief.”

Shinichi bristled and tried to grab at the wrist holding him up, but the man’s grip was like iron.

“What?! Who are you calling a thief, you thief! ”

“Hey, you're the one who stole it first!”

Shinichi thrashed about, trying to wrestle out of the man’s grip, cheeks flaming at how undignified he was being, but he had enough.

After having his cheeks pinched, his side kicked in, and shoved around on his way back here, having his badge stolen was the last straw.

“Oi! Watch the silk, you brat—” the thief tsked as Shinichi tried to plant the underside of his dirty boot against his chest.

He didn’t care much about the strange looks he received from the crowd. They quickly lost interest now that the magic show was over and started to disperse.

That seemed to catch the man’s attention.

“Ah, wait, my money—!”

The thief dropped Shinichi in his momentary panic, and performed a last ditch effort to retain his audience with an array of cards and confetti.

Shinichi wasn’t going to let him go scotch free though. He jumped and latched onto the man again, shoving his hand past the folds of the black tunic, hoping to feel for the hard metal or the silken ribbon of his badge.

“Gah! You little piece of sh*t—” Shinichi felt the press of fingers digging into his scalp. “Guards, guards ! Help! I’m being assaulted by a beggar child—!”

The thief yelled at the top of his lungs as the bell on his necklace jingled loudly in Shinichi’s ears.

Shinichi didn’t budge an inch. Rather, he tightened his grip, fingers clawing at the belt around the man’s waist to have a go at his pants pocket this time.

“I don’t have money, you sh*t! Let go!”

Shinichi felt his head throb in annoyance as he managed to hook his fingers into his pants pocket. “I’m not after your dirty money!”

“It’s honest money!”

“Hey! What’s going on here?”

Shinichi barely heard the stern voice of one of the guards from behind him as he rummaged in the pocket—

“Oi, stop that! Guards, please help! Get this crazy brat off of me!”

“Give it back! You stole it from me—” Shinichi yelled. The rest of his words were stuck in his throat as strong arms pried him off and jerked him away to the side.

And that’s when he heard it— the metallic clang of a badge clattering against the ground, as the familiar black and white silk ribbon unfurled around it.

Shinichi nearly cried from relief.

“My badge!”

Shinichi stumbled to reach for it, but the guard’s larger hand had already scooped it up before his fingers even grazed its surface.

Shinichi froze, as the guard—who turned out to be Ito—squinted at the fine print labeled on it, his eyes lighting up in recognition.

“This belongs to Royal Inspector Kudou!”

Shinichi nodded frantically, relieved and triumphant.

Finally, the truth came out, and the thief was exposed!

Ito shot them both an icy stare. “Explain yourselves! How’d you get your hands on this?”

Shinichi cleared his throat as he straightened his posture. He dusted his palms off and puffed his chest, “Ah, as I’d been trying to show sir earlier, this is my—”

A gloved hand suddenly clasped over his mouth and smothered his words.

“Oh, that? I picked it up on the way from the village. It looked really shiny and expensive, so I thought I’d find its owner. I had no idea what it was, haha!”

The thief lied through his teeth with an innocent smile. Shinichi felt a tic of annoyance rush up his neck, he fumbled to fight off the thief’s hand, but it just clamped down harder against his mouth.

Shinichi flinched back in disgust when his teeth scraped against the dirty glove.

Ito considered them carefully, his eyes scanning Shinichi, especially lingering on his skinned knee and bruised forehead. There was a slight trace of sympathy and understanding— Shinichi remembered that Ito had younger brothers at home.

“Well, I see. I will take this, and report to his Highness immediately.”

Ito pocketed away his badge, and Shinichi could do nothing but watch.

“Ah, yes, give my regards to the crown prince,” the thief hummed, his smile still in a sheepish simper.

Shinichi took the chance to shove the offending hand off him. The thief was all too willing to let him fall back onto the ground, albeit roughly.

"Wait, but that's m—"

“And you , you little rascal,” Ito stopped Shinichi with a hard look, and Shinichi froze with the gravel digging tenderly into his knee.

“You picked the wrong place to cause mischief. Next time, I’ll throw you straight into jail, you hear me? Take your noisy antics elsewhere.”

Shinichi gaped— because that was what the guards said to children just to scare them, and he wasn't— he wasn’t —!

"Kids these days are so energetic," he muttered with a slightly patronizing laugh. He turned tail and walked back to the gates with the badge in his pocket.

A tense silence fell over the plaza as Shinichi stared at Ito's retreating figure, and then back at his own scrawny hands in disbelief.

That was his only hope of getting through the gates, and he wasn't even given a chance to explain—

“Well, there's that. Sheesh, what crawled up his ass and died?"

The thief grumbled, brushing off dust and fixing his mussed up tunic back into its proper shape. He pulled over the silk sheen cloth back over his shoulder.

Shinichi turned around to shoot him the most menacing glare he could muster.

The thief raised a brow in response, as if he wasn’t the reason why Shinichi was glaring at him.

“What? Shouldn’t you be glad you weren't tossed in jail?" He casually moved to sweep the dust from Shinichi's hair.

Shinichi stepped back with a glare.

The thief sighed and then shrugged, "Hey now, don’t be like that. You should be grateful that I saved your scrawny ass. If you straight up told them you stole it, well. You don't wanna find out what they do to people who steal from nobles."

The thief reached out again for his hair, but Shinichi slapped his hand away, hard enough for the other to rub his palm with a frown.

"I didn't steal it. You did. From me! It's my badge. "

The thief gave him a long stare and then shrugged. "Yeah, yeah, sure. And I'm the crown prince."

Shinichi felt his hand twitch with the sheer desire to punch the mocking smirk off his face.

But he held back, his fingers digging into his palm in a tight fist.

As soon as Shinichi reported everything to the crown prince, he could get right to taking care of his growing list of unfinished business—the Beika thieves, finding his sword, and—ridding the palace gates of noisy swindlers.

Not even sparing another look, Shinichi side-stepped him, and continued on his march around the perimeter.

Chapter 3: Information's not cheap nowadays

Chapter Text

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03. Information's not cheap nowadays

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Shinichi wasn't often at the capital, but he knew the palace like it was his second home. (Well, actually, his office and the Captain's quarters were pretty much his home.)

Along the west side of the palace, there was a garden that had guards spaced along the corridors, but otherwise wasn’t too heavily guarded.

He walked along its perimeter, hands sliding along the black marble, looking up at the impossibly tall wall.

Scaling it, even with his adult body, would be difficult.

But there was an old cherry blossom tree outside the walls that the dowager Queen was quite fond of, and its branches conveniently poured over and into the inner gardens.

Shinichi had often witnessed (and turned a blind eye to) the servants from the Royal Palace who snuck food out this way.

Although he hadn’t tried climbing that tree (or any trees for that matter), Shinichi was quite confident that if a kitchen servant could do it, so could he.

With renewed confidence in his plan, Shinichi petered to a stop at the base of the cherry blossom tree.

The roots curved in and out of the ground like serpents, strong and stable, pushing aside the once-neat cobbled tiles that had tried to keep it contained.

Shinichi carefully stepped around it, trying to find a good angle. He stepped up against a root and tested his weight.

Then, he pressed his palms against the rough bark of the tree; his fingers easily fit within the crevices and cracks of the trunk. Shinichi craned his neck to study the height of the tree.

There were a few branch stumps along the ascent that he could use as footholds. He could somewhat deduce the path the servants used, looking at the smooth, worn down stumps they had routinely gripped.

With a deep breath, Shinichi hoisted himself up, digging the nose of his boots against the tree.

The sharp texture of the bark cut into his palms, but he ignored it as he stretched his arm to snag onto the next stump.

With effort, Shinichi was able to take another step up the tree.

He continued climbing up the tree in this manner, his brows furrowed in concentration and muscles tensed. Shinichi felt his breath coming up short, and the air scathed down his nose and to his lungs.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been climbing, just that his arms had started shaking in protest to support his weight.

Gritting his teeth, Shinichi peered up, spotting the branch that sprouted off past the walls and toward the garden.

He remembered that at the end of the branch, there was a soft, grassy clearing underneath. He presumed the servants used it as a landing pad.

Just a little bit more, and Shinichi would be able to get inside—that is, if he was able to reach the branch.

He swallowed thickly and pressed his lips together. He reached out an arm to hook against the crook of the tree.

But— his arm was too short.

Maybe if he— moved a little more—

“Pfft.”

The sudden sound made Shinichi fumble , and he lost his footing. His boot slipped and he slid down.

He winced as bark scraped against the inside of his arms as he tightened his grip around the tree. Heart pounding loudly in his ears, Shinichi clung to the tree as his descent finally stilted.

“For someone who said he wasn’t a thief, you sure are acting like one."

Shinichi’s eyes snapped down to the source of his interruption— the thief .

The man was leaning his body’s weight against the surface of the wall. He had his arms crossed and leisurely watching Shinichi as if he was a spectacle.

Shinichi narrowed his eyes in suspicion and disdain.

How did Shinichi not even notice his presence until now?

He shook his head and glared back up at the branch he was trying to grab, eyes squinting against the sunlight dappling through the leaves.

The branch was farther away from him now.

And Shinichi's arms were starting to strain.

Damned man.

"Hey, thief~ I think you should try another house. Maybe something easier for you to climb."

Shinichi hissed through his teeth, “Go away, I’m busy."

A scathing laugh answered him.

Shinichi didn't even have to look down to know there was an infuriating grin on the man's face.

"Busy doing what? Pretending to be a bug?”

“...”

Shinichi would be wasting his breath talking to this annoyance. He had already lost a good portion of his progress with the man's interruption earlier.

Sucking in a breath, Shinichi hiked up a leg and settled his boot into a small ledge on the tree. It was a sturdy and firm foothold.

The amused voice came laughing again.

“Wow, you're really trying to get in, huh? You know that trespassing into the royal palace without an entry permit is a pretty serious crime?”

Against Shinichi's better judgment, he snapped, voice thin and prickling. “Shut up, I’m not trespassing. ”

“Looks pretty damn close to it to me."

There was a pause and Shinichi hoped that the man had gotten bored and walked away. (Which was highly unlikely, given his ill nature.)

But with a quick glance, Shinichi noted the man scratching his cheek in thought.

"Huh, maybe I should call the guards right now—”

Panic shot through his spine.

“Don’t!" Shinichi couldn't help the way his voice cracked. His nails dug into the tree. "I need to get an audience with the crown prince! It's urgent!"

The look the man gave him was blank and then disbelieving. " Hah ? You stole the badge earlier for an audience with the prince?"

Only at Shinichi's stern, unrelenting glare, did the thief burst into a snicker behind his gloved fingers.

"What? Why on earth would a street rat need to talk to the prince?"

Shinichi huffed, though he wasn't ignorant to how ridiculous he must have looked— clinging onto the side of a tree with all his limbs, looking pretty much like a cicada in the summer.

"It's confidential. Nothing some petty thief like you would be privy to. Now leave me alone."

The man rested his hands on his hips.

"Wow, such big words coming from a beggar. Pretending to be some young master or something?"

Shinichi scoffed. "I don't have time to entertain you."

"And you think the prince would have time for you ?"

Shinichi ignored the anger pulsing up between his brows, bit back a reply to the obvious, cheap taunt, and proceeded to unlatch a hand so he could grasp onto the next jagged surface of the tree.

His fingertips swiped at it uselessly.

Now that he was aware of the man watching him, Shinichi felt his nape heat up at the fact that he couldn't get a hold on that one branch no matter how much he reached for it.

His short arms were just too damned short.

And the man wasn't making the situation any more bearable.

"Can you," Shinichi started to hiss. " Leave ?"

"Don't mind me," the voice sing-songed with a lilt. "You can pretend I'm not here."

Except it was really hard to pretend that the man wasn't there, especially with the mischievous and condescending way his blue eyes were twinkling at Shinichi's struggle.

Shinichi grunted again as he tried to make another grab for the branch, but his body protested against the movement.

The leaves gently rustled above him, reminding him that his muscles were shaking .

Shinichi let out a breath— a sigh at a realization, his arms hurt, it's too far , he couldn't do it.

It only took him a moment— where his body betrayed him, the tension slipping through his grasp— that everything fell apart.

The strength rapidly left his arms, fingers, legs, everywhere, as he looked up at the impossibly high branch and—

He was falling.

A whoosh of wind blasted against his back, as his fingers slipped and tore off a scrap of bark with him.

His eyes squeezed shut against the gentle wave of sunlit leaves, bracing himself for the hard crash of the ground on his back.

"Oof."

Shinichi tensed, expecting pain to rattle through his spine, but there was something soft brushing against his cheek, and he was engulfed by an earthy, woody scent.

When Shinichi opened his eyes, he was faced with the glaring red of the man's scarf and a pair of blue eyes staring down at him, exasperated.

"Seriously, kid, whatever you think is behind the palace walls, it isn't worth your life," the man sighed, as he set Shinichi down on his feet, much more gently than the last time.

Shinichi stared in numb shock, as the man shook his head and scratched the back of his head.

The airy teasing tone in his voice was gone. Instead, he offered his hand in good will.

"It's not too late for you to change your ways, you know? If you're hungry, I know an inn that often gives free food to orphans—"

Shinichi sighed and pushed his hand away. "I'm not an orphan. I have business with the crown prince. It's urgent that he hears what I have to say."

The man watched him with a blank expression before his eyes lifted up at the rustling of cherry blossoms.

He almost seemed like a different person, now that the smile was gone from his lips. His expression was almost serious— churning in thought.

"Well, let's say you're serious about meeting the prince." His blue eyes swiveled towards Shinichi, as he purposefully dragged his words. "I happen to know a secret passage, of sorts."

Shinichi's eyes widened slightly.

A secret passage?

A secret passage that not even Shinichi was aware about?

"It's not exactly a proper way in, but if you're really desperate, beggars can't be choosers, yeah?"

Shinichi's eyebrows scrunched as his mind whirled. A street busker knew how to get past the palace guards with a passage that wasn't the cherry blossom tree.

Wasn't this a serious breach in security?

If Shinichi had his badge, he'd be able to summon the guards and throw this man in jail on grounds of trespassing, but—

Shinichi didn't have his badge.

Which was exactly the reason why he was in this sad predicament of trying to scale a tree to get in.

Shinichi didn't have many options or time, really. He needed to get to the crown prince to explain his ordeal. He needed to get his precious sword. He needed to— get in.

Either Shinichi continued fruitlessly with his tree climbing endeavors, or—

He listened to this man.

Clenching his fists, Shinichi mumbled.

"Fine. Show me the way."

The man watched him carefully before the teasing lilt kicked back in his smile. Shinichi didn't know him for long, but he had a gut feeling that no good things came out of that expression.

"That's funny," the busker remarked as he examined his nails, this way and that, and didn't move.

"What is it now?" Shinichi ground out impatiently.

"Why do you think I’m gonna do that for free? You chased off my audience and my money’s flown away."

Shinichi blinked as his words brought back memories of the earlier incident. He flushed slightly, feeling sheepish at the reminder how he flailed at him childishly.

The man was performing for money when Shinichi launched himself at him.

But— But, wasn't it the man who stole Shinichi's badge in the first place? Wasn't it his fault to begin with?

"Information's not cheap nowadays," the man hummed, crossing his arms and nodding.

Shinichi bit down his lips and scrunched his eyebrows, frowning.

He had been fighting against the man— words against words, and had already wasted so much time.

Shinichi swallowed what remained of his pride and decided ultimately, if money paved a way, he'd happily hand it over.

That was, if he had any money that survived from the Beika mugging.

He stuck his hands through his pockets looking for any stray coins that could've been jostled from his pouch.

After rummaging along the inner seams of his bag, Shinichi felt the ridged edges of a copper.

Shinichi brandished it in his palm, feeling pathetically poor.

"Um, well. I have this."

The man crossed his arms, unimpressed. “ One copper for top secret information like this?”

Even Shinichi knew that wasn't a fair negotiation.

His face burned as he bit back, "That's all I have left, all right? Some bandits stole my pouch from me on my way here."

It already bruised his pride to even let it happen, but admitting after the fact that he, Royal Inspector, was mugged by sword point—

Shinichi wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

The man seemed to consider him for a moment, eyes furrowed. His gloved hand drummed against his chin as he broke the silence with a cough.

“But you have those candied plums I asked for earlier, don't you?"

Shinichi balked. He lifted his eyes up at him, incredulous.

"What? You want that ?"

One copper could buy ten candied plums, and here the man was asking him for his leftovers of two candied plums and a half?

Shinichi kept staring at him, wondering if at any moment, the man would bark out a laugh and swipe the copper in Shinichi's outstretched hand. Maybe he'd say something about how gullible he was, and— it was all a ruse to steal a copper off him.

(And now, Shinichi belatedly realized that perhaps such a passage didn't exist, and he was just being played a fool.)

But the man did neither of those things. Instead, he held out his hand.

"I said I was hungry."

The man waited expectantly, a rare expression of serious contemplation on his face.

His fingers wiggled the longer Shinichi stared at them.

“Well? Do we have a deal or not?”

Shinichi couldn't fathom what kind of plot this man had in mind, but whatever it was, it didn't matter to Shinichi whether he parted with his plums or not.

"Fine."

He dug out the wrapped bag and plopped it in the man's hand.

The man snatched it up, and slid it into the creases of his tunic with a sharp, razor smile.

Somehow, Shinichi was starting to have doubts on the credibility of his claim.

Two plums and a half weren't anything for Shinichi to cry over if this fell through— but his time, surely was.

“All right, payment accepted~ Just follow me!”

A dog hole.

"It's a dog hole." Shinichi's voice was foreign even to him.

A dog hole that was dug up by a dog, underneath the rose bushes and hidden with draping vines of ivy.

"This is it? This is the hole in the palace security? A dog hole ?" Shinichi's tone kept rising in pitch at the utter disbelief of what was in front of him. " I need to crawl in the mud like a dog ?"

The man shrugged, flippant. His tone was airy. “You don’t need to, but if you wanted to see the prince, well. I think you’re small enough to fit.”

Shinichi stared, mouth hung open at a loss for words.

Certainly, if he considered the size of the hole under the metal gate, he'd be able to squeeze himself past the bars, barely get scraped by the thorns, and get himself within the palace's impenetrable wall, and yet.

And yet.

“Is— is there any other way?” Shinichi couldn't hide the shame in his voice.

He whipped around to scan the man from head to toe and steeled his voice. “Don’t tell me, you crawl through this?"

The man looked at Shinichi as if he grew a third arm. "Of course I don’t. I can scale the wall, but you can’t, so.”

He gestured at the dog hole, expectantly looking at Shinichi. “Well, whenever you’re ready for it.”

Shinichi turned his eyes on it again; a shameful dog hole, full of mud, dirt, and dog foot prints.

A dog hole a stray must've dug through to get to the kitchen quarters for some scrap meat.

There really were no other options.

Either he disgracefully crawled his way into the palace with mud and dirt on his already dirty clothes, or—

Or.

Shinichi gripped his fists within themselves and shut his eyes in horror and shame.

"Can—!" His momentary burst of confidence quickly fizzled into a small stutter. "Can… can you help me?"

The man's smile was infuriatingly smug and knowing of the shame that was burning Shinichi's ears red.

“Mm? How do you need me to help?” He hummed, idly rubbing his chin.

Gah, he needed to spell it out for him too?

Shinichi gritted his teeth, pinning his glare at the upturned soil near the gates. "Take me past the wall."

"Where’re your manners?"

When he got his body back, Shinichi knew exactly who to throw in jail first, nevermind the Beika thieves who robbed his sword.

"..................pl," Shinichi spat it out, " Please ."

The man suddenly lowered himself to Shinichi's height, and his smug smile flashed momentarily just as Shinichi felt an arm hook around his waist.

He hoisted him up.

"Very well!"

It was probably due to Shinichi's now childish size that the man had incredible ease holding him under his arm. But it still caught Shinichi by surprise how easily the man was able to vault himself over the walls with him in tow.

Shinichi was even more bewildered when the man didn't pause at the garden to drop him off.

Instead, the man soundlessly ran up the ledges of the archways, his boots somehow gripping the curves and odd corners without slipping.

Shinichi's eyes widened in silent horror as he realized that this man wasn't just skilled at infiltrating, but he was skilled at infiltrating the royal palace.

The man ran along overarching corridors and ducked into the small nooks that Shinichi quickly identified as blind spots with an ease no one should possess.

What this man was doing was beyond helping Shinichi into the palace.

He was— he was trespassing without any authority and towing Shinichi along with him! Just letting him off at the garden was enough, but this man was heading further in!

"Wait—" Shinichi whispered, his heart leaping to his throat at a particular high jump. He felt much like a limp sock being rattled about.

Panic was thrumming under his skin the more he was with this— this criminal .

Shinichi squirmed when the man pressed his back behind a pillar, avoiding a guard in his routine stroll.

"What are you doing?" Shinichi asked, voice hushed but exasperated.

The man shushed him. “Taking you there, so shut up or they’ll find us.”

Shinichi clamped his lips together, stilling his movements. If the man left him now , Shinichi would be caught.

Instead, he glared up at him, trying his best to commit the man's face to memory.

Shinichi always figured something was off about the thief ever since he swiped his badge. And he became even stranger when he tailed after Shinichi and made him an offer to get in.

Shinichi knew accepting his proffer came with unknown risks but— Shinichi didn't want to be complicit in this crime — of sneaking around, in broad daylight, and heading to—

"Wait— how do you know where the crown prince's private study is?!"

There were multiple rooms that served as decoys in the case where assassins breached past the walls and security, but there was one particular room the prince fancied, especially as of late— and that was the one in the northwest wing.

And the thief-criminal-assassin like man was boldly landing on the veranda railings and walking to its doors.

His footsteps were light and soundless.

"Didn't you say you needed to talk to the prince?"

"Yes, but not like this!" Shinichi was nearly hissing, still careful to keep his voice subdued. "This is beyond formalities and procedures! I need to request an audience, and the crown prince will meet me on his own time—"

The door unlocked with a loud click under the man's fingers and Shinichi felt his blood run cold in his veins.

Did he just pick the lock open?

"That'd take forever," the man said, his words smooth and uncaring. His gloved hand briskly plucked open the door. "You said it was urgent."

"Forget what I said! There are proper procedures to follow— this is rudeness! Contempt— treason!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," the man dismissed as he dropped Shinichi squarely in the middle of the crown prince's rug.

Shinichi's boots were filthy with mud and tree scrapings and he was dirtying the prince's pristine rug.

"There, and that's the end of my deal," he said with a grin, obviously reveling in the panic Shinichi had on his face as an obvious thud sounded from outside the door.

This was the crown prince's private study, which meant the footsteps belonged to none other than—

A hearty pat shook Shinichi from his thoughts.

"All right! My work's done here. Have a nice chat~ See ya~"

“Wait, you can’t just leave —”

Shinichi whipped around to try to grab him, at anything, but he was met with the open veranda door and the white sheer curtains fluttering in the breeze.

That criminal—!!!

Kchak .

Shinichi watched in horror as the knob turned with a small rattle, and the door creaked open.

The panic sunk deeper in his stomach.

“Who’s there?”

Chapter 4: Hey, prince! Did you see that? He tried to kill me!

Chapter Text

---

04. Hey, prince! Did you see that? He tried to kill me!

---

Shinichi's eyes darted around the room, laden with shelves of books and papers. There was nowhere to hide and nowhere to go.

That damned criminal left Shinichi alone to deal with the consequences of trespassing—

The heavy ornate door pushed open, and Shinichi couldn't think anymore, he just did.

The moment the prince's black boots pressed into the rug and into Shinichi's view, he immediately sank a knee into the floor and bowed his head.

"I greet the sun of our empire, may the goddess bless you. Deepest apologies for the abrupt entrance into your personal chambers. Please forgive this rude servant of yours. I didn't mean to trespass without following proper procedures. I will accept any punishment befitting this misdeed."

His breath tumbled rapidly from his nose as he tried to calm his pulse. And as the silence stretched on, so did a cold chill sank into his bones.

Shinichi knew he had broken many formalities upon coming here— being here in this unseemly appearance, of course the prince wouldn't take too kindly to it, no matter his benevolence.

He clenched his eyes.

Shinichi dared not to raise his head to see what expression the prince was making — maybe, he was even dreading it.But if he was given a moment to explain—

"...Kudou-kun? Is that you? What's going on?"

The footsteps clambered closer and the prince— the prince was on a knee helping Shinichi up from the floor, hands bracing against Shinichi's forearms, all too gentle and urging.

"Wait, first, get up."

Shinichi couldn't help a well of relief surging up his chest and already dripping from his eyes.

"You recognize me, your highness! I thought you wouldn't be able to—"

Shinichi clambered to his feet and brought an arm up to rub his face. He quickly composed himself, biting down on his lip and shaking his head.

"I am deeply apologetic that I couldn't formally request an audience at the gates. I was met with unfortunate incidents—"

Hakuba watched him sympathetically, nodding in understanding, as his arm draped over his knee.

Shinichi continued in one breath, "I was about to present my badge but a thief had stolen it. Then the guards confiscated it before I could explain myself!"

The prince patiently waited a few seconds for Shinichi to calm down; his furious huffing had wracked his entire body. Hakuba looked contemplative.

"I just received a report about this a while ago, but I thought something terrible happened— I mean…"

His gaze lingered on Shinichi's shrunken form, taking in his thin arms and scrawny legs.

Shinichi bit his lower lip, feeling pitifully self conscious about his state—his stubby boots were caked with mud, his dirt stained tunic was torn along the seams, and his arms and legs were littered with bruises and cuts.

At last, Hakuba stood up, eyes gentle with a sympathetic light. He seemed uncaring of the crease in his own pants.

"Did you run into a black mage during your investigation?"

Shinichi shook his head as he took a deep breath. His nerves were still frayed. "No, nothing of the sort. I was following a caravan in hopes it'd lead me to the Cobra's hideout, but I stumbled on a suspicious transaction and."

He reached a hand to rub at his head, wincing at the tender bruise at the back. "Someone caught me off guard and had me ingest a toxin. I believe it was a prototype of theirs, as it was meant to kill without leaving traces."

Hakuba hummed as he pressed a hand against his chin. "Yet it seemed to have regressed you to a child's form."

Shinichi's jaw clenched. "Unfortunately."

Hakuba shook his head.

"No, it's a relief that the toxin shrunk you, rather than killing you. Regardless, I'm glad that you came back in one piece."

Shinichi looked down at his hands and his arms with a dissatisfied frown.

"You should see Haibara-kun right away to examine your condition. While you’re getting your injuries checked, I’ll post a notice for a replacement since it might be difficult for you to carry on your investigations like this—"

Shinichi felt his throat clog up in despair, and his outburst was louder than he intended it to be.

"No! I can still do it!—your highness…"

Even the crown prince seemed surprised at his emphatic remark. Shinichi never questioned the prince's orders, much less challenged them.

"Kudou-kun, you are aware you look like a child, yes?" Hakuba spoke gently as if he was talking to a child, and god damn it, Shinichi knew he looked like one, but.

A child—

A light crossed over Shinichi's eyes.

"Yes, it’s because I look like a child that I can more efficiently do my job! People underestimate me and pay me no mind. No one would suspect the crown prince sent a child to investigate their affairs. I'd be able to continue my job, if not perform better! "

Shinichi could already tell by the unconvinced stare the prince had that it wouldn't work.

Hakuba shook his head.

"Your dedication to your job is admirable, but your safety is a concern. I don't think you'd be able to defend yourself."

As loathed as he was to admit it, Hakuba was right. Shinichi couldn't even protect his own sword from being pillaged, never mind keeping himself from being yanked to and fro by some fickle character.

Shinichi's smile dropped as he stared blankly at the prince; his gripped fists loosened and dropped to the side.

If he couldn't work, then what else was he to do? Sit prettily in his office stamping paperwork?

A deep, burdensome sigh broke the silence, and it didn't come from Shinichi.

"All right, Kudou-kun, since it's rare for you to be so adamant, I’ll allow it."

Shinichi jerked his eyes upward, glimmering at the way Hakuba's shoulders slumped in resignation.

"But, under one condition."

Shinichi's smile fell as Hakuba crossed his arms.

"You must have a guard with you at all times during your investigations. Only then, I'll allow you to continue your work."

Shinichi immediately frowned in distaste. "But they’ll just get in my way! It's better if I'm discreet alone."

"I wouldn't like for my Royal Inspector to meet an unfortunate end," Hakuba said. "The guard I will assign is a little — special. He's different from the knights who graduated from the academy. He has an amount of tricks up his sleeves that I believe may be useful to you."

"But—"

"No. That’s enough of that."

And Hakuba rounded his desk, reaching for a paper and feather quill to ink his decree. "As for Kudou Shinichi , he will be officially away on a long term investigation. And it goes without saying that your condition is to remain privy to only a trusted few."

Shinichi watched the feather dance in the air as Hakuba penned down his notes.

"Since you’re no longer able to use your original badge, there’ll be a new one made for you, as a steward-in-training."

Shinichi held his breath— he didn't like the title of being a steward-in-training, but with the body of a prepubescent boy, there really was no other way into the palace. (Aside from that dog hole.)

The scratching of the pen stopped as Hakuba lifted his dark chestnut eyes. "Are there any names that strike your fancy?"

Shinichi sighed, clearly unhappy with the turn of events. Without much care, he tossed a glance to the bookshelf of the prince's study.

"Edogawa Conan."

Hakuba followed his gaze to the spine of his books, located on the bottom shelf. If there was an amused smile on the prince's lips, he didn't show it for long.

"All right then, Conan-kun. I’ll have a maid arrange a room for you. In the meanwhile, pay a visit to Haibara-kun."

Conan bowed with one arm folded across his chest, "I thank your royal highness for your never ending grace. This humble servant will be excused now."

Instead of dismissing him, the prince laughed. It startled Conan upright.

"It’s strange to hear a young boy say such things, and it’d be stranger if someone else heard you."

Hakuba wiped a stray tear from his eyes, his expression warm and somewhat endeared. The prince was always a figure of solemnity and genteel manners. Conan had never seen the prince laugh so unguarded. "So, Conan-kun, please speak more comfortably."

Conan nodded numbly.

Certainly, the prince made sense. Conan looked like a child, and it'd be weird to speak with the vocabulary of an adult.

But speaking casually with the prince was against his principles. Despite that, he'd still oblige.

Conan swallowed thickly.

"I understand, your royal high—" he caught himself, and fiddled with his fingers. "Um, yes. I’ll be off now."

Hakuba nodded with a warm crease in his eyes before he redirected his gaze to the decree that he would draft.

"I’ll send for you tomorrow."

Haibara Ai's office was located in the South Wing, first floor, closest to the hallway that led out to the knights' quarters and training grounds.

Her employment had stirred quite a commotion within the palace. Shinichi heard of her even though he wasn't one to need to visit the clinic since his work was mostly outside the capital.

Despite the gossip that surrounded her, Shinichi never questioned the crown prince's decisions. Instead, Shinichi was impressed that she became the Royal Palace physician and pharmacist just at the tender young age of sixteen.

The first time Shinichi became well acquainted with her was the time he cracked down on a drugs operation that was parading under the guise of a charity hospital. That day, Shinichi personally delivered crates of unidentifiable potions to Haibara's office and requested (badgered) her to run tests on all of them so he could use them as evidence.

She seemed to hate (?) him ever since.

And now—

"I knew your impatience would be your undoing," she declared icily. "You forewent my expertise and decided to drink those strange vials you found during your investigations."

That very same Haibara that Shinichi used to tower (slightly) over was now towering over Conan, arms crossed and completely nonplussed at the child that just walked into her office, no introductions or explanations needed to be had.

Conan laughed sheepishly, even though — no, he didn't drink it on his accord, it was forced on him. But the way she scrutinized him with judging eyes made him feel like he's done something dumb.

Which, if he was grasping for something he did do wrong, he was careless when someone snuck up on him from behind.

Conan reached a hand to scratch at the back of his head, but stopped short when his fingernails grazed a tender spot.

"Um, well. It's a long story."

Haibara huffed as she turned her back to fetch gauze and bottles of disinfectant, no doubt to address Conan's cuts and wounds.

Before she said anything else, Conan slid obediently onto the cushioned chair adjacent to her work desk.

Tin metal trays clattered atop the marble tabletop, and Conan watched her uncap a disinfectant potion with a resounding pop.

"All right. Then start from the beginning."

Haibara's office was well lit with the sunshine pouring in through the tall windows.

It smelled of wood and herbal grasses from the potions she had been brewing in metal vats.The soft bubbling filled the tense silence as Conan left her to digest everything he had shared.

Her fingers delicately pinched the space between her eyebrows as they scrunched in thought.

"…a toxin that would be untraceable," she murmured.

Conan shifted in his seat, feeling akin to a mummy with the amount of bandages she wrapped around his knee and arms.

The ointment she slathered on him was bitter and grassy. She was insistent on trying her new herbal salve, saying it was effective with cuts and scrapes.

"And it turned me into this," Conan reminded her.

"If it's as you say, it's most probably still unstable," she quietly said and then stood from her desk. Haibara took with her the vials of blood she pricked out of Conan.

He shuddered at the reminder of her unsympathetic needle stabbing.

"Finding a cure for this isn't impossible, but it'll take a while to understand its components and reverse engineer its formula."

"How soon will it be done?"

"Are your ears just decorations?" she tsked and he instinctively shrank back with a grimace.

"You're aware how long it takes for ingredients to reach me, and that's not counting the time it'd take to brew the antidote."

Even as she was casually admiring her manicured nails, her words were sharp and stabbing into Conan's skull.

"Then I must test its efficacy before allowing it to be ingested—"

"Gah, I just want a time frame," Conan mumbled. He didn't care too much of how it was done, just that he wanted to know when.

Haibara gave him an unimpressed stare. She glanced at her notepad, bound parchments filled with scribbles and notes, and then looked at the calendar hanging off the wall.

"Since the Royal Highness had made this assignment top priority, I estimate it'd take half a year, perhaps longer due to supplies."

Conan withered. "Half a year?"

"You needn't worry. Aside from regressing your physical age, it seems that the toxin doesn't pose any dire side effects."

"Looking like a child is a dire side effect!" Conan couldn't help jumping off the stool.

He waved at himself.

"Look at me! Short arms! Knobby legs! I can't even climb a tree, for god's sake!"

"They're perfectly healthy short arms and knobby legs for a boy your age. Don't attribute your weak physique to the toxin if you were this size as a child to begin with, Kudou-kun."

Conan frowned as he looked down at himself in disbelief. He wasn't this scrawny and pathetic when he was this age. Was he?

"Or rather, you're Edogawa-kun, now."

Conan swore he saw a smug smile on her lips for a flash of a second.

"Anyways, as for your injuries, you just have a mild concussion. Avoid strenuous physical activity, and rest for a few days," Haibara said as she handed him a slip of paper and a small bottle of white pills. "Painkillers, if you need them; take at most—"

"Two pills every four hours. I know."

Conan habitually shook the small glass bottle, listening to the beads rattle against it. The paper was just a pharmaceutical jargon summary of his check up.

He crushed the paper and the bottle into his pants pocket.

Conan was about to trot off outside, to follow the maid that was assigned to escort him to a servant's room, but he paused, right at the door.

A stray thought crossed his mind.

"…how did you figure it was me?"

Haibara didn't even look up from her notebook.

"Your stubborn shoot of hair."

Conan balked, hand quickly reaching up to touch at his mussed cowlick. There goes any hopes of being discreet.

"Well, apologies for being conspicuous," Conan grumbled, his eyes scanning around the shelves in Haibara's office. "Do you have anything I can drink to disguise myself with? Like a face altering potion, or…"

Haibara gave him a long stare and then returned to her work. "There are limits to what I can do with alchemy, Edogawa-kun."

But Conan wasn't one to be deterred. He backtracked from the door and prowled around her office, examining bottles that were marked with scientific labels.

There had to be something — maybe there was a vial he brought back from some drug bust that could change one's hair color, or alter their voice—

"Edogawa-kun, try as much as you want, but there's nothing of the sort."

Conan spotted something resting atop the book shelf. It was glinting from the sunlight. "Glasses? I wasn't aware you wore them."

"I don't," she answered, lifting her head. Her writing paused as she watched Conan examine the glasses.

"The professor made them so I could read papers in the dark, but I don't find myself needing them since—" Haibara tapped her oil lamp. The metal resounded crisply. "I already have this."

"Ah, ha… way to go professor, for inventing useless things…"

Conan turned the glasses around. It was large with thick black rims. The glass had a blue tinted sheen on it.

After a moment's silence, Haibara spoke up. "Take it. Perhaps it'll be of use to you."

"Hm."

Conan put the glasses on. Nothing seemed to change aside from the world being slightly more— clear and glassy around the edges. Having glasses that could see past the shadowy darkness could definitely help him if he was tracking criminals through the night.

Though he'd have to see how that works once night fell.

Conan couldn't help an excited smirk on his face. "All right, maybe the professor isn't so bad."

"Hopefully, it'll prevent that unfortunate incident of yours from happening again. I wouldn't know what to do if you turned into a fetus."

His smile fell into a scowl.

"I won't!"

When the door creaked open, Conan was greeted by a small, cozy room with a single fitted bed in the corner.

He was given a closet to store his clothes and weapons; and a desk with a short shelf that already had some blank sheets of parchment, a feathered pen and a bottle of ink. There was a window that had a cheery view to the south garden, filled with polished marble statues, walkways, and ornate rose bushes.

All in all, it was a modest bedroom. Not too ornate, but a place to return to after his travels.

Conan stalked around to plop on the bed.

He toed off his boots and left them under the window sill and stared out at the blue sky. The clouds lumbered across slowly as the nearby trees rustled.

Conan allowed his whole back to hit the sheets, feeling the crispness under him.

He gazed up at the ceiling, at the crisscrossing wooden beams, feeling the weight of the day's events finally wearing down on his bones.

At last, he was inside the palace.

At last, Conan was able to meet with the crown prince.

And— well, there was a semblance of hope in regards to his strange condition, but at least he wasn't hopelessly stuck as a child.

Conan turned his head to stare at the thinness of his arms, now wrapped up tightly in white gauze, and let his eyes trail off to the clean, barren room.

The emptiness was jarring.

It definitely wasn't fancy and furnished like his officer's quarters, but Conan was rarely ever in it due to the nature of his job.

By now, his glazed cherry wood desk was probably layered with dust. His books may have been repurposed into spider webs here and there.

At some point as Shinichi, he had completely forgotten the comforts and luxury of his own room when he threw himself head first into any mystery. It was a waste of the crown prince's generosity.

And now Conan was imposing on him again by occupying another room— although one much plainer in comparison.

Conan's head pulsed, reminding him of the mild concussion Haibara diagnosed him with and the physician's orders for him to rest.

As if he had the leisure to do that.

There were a lot of things he had to get in order, but what took priority was— tomorrow.

Tomorrow, he'll get a new badge for his new identity.

Tomorrow, he'll have to meet this guard, and hope the knight isn't a dead weight.

Tomorrow, he'll make a plan to retrieve his sword from the bandits. (And that didn't count as strenuous physical activity.)

Conan hummed to himself, breathing in the clean linen smell.

Satisfied, his eyes shut heavily for just a moment as he drifted in the comforts of his bed.

Conan felt a myriad of emotions staring at the new silver badge with his new alias imprinted in the metal.

Edogawa Conan - Steward Trainee

For one, it was smaller and lighter than the badge he had. The blacksmith probably made it with consideration of his size.

And two— Steward Trainee didn't have the same ring and authority as Royal Inspector.

Conan was sure he couldn't get anywhere while flashing off this thin silver badge. But, he had to remind himself that once again, this was a compromise he had to accept if he wanted to continue his work.

It was much better than nothing.

Frowning, Conan shoved it into his pocket, uncaring of the way the blue trainee ribbon crumpled in his grasp.

Just half a year until Haibara figured out an antidote and he wouldn't need this farce of a badge anymore.

Hakuba pealed into a soft rumble of laughter at Conan's unhappy grimace. He leaned his weight against the edge of his desk and folded his arms.

"Speaking of which, I was impressed that you managed to get past all the security yesterday to come to my study. Should I be alarmed?"

Conan's eyes immediately widened as it occurred to him. How could he have forgotten to report the most pressing matter yesterday?

"Actually, your royal highness, I've forgotten to mention, there was a suspicious character loitering about the palace gates yesterday that I deem a threat to your safety."

Hakuba raised a brow, looking mildly intrigued—but nowhere near as alarmed as he should be.

"Oh?"

Gaining confidence, Conan stood up straighter. "I estimate him to be around my height and age, has dark blue eyes, and dark brown hair. He pretends to be a busker performing magic tricks, but he swindles and steals from children. He was the reason why I lost my badge in the first place."

Hakuba opened his mouth with a silent, "Ah…" of understanding.

"Dirty red scarf around his neck, sleazy smile, sounds like a conman." Conan reached far back in his memory to recall every excruciating detail. "There's a bell— he had a pearl on it, which would make one wonder why he didn't sell it instead —But I digress!"

Hakuba watched him with eyebrows raised to his hairline.

"He is a great threat, your highness! We need to put a red alert on him and have him caught!" Conan exclaimed, unaware of how emphatically loud he was becoming. "He knows all of the blind spots in the palace— he knows where your quarters are! He could be an assassin that's after your life!"

Hakuba slowly nodded with a light of understanding in his eyes. "I see that you're already acquainted—"

A clatter resounded from their left and Conan, with the training he had learned in the academy, dashed in front of the prince.

Conan waved Hakuba back with one hand, and with the other swiped for the empty air at his waist.

Right, his weapon was stolen.

Growling, Conan swept his eyes around his surroundings before the intruder could take another step in. He snatched the handle of something gleaming on the prince's desk— a letter opener.

Pathetic, but still better than nothing.

Hakuba sounded quite unperturbed as he sighed, long and suffering. "Kaito-kun, could you please consider using the proper entrance, for once?"

"Yeah, I've considered it. This is just easier, though," sighed an all-too-familiar voice.

Conan froze as he watched the criminal climb through the open window, scraping the dirt bits from his tattered boots along the white window sill of the crown prince's study, and gripping the window frame with those grimy gloves.

"So, what's this thing about guarding some detective?" The man flippantly waved a sheet of paper with the prince's broken wax seal on it.

How did the thief get his hands on that?

"You didn't say for how long I was supposed to babysit this noble for."

Hakuba clapped his hands once cheerily behind Conan, startling him from his shell shocked state.

"Well! Since you're both here, let me properly introduce you to each other. This is Kuroba Kaito—"

The implications of the situation clicked in Conan's mind.

The stealing, the laughing, the jabbing— all the humiliation he suffered surged up and crested over, crashing in a wave of anger.

Conan furiously turned, fist still gripping the letter opener. He jabbed it in the man's direction. "He's my guard?!"

The man, Kuroba, jolted at the gleaming point of the blunt knife.

A light of recognition crossed his eyes and his face distorted into disbelief.

"What? This brat ?"

Hakuba's genteel voice answered, "Well, yes. Actually, Conan-kun is—"

Conan flailed his arm. "Your royal highness, this must be a mistake! This is the man I was talking about! He's the criminal that breached the palace security—"

Kuroba held his head, eyebrows knit and eyes shut. "Wait, wait, you're telling me this brat is the detective I have to guard? Prince Hakuba, I usually don't question your judgement, but you're not going insane, are you?"

Hakuba's lips parted to answer, but Conan jumped in, shaking angrily at Kuroba's words.

"How dare you speak so rudely to the royal highness! Your insolence is unheard of!"

It was one thing to treat Conan like a fool, but to say such words.

Kuroba kept his eyes leveled at the prince, ignoring Conan. And that made his body tremble more.

"I'm a guard, your highness, not a nanny. Our contract said nothing about babysitting children at any point. Do I have to wipe his ass too—"

Conan saw red.

Before Conan realized, he had flung the knife at the thief's face. "Have you no manners?!"

Kuroba tilted his head, dodging the slightest and infuriatingly, catching the handle of the letter knife with ease. He spun the knife flippantly, and finally, turned his eyes on Conan.

Kuroba's gaze was bewildered, lips quirked up, half in disbelief and amusem*nt.

"Hey, prince! Did you see that? He tried to kill me!"

Hakuba continued smiling, his expression becoming quite stilted and unreadable.

Now without a knife, Conan resorted to jabbing a finger at his face. "As I rightly should! You ought to be put on trial for multiple transgressions against the crown prince!"

Kuroba's smile twisted even more, as that knife just spun, spun, and spun.

"Oo, I'm scared. Whatcha gonna do? Grab me like a monkey? That worked out swell last time."

Conan's face became hot as his fists clenched tightly within themselves.

He threw Hakuba a despairing look. "Please forgive my impertinence, your highness—but I refuse to work with this miscreant who breaks into the palace."

Kuroba gasped, offended.

"Me? A miscreant? I wasn't the one who wanted to jump over the castle gates. You asked me to help you and you're blaming me now?"

"You—"

"Enough."

One word, solid in tone, made Conan halt to a stop in his words.

He felt his head pounding under a suffocating pressure as he tried to even his breathing.

Kuroba pressed his lips together, smothering that arrogant grin away. He crossed his arms and let out a quiet snort.

"As I tried to say, Kaito-kun," Hakuba started, as he walked a few paces forward to wedge himself between them.

He ushered Conan back a few steps, lest Conan jumped to grab him again.

"Despite his current appearance, this is the Royal Inspector, Kudou Shinichi."

There was a moment's pause when Kuroba's smile stilted, before it fell from utter confusion. He blinked slowly; his eyes swiveled onto Conan.

"…Isn't the Royal Inspector supposed to be an adult?"

Conan ground his teeth. "I am ."

Kuroba scanned him— from head to toe — eyebrows skewed and gaze doubtful.

Hakuba continued, voice ever calm and meaningful. "Until he regains his original body, you are to guard Edogawa Conan and protect him at all costs as he continues with his work."

Kuroba lifted his gaze and stared at Hakuba for a long time.

"…You're serious," Kuroba muttered after a tense silence.

Hakuba met his look with a smile.

Kuroba let his shoulders drop as he sighed, ducking his head. He quickly, and unexpectedly, conceded with a loud huff. "Fine, then. For how long?"

"Indefinitely."

"Indef—" he started to balk before he shook his head. "Fine, it's not like I have a choice, do I?"

With that settled, Hakuba turned to Conan, his eyes creasing into a warm, sympathetic smile.

"I understand that you're displeased with these arrangements, but he'll prove to be resourceful as you continue your work."

Right.

Work.

Conan bit the inside of his cheek. The prince only allowed him to continue his investigations on the condition that he had some guard tailing after him.

He just didn't know that it'd have to be this man to do it.

Conan bowed his head to hide the grimace on his face. He ground out, unwillingly, "…Thank you for your consideration, your highness."

Hakuba, the only one satisfied with the outcome of all this, nodded and swept around his desk to seat himself.

He gathered the papers he had in front of him before he leaned carefully back in his chair.

"Then, you're both dismissed."

Whenever Conan left the crown prince's study, he usually had a mission file in hand and a goal in mind.

He would feel like a flame had been lit, and the excitement of a new target would rush through him.

But now, as the door shut behind him, Conan sagged, sighing heavily as if he had fought hard and lost a losing battle.

And he did.

Because all he left with was a thin metal badge and a dead weight to drag along with his investigations.

A dead weight that was currently treading behind him with heavy footfalls.

"Hey, Roya— uh, inspector~"

Even though he was perfectly capable of scaling the walls and ledges of the palace soundless.

"Edogawa? Edogawa-kun? Conan-kun? Conan—"

Conan stubbornly continued down the hallways, ignoring the odd looks from the palace maids that trailed after him. He was especially ignoring the absolute wreck of a knight that was supposed to guard him.

Dirty shoes, unkempt clothes, shouldn't a knight of the crown prince have dignity? Never mind his appearance — what's with his uncouth mouth and lack of formalities?

Where did a knight like him crawl from? The sewers?

The prince mentioned he was different from the academy knights, but Conan couldn't even fathom how or why Hakuba had this kind of person around.

Resourceful? Useful?

All Conan saw was an insolent man that carried no ounce of respect for the crown prince.

And the crown prince declared that this sad excuse of a knight was to guard him?

Him? Kudou Shinichi, Royal Inspector, master swordsman, once the captain of the East division, needed to be guarded by some half-baked "knight "?

"Hey, earth to Tantei-kun —"

"What," Conan snapped, throwing a side glance at him.

Kuroba blinked slowly. His expression was surprisingly blank, as if something occurred to him just then.

He shrugged it away and smiled, easily and undeterred by Conan's scowl. "All right, so, Tantei-kun, we got off on the wrong foot earlier, why don't we start over?"

Conan looked down at that raggedy glove on his outstretched hand, and back up at the friendly smile.

He pushed his hand aside and it was like de ja vu, except this time, Conan had a name and background to the annoying face he had sworn to toss into jail. (But he couldn't, anymore.)

"If that's your sorry excuse of an apology, I don't want it."

Kaito's outstretched hand wilted slightly, his smile dropping just a tad.

Conan turned to continue marching back towards his room, quickening his pace.

The footsteps just continued following him.

"Aw, don't be like that. How I could I have known? They don't go around shrinking people into children on a daily basis."

Anger spiked at his comment— or rather, the casual airy tone and utter lack of understanding for the seriousness of this whole situation.

Conan bit on his inner cheek and kept walking, ignoring the measured pace following close behind.

"What ? How was I supposed to know the Royal—" Kuroba's voice quickly hushed into a whisper as a group of maids passed by them, carrying baskets of laundry. "You were the real thing? As far as I saw it, you were a beggar child holding onto a noble's badge. That could've gotten you tossed in jail, you know."

Conan knew that— and Conan also knew that if that had come to pass, he would've been able to talk his way out of it.

He would've been able to spook the guards with his knowledge of the inner workings of the palace— rouse their suspicions just enough so that Conan would be passed up the chain of command, until he had Hattori deal with him.

Instead, by unnecessarily interfering, Kuroba made a fool of Conan.

And will continue making a fool out of him.

Conan was very well justified to dislike this guy.

"Or are you mad about the dog hole? I mean, it's a practical way in, you know—"

Conan stopped in his tracks, and squarely faced the thief, criminal, guard, "knight."

Kuroba paused as well, his hands resting leisurely in his pockets.

"Kuroba—"

The guard made a face. "Kaito. Just Kaito is fine."

"All right, Kaito, " Conan huffed, rolling his eyes. "Whatever you're conjecturing, I don't care. It doesn't matter, because I don't require nor do I even want your help or your services. You're dismissed."

Kaito's face fell into something blank; his eyes round and observing.

He expected for Kaito's mouth to split into that annoying Cheshire cat smile at any moment, but Conan turned away before he could see it.

He didn't want to.

Conan waved him away as he continued his walk down the palace halls, the other hand shoved in his pocket and crushing the blue ribbon of his badge.

"You can go back to busking at the plaza with your cheap tricks."

As Conan rounded the corner, he caught a glimpse of the guard, standing where Conan had left him, with a blank look gazing into the space ahead of him.

Chapter 5: Look, Tantei-kun. We're kind of at odds here.

Chapter Text

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05. Look, Tantei-kun. We're kind of at odds here.

---

Conan had little time to think or even care about the guard.

The encounter in the crown prince's study was a harsh reminder that Conan was still unarmed and useless.

Had Kaito been the criminal he made himself out to be, Conan had no power to do anything to protect the prince. And while the letter opener was the best option in that situation, Conan couldn't be swinging around a blunt knife.

After finally trotting to his room, Conan had kicked off his boots and paced about the floorboards, chin in hand and thinking.

The spring festival was ending in three days, and Conan was pressed for time.

His precious sword was going to be sold off as soon as the merchants departed the capital and traveled through the Beika village.

It was nigh impossible to request for Hattori's assistance on such a short notice. And seeing how the palace was rather quiet without his boisterous voice, he must be away resolving issues outside of the palace.

With or without any help, Conan was confident that he could carry this out alone. He had to strategize and prepare himself, is all.

Careful planning would increase the chance of success.

Conan climbed atop his bed, crossing his legs. He folded his arms and propped his chin on his hand in deep thought.

As he sunk into his planning, the branches draping outside his window rustled and bent gently under the crisp wind.

Here were Conan's thoughts:

One, Conan couldn't go on this mission without a weapon. He had already learned a costly lesson from that. So, before he departed, he needed to scrounge for a usable sword for self defense.

Second, he'll need to procure some provisions and medical supplies for the trip ahead. Some food, bandages, and medicine should tide him over for what’d be a three day trip.

Third, since Beika was a day and a half trip from the capital, if he left by nightfall, he'd reach Beika by mid afternoon. This would give him enough time to scope out the thieves' den and assess the situation.

With the professor's glasses, he'll begin his infiltration once night cloaked him.

Rescuing his sword was his priority. Suppression and arrest would come later once Hattori was available.

It was a solid direction.

Conan snapped his eyes open, mind sharp and clear, and jumped off his bed.

The knights' training grounds were attached to a separate annex from the main palace.

It was easily accessible from Conan's current living quarters, and he was better able to avoid suspicion when he looked to be carrying out a task of some sort. After all, it wasn't odd seeing a steward-in-training hefting a bucket of water and rags over the walkways.

Just that Conan severely underestimated the weight of the bucket as he accidentally sloshed water over his sleeves.

He had to drop it on the ground several times to relieve the building ache in his arms.

Several times, some kind maids asked if they could assist him. Some of them tried to ask where he was going, so they could carry it for him there.

But Conan politely declined with a prim smile and shake of a head.

His destination was something only he should be privy to, lest there were unnecessary witnesses. And the last thing he wanted to worry about was gossip making its way to the crown prince’s ears.

At last, Conan had made his way across the courtyard and to the entrance of a wooden shack on the outskirts of the training grounds. The bucket sloshed noisily when he dropped it.

Sighing, he rubbed his arms and cast a scanning look around the area. If there were knights wandering around the training grounds, they didn't pay Conan any mind.

And if they did mind, it wouldn't be more so than a passing observation. The shack he had come to was where the knights flung chipped and broken swords that needed to be gathered and sent back to the blacksmith for reforging.

For all they know, Conan could be there on an errand to check inventory. There was nothing of dire value that could be stolen from here.

Conan unlatched the wooden door and pushed it open. He coughed at the dust that plumed from his movement.

The shack was dark and dusty, and multitude of swords sat in opened crates with their hilts sticking out.

Judging by the engraving on their hilts, they were forged by the blacksmith's apprentices. They weren't of good quality to be issued as official swords, but durable enough to be used in training and mock duels.

Of course, the knights stored their proper weapons elsewhere, but even normal servants couldn't waltz in there as they pleased. Conan wouldn’t have been able to set foot in there without arousing suspicion. And so he chose here, a discarded weapons shack.

While a good sword was essential for a swordsman, Conan was a master swordsman.

Anything sharp, whether it was broken, chipped, or bent, would still make do.

Especially when he only needed it for the improbable chance of self defense rather than engaging in a fight.

Conan stalked around the pile of rejected swords, eyeing them carefully, looking for the least worst of the bunch. He yanked and pulled out blades upon blades, studying the luster and shine of their edges.

After scouring through most of the blades, he found one that, upon unsheathing it, had at most two chips near the tip.

Conan smirked. Rookies had a habit of slashing with the tip when most of the weight should be near the hilt. And they also were naïve enough to throw this perfectly usable sword here for him to pick out.

Lucky him.

Conan grabbed the sheath of the sword and loosened it from its place in the overcrowded crate. It took him two hands and a lot of effort to free it from the box.

He lost his balance when he hoisted it over him. The sheath heavily clattered to the floor with a thud— which was when he heard another thud behind him.

"So, you carried this bucket of wash rags all the way here to do what? Shine some rusty swords?"

Conan's heart leapt to his throat as he steadied his stance. His hand grabbed for the hilt of— another sword haphazardly sticking out of the same crate.

Conan barely unsheathed it— catching the sight of a familiar glimmer of red— before he released his grip on the handle.

"You—!"

At the entrance of the cabin, Kaito was tapping the bucket with his foot in slight curiosity.

Conan flexed his fingers, feeling the muscles taut and aching. He evened his breathing after a furious gulp of air. "Were you following me?!"

Kaito glanced at him, and then away.

"Weird thing to ask a guy who was assigned to guard you."

"I said I didn't need guarding," Conan grumbled, moving his gaze back down to the fallen sword.

He bent over to lift it from the floor.

Unexpectedly, the sword was heavier than he was used to. His sword— Shinjitsu — was made of a rare blend of metals that made it lighter than normal swords which were forged with iron.

Conan balanced it in his arms. He could shed the extra weight by abandoning the sheath, but he couldn't exactly take only the blade back to his room. That'd be too suspicious and dangerous.

He settled with wrapping both his arms around the sword and lifting it. If he held the sheath and hilt close to his chest, he could bring it back to his room.

This— this was doable.

"What are you doing?"

If Kaito had eyes, he wouldn't be asking such an obvious question.

Sucking in a breath, Conan dragged the sword away with him. He purposefully shoved past Kaito's waist on his way out of the cabin.

Staggering down the creaking, wooden steps, Conan hefted the sword close to him again before he began striding across the dusty training ground. A metallic clang resounded each time the blade bumped against the sheath.

“Hey— wait—”

Conan continued walking, purposeful and steady.

The damned guard tracked Conan down without him noticing.

Now Conan had a pretty keen sense of knowing when he was being followed. He wouldn’t have survived as a Royal Inspector, otherwise.

But the fact that this man managed to sneak up on him, twice — was alarming.

And annoying.

Conan needed to be more vigilant, keep on his toes. This knight, however undignified he was, still dodged past the entire castle security with ease and crept up on him without so much a whisper.

He wouldn’t be that easy to shake off.

If he learned of Conan's plans to retrieve his sword, there’d be no doubt he'd interfere and Conan would end up losing Shinjitsu to the thieves for a measly amount of coppers.

"Tantei-kun, oi—! What about your bucket?" Kaito's grating voice was becoming louder. "Don't you need this?"

The slight tip-taps of Kaito's footsteps were chasing his heels.

"I don't."

A shadow casted over him, and Kaito was now pacing alongside him. The bucket was hoisted in his arm with relative ease.

"Then why'd you lug it all the way over here?"

Conan shot him a withering glare.

It was a disguise, god damn it. It's about blending in! And it was a painfully obvious answer that didn’t need explanation.

"None of your business. Take the bucket or leave it, I don't care."

"Well, you can't just leave a bucket of water in the middle of nowhere. At least, put the bucket back. Where are your manners?"

Conan felt a very specific, pointed prick of irritation.

Manners? This knight who scraped the entirety of his mud-crested boot on the prince’s window sill was lecturing him on manners??

"Do you think I have four arms?" Conan snapped back, jerking his head at the sheathed sword clutched in his two arms.

Conan was going to go back to it— of course, he would— right after he was done with his retrieval mission. And after reporting the bandit hideout to the prince. And after rounding them up with Hattori—

But now he didn’t feel like it.

"If you care about the bucket so much, you should put it back."

Kaito gave him a dead-eyed look just as Conan picked up his pace and left him behind.

"… fine."

Sword secured and stowed against his bedside, Conan left to gather supplies for his trip.

As mid-afternoon rolled by, the cooks had finished reheating pots of hot soup and hard rye bread. They left the kitchen unattended for their afternoon break.

It was the perfect window of time for Conan creep through the unguarded kitchen with a rucksack. He wrapped a few bread rolls, smoked ham, and a block of cheese in a linen cloth before ducking out in the same fashion he came in.

He trotted down the halls in quick, silent steps.

With his attention on high alert, Conan couldn’t shake the feeling of a steely gaze pinning across his back.

The damned guard.

Conan’s eyes furtively scanned the archways as another shudder climbed his spine.

Those moments were few and far in between, but every time Conan turned to catch him red-handed, he was met with empty space and a deafening silence.

The guard was hiding like the rat he was— Conan would give him that much.

He grumbled under his breath as he crumpled the rucksack fabric under his grip.

Originally, Conan had the plan of walking out the palace gates with his sword on his back and rucksack in hand. But if he was going to be followed by this nuisance, that plan was shot.

Conan would have to lose him somehow, or it'd just spell trouble later.

Midnight. Conan latched the door to his room, and snuffed out his candles, letting his room fall into the darkness.

He had rolled up some sheets and pillows to stuff under his blankets, forming a makeshift dummy to fool the guard if he peeked in through the door.

Conan had his supplies— food, gauze, some healing potions— wrapped securely in his bag. And— his glasses.

As he waited for nightfall, Conan was able to test the full effects of the professor’s invention. The lenses allowed Conan to see through the shadows, making out vague shapes and colors. It wasn't perfect, but with this much, he could definitely see the outlines of criminals lurking about.

Conan sat at the foot of his bed for a long moment, watching the adjacent quarters blink off one by one, and the palace went dark except for the twin lamplights posted at the gates.

It was a full moon, casting a dark blue tint over the courtyard, but its light was occasionally covered by passing clouds.

The less light, the better.

Conan eased onto his feet, boots barely making a sound on the floor. Conan had one end of the rope tied to the leg of the bed and had tested it with his strength beforehand.

He pushed the window ajar, enough to feed the other end of the rope out of the crack.

Tightening the rope that held his sword across his back and slinging his bag over his shoulders, Conan pushed the window out further. He could feel the chilly breeze against his outstretched palm.

He climbed up onto the sill, and his eyes swiveled to the nearby tree. The leaves were sparse and the branches were void of any suspicious character crouching among it.

Kaito wasn't there, or anywhere down in the bushes where Conan intended to land.

Satisfied, Conan wrapped the rope around his hand and began his descent down the side of the wall. His boots hit the ground softly. The grass was wet with slight dew.

Conan swept another glance around the area before he took a measured step toward the palace gates.

As long as he could keep Kaito off his tracks, Conan was fine. The palace guards wouldn’t care much about a steward trainee leaving the gates late at night, anyways.

"Huh, so you're running away."

Conan jumped in his skin. The sword sheath rattled noisily on his back. His arms flung up to clutch his rucksack close to his chest.

"Wha— you again!"

When Conan spun around, Kaito— or rather, his shadowy figure— was standing there just under the tree, a hand on his hip, seemingly to have materialized out of thin air.

Conan blinked furiously as his glasses outlined the guard’s figure. He was sure he double checked his surroundings, but still —

"Stop following me," Conan growled, narrowing his eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you that I don't need guarding. You're dismissed."

"The prince will disagree with you on that," Kaito hummed. The leaves rattled gently above him, drowning him further in the shadows.

Conan squinted. His glasses couldn’t do much with the darkness that cloaked Kaito's black attire. Even his red scarf, which had a brilliant sheen in the daytime, seemed blood red in the night. His expression was barely visible.

"And here I was wondering what you were up to today. It turns out that after being turned into a child, you could no longer live with the shame, and decided to run away. I guess that's all the Royal Inspector amounts to."

As Kaito spoke, Conan's face was coloring red with hot anger. This man couldn't be any more mistaken, and he sounded so clearly disappointed and convinced in his own false delusions.

"You're wrong," Conan spat, as he gripped his fists tighter against his side. "I'm simply retrieving something. And it has nothing to do with you."

Kaito crossed his arms in turn. Unlike the last few times, he didn’t let up. In fact, he doubled down, eyeing Conan's rucksack of supplies and the sword on his back.

The cloud cover blew in the wind, and the moonlight illuminated Kaito’s features.

There was no trace of mirth or amusem*nt in his eyes.

"I'm gonna disagree again. The prince is gonna chop my head if he finds you dead by the roadside. Where're you going?"

Conan tried to step past him, but Kaito’s long legs took a step in tandem, blocking Conan's path.

"What're you trying to get? Some papers?"

Conan tsked and tried to curve past him, but Kaito was like an impossibly solid wall that moved to block him in every direction he stepped in.

"Move," Conan said, firmly.

Another step, and he's stopped again, his boots crushed the grass mercilessly.

"Nope. I've got orders to keep you safe, and wherever it is you're going, doesn't seem like a great idea."

Their boots shuffled noisily along the grass— a step back, another forward, then sideways— like some stupid waltz.

Conan started feeling the heat rushing to his head in annoyance.

The more time he wasted here, the less time he had to prepare and preparation was of utmost importance, especially if he was to go at this alone, and this ridiculous dancing around Kaito to get away from him wasn't making his mood any better.

"Ugh, my sword was stolen in Beika by bandits, all right?!"

Conan’s thread of patience had already long gone. He clenched his fists and he glared at Kaito. "Does that satisfy you?"

Kaito fell into a silence, his eyes dark and unreadable. But Conan definitely could feel them scanning over Conan's small body in disbelief.

If Kaito wanted to jab at his size again, Conan wouldn't hesitate to stab him with the sword on his back.

"Thieves? That sounds dangerous. And you're going alone," Kaito said, matter of fact. “Shouldn’t you be requesting the prince for a squad of knights for this?”

"How could I be so shameless when I couldn’t even protect his gift to begin with," Conan huffed. "Now, move."

Instead, the guard lifted his hands in the air as a show of surrendering.

"Look, Tantei-kun," he started and then dropped his arms back down, "We're kind of at odds here. You want your sword back, but I need to do my job."

Conan frowned, waiting for him to continue.

"So, how about this, why don’t you let me help you get your sword back. If you're going up against multiple thieves, doesn't it make sense for you to want backup?”

Conan chewed his lip, eyes darting toward the side in thought.

When Conan considered his current stature— he had already been overwhelmed by two bandits when they wrestled the sword from his grip. Even if Conan prioritized stealth over confrontation, if he was caught, he would have to deal with a hoard of them.

Objectively, having Kaito’s help— wasn’t a bad idea. He had proven his stealth skills throughout the day, and there had to be some reason that the crown prince chose him of all people to guard him.

But — Kaito made himself out to be a detached, fickle character. Even the manner in which he received the prince’s order was lackadaisical at best.

At a dire moment, could Conan even rely on him to have his back?

Dead by the roadside — wasn't Kaito only thinking of saving his own skin and not Conan?

But here was the other thing — Kaito was adamant on stopping him, and going by the lack of teasing smiles, he was dead serious about it. Conan wouldn't be able to get past the gates at this rate. Even if Conan tried to outrun him, his shortened legs wouldn’t get him very far.

And, Conan remembered in a burst of shame, Kaito could easily pick him up by the scruff of the collar.

Conan turned his current options over in his mind— either he accepted Kaito's offer or… the guard kept him from going entirely.

"…fine," Conan conceded with a burdened sigh. He hated it but he literally had no other way around it. "But you better not get in my way."

"Ha," Kaito let out a dry snort, but otherwise kept to himself as he allowed Conan to finally march past him.

The rest of the time he followed behind Conan in stilted silence.

Conan had expected Kaito to be more talkative during their walk down the darkened streets of the capital.

Conan's first impression of Kaito from their first few interactions was a man who'd uselessly and endlessly chatter, mock with uncouth words, and make tasteless jokes.

But he was quiet.

Several times, Conan surreptitiously turned to look back just to check if Kaito was still there. Even when Conan kept his senses on high alert, Kaito's footsteps were so silent that he often wondered if the guard had upped and left him.

But the flash of red would linger in the corner of his vision and Conan would catch sight of him leisurely ambling with his arms stretched up and pillowing his head.

At the very least, he was “doing his job.”

By the time they reached the outskirts of the city, not a word had been exchanged between them.

Conan appreciated the silence however, and released the ebbing tension that had gathered on his shoulders since their earlier confrontation.

The cricketing echoes in the night time brought contemplation and rumination over the day's events.

From when Conan was given his silver badge, to meeting his guard, to making preparations for his trip, and then to being coerced into bringing this guard with him.

A slow trickle of shame started to crawl up Conan's throat that made swallowing all the harder.

Now, Conan would consider himself quite level headed, logical, and well in control of his emotions.

As the Royal Inspector, he had encountered so many gruesome murders and faced the ugliest facets of the human psyche— that if he didn't have an iron grip on his emotions, Conan would've long retired from his job due to the mental strain.

In the midst of the maddened cackles of murderers and heart-crushing sobs of victims, Kudou Shinichi always remained— unshaken. Without his iron grip on his emotions acting as a pillar, he wouldn't have been able to pull himself by his bootstraps and make his way towards the capital.

Being poisoned and shrunk was terrible, but at the very least he wasn’t dead. He had recollected himself, made a plan, and journeyed his way to the royal palace despite all odds.

He had remained steady and resolute— that was until he arrived at the plaza.

From there on— since meeting Kaito, Conan came to this horrifying realization that there existed an unsightly, childish side to him.

It was a side that was capable of arguing against the prince's decision, exploding in rage with words hissing through his teeth.

Now that Conan was enveloped in silence of contemplation, he couldn't believe that he aimed a letter knife at Kaito so recklessly at a childish provocation. Even the novices at the academy would have assessed the situation much better than he had.

There was something about Kaito— whether it was his words, or his tone, or that smug smile, or all the things he put him through— that goaded Conan's reaction all too easily.

Kaito happened to strike the wrong chords at the wrong time and Conan reacted disproportionately as a result.

Conan took a deep breath as he slowed his pace, feeling his soles throbbing in his boots by the time they journeyed deep into the woods.

He'll take advantage of this silence to recompose himself and re-evaluate his situation.

Conan hated that he had to have someone follow him—but that was the royal highness' order.

Kaito, despite not having any respect for the prince and being insufferably annoying, seemed to be taking this order seriously.

Conan could hate it, throw a fit like an immature child, but ultimately—

It was what it was.

At least now, the guard seemed content to trail after him silently on their trek. Conan needed to steele his emotions and have a firmer grip on himself. Holding onto his anger and grudges this long was no longer justifiable— it was downright immature.

Conan took a deep breath as twigs snapped under the weight of his boots.

He should be mindful not to make a fool of himself again.

The sun started to break through the treetops, and all Conan could see was a trodden dirt path and more forest.

And signposts that optimistically pointed them toward Beika.

The forest still crowded them and the village was still nowhere in sight.

At some point, Kaito said something about going off on his own, and made himself scarce. He left Conan to continue his walk through the forests alone with the rustle of trees forming a canopy above him.

But Conan knew that the guard was still there, lurking somewhere behind the thick bushes with his bell ringing ever so faintly— just that he excused himself to avoid being in the stifling silence.

And Conan preferred it this way.

Conan recognized the faint chime of the bell in the distance, as he asked around the village about the notorious thieves and their location

While he was sternly warned by a well meaning lady not to go up Reinbach Mountains, where the bandits had overtaken the old mines, Conan still heard the bell ring.

As night cloaked the village and Conan's glasses turned the world into darkened shapes into indistinct forms, he lumbered up the hill, carefully side stepping fallen logs and sharp rocks.

All that while, that strange whimsical jingle followed him.

Conan reached a clearing as the moon rose to its peak; the moonlight glinted off the pocket watch he kept in his tunic.

Half past ten.

The mines had long been abandoned, but the sign posts and carts had been freshly uprooted and moved aside.

Now, the caves were lit with a warm orange from the campfire. Purple shadows stretched up the rugged cave walls as men laughed and danced with steins clutched in their hands.

There were other campfires that peppered the outskirts of the wide alcove. The thieves were dressed in mismatched tunics and dirt stained bandanas.

Some of them wandered back to the merchant wagons parked against the wall of the mountain. They reached in to dunk their steins into stolen alcohol barrels, before returning to their places, forming something like a crescent, guarding the wagons as they dined on dried meats and bread.

Conan stalked closer to the bushes, sinking onto his knees and peering through the crisscrossing twigs.

He counted twenty four men gathered among the campfires.

And that didn’t include the ones that were tucked further in the cave, sleeping on piles of rugs.

Conan's heart pounded in his ears.

Only two thieves were all it took to grab his precious sword from him, and now Conan had to face— at least thirty of them.

Ignoring the sinking dread, he studied the contents of one of the wagons. There were opened crates with bolts of luxury cloth and rugs. The rest of the merchant crates remained unopened, though judging by its contents— home furnishing— Conan doubted they put his sword there.

Jars of dried spice, medicinal herbs, kitchen silverware, imported porcelain vases— the bandits had taken quite a collection of merchant goods.

At last, he spotted the familiar silver hilt of his sword, studded with a gleaming blue diamond in the middle. His sword was sitting in the wagon furthest from him, propped next to the opened barrel of different graded swords.

The thieves were definitely more attracted to the wagon that held a crate of dried meats, but there were still a few loitering about the weapons.

Despite the bandits’ jolly laughter as they drank themselves drunk, they were positioned in a way that closely guarded their loot. There were also no trees or bushes that would allow Conan to get any closer.

His sword was right there.

But he couldn’t think of any way he could get to it— at least not with this body.

If you're going up against multiple thieves, wouldn’t you want backup?

Conan swallowed thickly, eyes flitting around the area again.

The chatter and laughter was loud and rambunctious from afar, but from Conan's side of the woods—

It was quiet.

It had been quiet since Conan came to the clearing on top of Reinbach mountain, and had been quiet since he crouched to get a closer look.

Where was the guard?

Conan tore his eyes from the thieves' hideout and peered into the darkness. He could only make out vague outlines of tree trunks and jagged leaves.

Kaito was nowhere to be found or heard.

Just Conan, the bandits, and the ominous stillness of the forest wrapping behind him, engulfing him in a sense of loss .

"Kai—" Conan’s voice was barely a whisper, as he looked over his left shoulder. "Kaito? Are you still there?"

Something rustled on his right.

"Hm?"

Every muscle in his body froze as Conan’s heart jumped up his throat. He whipped his head toward the noise, eyes wide.

His glasses outlined the shape of a man, crouching next to him as if he had been there the whole time. Conan's heart thudded loudly in his ribcage, wracking his shoulders with slight trembles.

He needed to stop doing that.

"So, how does your sword look like?" Kaito's voice was low as he redirected his gaze at the hideout. If he noticed Conan jumping from his skin for the third time today, Kaito ignored it and cut straight to the point.

Conan breathed slowly through his nose, suppressing his erratic heartbeats, as he swiveled his gaze toward his sword. "It's — the one near the back. Silver hilt with blue diamonds. It has Shinjitsu engraved on the sheath."

Kaito hummed.

A moment passed.

Then, "That's a lot of thieves."

Conan frowned as he recounted them—at least the ones who would pose a real threat, not the ones that had keeled over from over consumption of alcohol.

One thief stood up and tottered off to the side of the woods, probably to relieve himself.

"We can't defeat them," Conan mumbled, raising a hand to bite at his thumb in thought. Maybe Kaito was right, he should've requested a squad of knights for this. This was too big, too large for both of them.

Maybe he should’ve put down his pride and admitted to the prince that he needed help for this, and now it was him and Kaito. Even if Kaito offered back up, what could they do against thirty people?

And if they headed back now for help— it’d be too late.

"Who said we needed to defeat them all?"

Conan blinked, head jerking up. "What? What do you mean?"

Kaito tapped his chin in thought, dark eyes flickering at the wagon far back, and then at Conan. His expression was uncharacteristically blank.

"I'll be back."

And he stood up.

"Wait, where are you going—"

Conan's eyes widened as the ropes that once secured his weapon to him, pooled around his feet. The makeshift sword was yanked off his back, and that very sword was being examined under Kaito's judging eyes.

"Stay put and don't do anything reckless; I'm confiscating this."

And without giving him any explanation, Kaito stalked off and disappeared behind a mess of trees, leaving Conan alone in the woods again.

Several minutes passed, but it felt like hours.

The watch ticked and ticked under his grasp.

Conan was biting his thumb, eyes sharp and ears peeled for anything or anyone that could sneak up on him from the dark shadows in the woods.

Conan was utterly helpless in this situation— and left alone to just sit.

Maybe if Conan had his sword, he could have used it as a semblance of distraction, lay it out on the ground and hopefully tempt a bandit to wander toward the edge of the clearing—

But then what? Even if Conan could muster the strength to knock one upside the head, he couldn’t do it consecutively with this body.

He sighed as he scrubbed his head with a hand, wincing at the still smarting sting on his temple.

Damn.

So that’s why Kaito took his sword, so that Conan couldn’t even try to do anything with it. Not like he’d be reckless enough to try, but—

Where was Kaito anyway?

Did he just expect Conan to sit here like a duck? (Not like he could really do anything but wait. )

Conan kept his eyes fixed on the bandits, counting and recounting them because earlier he was sure there were twenty four of them. Seven were sleeping, and sixteen were still emptying their skeins.

Right when he searched for the last one, Conan heard the rustle of leaves as a bandit— crooked nose, black bandana, and torn tunic— sauntered his way back into the clearing, wiping his hands against his pants legs.

He was the one that had gone off into the forest for a bathroom break.

He watched the crooked-nosed bandit stroll to the wagons flanked by the others. Once or twice, he stumbled drunkenly over his sleeping comrades. Then he stopped to chat with an imposingly large thief that sat closest to the fire.

Judging by the bright red flush on their skins, the bandits should be dropping over like flies. Conan’s concern was that there were some heavy drinkers that held their alcohol quite well, and it looked like that large thief was one of them.

Conan could tell quickly, with the fur-lined vest and the multiple decorative belts around the large man that he was probably their ring leader. And the leader, even in the midst of celebration, kept a keen eye on his loot and his members.

The large man solemnly nodded at this crooked-nose bandit. Then, crooked-nose stalked off toward the back after having exchanged some words. Crooked-nose must be some close associate of the leader— maybe a right hand man, even if he didn’t look the part with his dirty trousers.

Now Conan hadn’t been too curious as to what was exactly said between them, but when the bandit headed straight to the wagon where Conan’s sword was— Conan couldn’t help but conjecture.

Why was the bandit heading there? Was he going to pick out a sword, or did they get news that there was a sword from the prince’s armory?

The thief scrutinized the crate of swords, a chin in hand, before he reached an arm out and singled out Conan's sword, grabbing it by the sheath.

Conan swallowed thickly, his blood running cold.

They found out.

Conan shuffled slightly in the underbrush, watching the bandit throw the sword over his shoulder carelessly. Was he taking it back to the leader? Or was he claiming the sword on his own? Did they find out that it was from the armory and needed to be taken out from the stash?

If the man headed towards the forest edge, maybe Conan could have a chance to snag it from his hands and run.

Hope wasn’t entirely lost.

Conan watched him teeter back and forth, stumbling with drunken steps, as his boots crunched over the gravel.

And then— something struck Conan odd.

The man’s gait changed. From a drunken stumble, his feet gained an even, sure footing. He had languid but purposeful strides, and he started walking — towards Conan.

Conan narrowed his eyes to make out the features of the man’s face— taking in the crooked nose, drawn brows, wide forehead— and then, their eyes met.

His gray, beady eyes sent a cold thread unfurling in Conan’s stomach— he had to get away.

Conan scrambled backwards, gripping the rocks beneath him. His boots slid against the gravel as he got on his haunches. He didn’t feel the numbing tingle of sharp rocks pressing into his bandaged knee.

Conan managed to take a few hurrying steps away before the bushes behind him rustled.

Stone crunched under the weight of heavy steps.

The scruff of Conan’s collar was yanked and he squeaked, hands flying up to grip at the wrist to dig his fingernails into.

"Where're you going?"

Kaito's voice came in a whisper over him.

Conan's brain short circuited as his hands froze around the wrist holding him up. He was plopped on his feet.

"Wha— but, you— the bandit?"

When Conan looked up at the man, certainly he was— Kaito.

But his hair was wrapped up in the black bandana and he was wearing the torn blue tunic that Conan had seen the bandit wear earlier.

Except, Kaito's nose wasn't crooked, and his forehead wasn't wide. His eyes were dark and deep blue— nothing like the gray, beady eyes that swiveled in his direction.

Conan swore he was looking at the face of the bandit earlier. Did he see wrong?

"Here, it's back."

Landing in Conan's hands was the cool sheath of his sword and all its groves and indentations. In stunned silence, Conan dropped his gaze onto the sword, tracing the blue diamonds studded into the hilt.

Conan had prepared himself to have lost his sword— whether through merchants or having it clutched in the ring leader’s hands.

But here it returned, right where it should have belonged, in his hands and so easily.

Conan gripped the cool metal before he looked up at Kaito. How?

The guard tugged the bandana off his head before he chucked it off to the side. He made a face as he wiped his hand on his pants leg. "Ugh, disgusting. The guy didn't even bother to wash this sweat stained thing?"

Conan watched Kaito run his hands through his hair as fixed himself, quite quickly, to his own attire. Kaito peeled off the raggedly blue cloth to reveal the black tunic underneath, and he reached behind his back.

The red scarf unfurled and in the moment’s flicker of wind, as Conan flinched at the dust in his eyes— Kaito was smoothing down the crease of his black trousers.

Conan blinked before he looked down at the sword. He was half afraid that it was also just a trick of his eye— that his sword wasn’t his sword but some lesser blade from the barrel.

But Shinjitsu remained shining and glimmering in his hand.

Whatever way Kaito managed to slink to retrieve it, it was his again, safe and sound.

"Um… thank you," Conan mumbled, the words feeling foreign in his mouth, soft and surprising, even to him. He clenched his eyes and he held the sword closer. “... for getting it back.”

Kaito paused, his fingers stilling just the slightest as he finished draping his red scarf around his neck. He ducked his head, averting his eyes as he pulled the scarf closer to his face.

"… of course."

Chapter 6: You just died, Royal Inspector.

Chapter Text

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06. You just died, Royal Inspector.

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"How did you do that?"

Conan couldn't help but ask, breaking the silence once they were a distance away from the cove. The moon was waning high, trickling through the leaves and barely giving any light.

Even with his glasses, Conan had some trouble walking on the uneven ground. Walking up was fine; hiking back down, with the loose, upturned earth, was much harder.

Kaito had been walking ahead of him, occasionally pointing out the ditches and uneven roots in the ground, lest Conan accidentally tripped over them.

"Step," Kaito reminded, and Conan looked down to see a stone jutting from the ground. He carefully stepped over it. "Do what?"

"Get the sword so easily," Conan continued.

If Conan remembered correctly, the bandit had a hunch and scrawny arms that poked through the worn tunic sleeves.

"I knocked him out, stole his clothes," Kaito said, turning his head to give Conan a wry grin. "It stunk, if you wanted to know."

"I know you stole his clothes, but how did you get by the other thieves?"

Conan had been replaying the event in his mind over and over. He couldn't shake the ominous chill he felt when the bandit turned toward him— especially when he met his beady eyes.

"They must've at least seen your face."

"Nah, don't worry about it," Kaito assured, waving a hand loosely. "Step—" Conan looked down and barely avoided a jutting root. He hopped over it.

"When all of them are pissed drunk out of their minds, they'll barely remember who it was that took the sword, let alone who talked to them."

But Conan wasn't exactly worried that the bandits would come after them for taking back his sword. It was more so the differing appearance and his impersonation that weighed heavily on his mind.

"…was it one of your tricks?"

Kaito turned his head slightly. "Hm?"

"His royal highness mentioned you had a bunch of tricks," Conan explained, remembering the guard's description as told by the prince. He didn't believe it so readily back then, but there wasn't any other explanation.

"Oh." Kaito's eyes lit up, and his smile came easily, boyish and genuine. "That's right. I'm a part time magician of sorts."

Conan startled back when he felt Kaito's hand brush against his bangs and with a snap of his wrist, a bird's wings fluttered against him.

A sparrow hopped noisily on Kaito's finger, clutching its perch with its twig-like feet.

"I dabble in all sorts of magic, like misdirection and sleight of hands."

The bird flapped its wings a bit before it disappeared in a cloud of smoke. It reminded Conan of the time he saw him at the plaza, busking with sparrows swarming overhead and turning into paper confetti.

But confetti couldn't have made Kaito's face near unrecognizable, even to him.

Conan was not convinced. "That still doesn't explain what happened back there."

Kaito just smiled, lips pressed thin, as he snapped his fingers.

After the poof of smoke cleared, a rose flourished from his hand.

"As expected of the Royal Inspector. Always wanting to know the truth and to pick apart the wonder of magic."

Kaito had paused in his pace to allow Conan to catch up. And when he did, Kaito tucked the rose into Conan's hand.

"Why don't you try dreaming a little?"

It was a paper rose, its red petals slightly crumpled from wherever Kaito pulled it out.

Conan stared at it, and then at Kaito. He clamped his lips together, feeling unsatisfied with the turn of conversation. There still begged the question of how , but— his sword was retrieved and securely fixed on Kaito's back.

He shouldn't be so ungrateful as to pry any further.

"But if you're really curious, you should use those deductive skills of yours to figure out the answer on your own, yeah?"

Kaito's grin was light and playful, yet it spurred something in Conan's chest.

A playful provocation — a challenge. And Kaito was damn good at getting a rise out of him.

But this time, Conan welcomed it with a scoff.

"Don't hold a grudge if I unravel your secrets. You won't be able to busk anymore."

Kaito laughed, something dry and light.

"I'd be a sh*tty magician if it was that easy."

The walk down the mountains was relatively quiet, aside from the occasional times where Kaito would warn him of uneven footing and dips in the path.

They didn't have much need for conversation, but compared to the ascent up the mountain, there was a peaceful lull hanging between them.

Conan gazed at the expanse of Kaito's broad back where Shinjitsu was securely tied. The other (chipped) sword was hanging loosely in the guard's hand.

After Conan checked every nook and cranny of his sword for any marks or dents, Kaito took it from him again, holding it high out of reach, much to Conan's dismay.

"You'll end up breaking it before we get back," Kaito had explained, and Conan reluctantly let him loop ropes and knots around it.

Conan peeked up through the tree covering.

The night stretched long, and through the foliage, he could make out the spray of stars against the night sky.

He blinked slowly, feeling the strain in his eyelids. The rush of adrenaline earlier had faded, leaving him trudging his feet with much effort.

A snap of twigs brought his gaze back down.

They had come to a small dirt clearing.

Kaito had slipped the rope of his sword off around himself and set it against a tree.

"We're gonna stop here for a break," the guard explained, reaching up to break off twigs from the tree overhead. He then knelt close to the ground to scrape something together with his palms.

Conan blinked, watching Kaito sweep away an area for what was obviously going to be a camp fire.

"You should sit and rest. You look like you're gonna keel over."

But Conan had already wandered back into the bushes, eyes scanning the forest floor for small twigs and dried grass that could be used for kindling.

On his travels as Shinichi, he preferred taverns and inns to spending the night and camping in forests. But that didn't mean he was ignorant to the training he had received during his knighthood.

Although most duties fell to the lower ranking knights, Shinichi wasn't one to uselessly sit on the side as the captain.

Conan gathered some stray branches under his arm, having sorted out the dry, thin ones that would kindle the fire properly.

He stood up with an armful of twigs and clambered back toward the small clearing, feeling the muscles in his legs straining from walking from days prior.

A warm lick of orange and the smell of burnt wood greeted him, glinting off the ridges of his glasses.

Kaito was stoking a small ember with a crooked stick, his eyes swiveling on Conan and the bundle of wood in his arms.

Kaito's eyes widened with a semblance of dull surprise.

He blinked several times.

Conan blinked in turn, realizing his contribution was completely unnecessary as there was already a pile of gathered branches behind Kaito.

"Oh, so you were getting wood," the guard simply stated, and Conan felt at a loss with the sticks in his arms.

"And I see you already started the fire."

Kaito scratched his head, then motioned at the bundle behind him.

"Well, hm, I guess we could use that later."

Once the branches were dumped and organized, Conan finally took a seat on a grassy patch near the tree.

The flames crackled and licked the branches and he stared into the flickering fire.

Kaito fed a few sturdy branches into the fire and turned to plop near him, crossing his legs over one another.

It was only with the warmth of the fire dancing in front of him that Conan realized the chill and clamminess that had settled into his skin.

He idly rubbed his palms over his knees, feeling the comforts of the warmth and his hands against his skin.

It had to be well past midnight, given how long they've walked.

Conan drew his knees close to him, wrapping his arms around them.

Exhaustion wore down on him, but his mind still raced about.

When he glanced at the guard, something shiny caught his eye. It danced across Kaito's hand, reflecting the campfire.

Conan watched carefully and again, a glimmer bounced over his fingers in a flash.

Conan narrowed his eyes, recognizing the roundness.

Kaito was juggling a copper, flipping it across his knuckles and then back.

Magic.

Conan was aware of two definitions of the word.

There was real magic— black and white magic that cursed and healed, respectively. But black magic users and priests were few and far in between, they were regarded as a rarity.

And then there was Kaito's kind of "magic."

Tricks performed with dexterous hands and quick wit to create an illusion. He drummed up the crowd with his words and misdirected their attention. But the thing was: there was always an explanation for a sleight of hands.

Perhaps what happened back at the bandits' cove was merely a trick of the eye, aided with the low light and possibly— Conan's exhaustion.

Now that he had adequate lighting and sufficient rest, Conan was confident that he'd be able to see through Kaito's magic.

"So," Conan started, eyes trained on the spinning copper. "Can you do another trick?"

The coin was gone in an instant, nowhere to be found in his black fingerless gloves.

"Huh? Now? Wait, oi—" Kaito's eyes widened as Conan crawled closer to scrutinize his hands.

"Where did it go?"

Kaito blinked, confused before he snorted.

His knuckles shuffled and the coin was back, pinched between his fingers. "You mean this?"

Conan settled his chin into his hand as he watched. "It could be that there's a hidden pocket in your gloves."

There was an entertained kick in Kaito's smirk as he plucked off his gloves, dumped it to the side, and showed his bare, callous palms.

Like what Conan had observed back at the plaza, those hands had the callouses and scars that came from handling weapons.

"Guess again," Kaito said as he moved his hands, overlapping his palms with one another. The coin was gone the next instant.

Conan reached out to grab his fingers because the coin had to be there, hiding somewhere, maybe tucked up in his wrapped sleeves—

Kaito moved his hands away and tsked.

"How rude, Tantei-kun, don't they teach you to see and not touch?"

Conan realized he had crawled up much closer than the distance they began with. Conan was on the cusp of falling over onto Kaito's lap.

He sheepishly settled back on his haunches, eyes not wavering. "Fine, but do it again. Same trick."

"Just to let you know, people would pay to watch my magic, and here you are demanding to see it for free."

Regardless, Kaito did it again; same maneuver with his hands, the coin being in between his fingers and then with the splay of a hand, it was gone.

Conan narrowed his eyes, impatient.

"Once more."

Kaito blinked slowly and stared at him, incredulously. "Seriously?"

"You said I'd have to figure it out myself," Conan huffed, eyebrows knit, making a point by crossing his arms and getting comfortable to do this all night.

Kaito sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Well, fine, don't blame me if your eyeballs fall out."

His eyes didn't fall out, but they were becoming increasingly dry, and the pauses between his blinks were getting longer and longer.

Kaito had long gotten bored of showing him the disappearing coin trick, and instead flashed various other tricks that included cards and a shoddily tied string of flags.

Conan was barely able to think his way through those too, when his vision and sense of time shifted.

His head nearly fell forward and he caught himself before it did — though as the fire slowly died into a warm flicker of embers, he couldn't tell whether the shadows cloaked him or his eyes had finally shut.

Before Conan had realized, he blinked into a comforting darkness.

Gravity pulled him down, his cheek ended up resting against something softer than the ground.

Conan vaguely heard Kaito's deep sigh. His voice was soft and low, mumbling above him as the frame of Conan's glasses were maneuvered off his face.

"Jeez, it's like I'm actually babysitting a kid."

Conan didn't hear anything else after that; not the crackle of the firewood burning, and not the rustle of cloth as Kaito pulled off his red scarf.

But he did feel the warmth and weight from Kaito's hand radiating against his back.

"Ha, I knew he was gonna tire himself out. For a Royal Inspector, he sure is childish."

The smoky scent of cinders wafted through the crisp air, as the warmth enveloped and held him through the night.

Light prickle of needles sank into his hair.

A flutter tickled the top of his nose, and his cheek. Several chirps bounced near his face.

"Guys, he's not food, shoo."

Conan cracked his eyes open, glaring up against the dapple of brightness through the shadows above him.

Oddly, there was a scarily semblance of deja vu, except when he sat up, a red cloth tumbled down his chest.

A scent of smoked spice greeted him.

"Awake yet?"

Conan rubbed his eyes and when he glanced around the grassy clearing, his rucksack of food had been unwrapped. Kaito had torn off pieces of bread and had them sitting on smooth slabs of rocks near the campfire.

It looked to be that Kaito had helped himself to his provisions, but Conan was too groggy—staring at the cut of cheese that was melting on the bread— to feel offended.

"You knocked out cold last night," Kaito said in between bites of his slice of cheese bread and jerky. Occasionally, he tossed crumbs to the side for a small party of sparrows to peck at. "Breakfast is ready if you want it."

Conan rubbed his eyes again, blearily staring at the toasting bread.

It must still be early morning given how gentle the sun was against his cheeks.

He pushed the red scarf aside and clambered to grab his meal.

The bread warmed the underside of his finger tips, and the cheese was slightly soft but not entirely melted.

"Thank you," Conan mumbled against his bread as he bit into it, feeling his teeth sinking into the crisp crust of his food.

His eyes shuttered closed, his mind still not entirely awake.

Conan bit into the toast; the cheese was soft and salty. He only opened his eyes when there was a tap near his hand, and a shred of jerky was jabbed into his loosely closed fist.

"Not a morning person, I take it?"

Then placed next to him— with a sound of sloshing water— a leather canteen. The previous day during the mountain's descent, Kaito had been passing him water every so often in the same manner.

Conan chewed slowly and swallowed.

"Right. Okay, great conversation, gotcha. We'll leave after you're done eating that."

A flutter of wings caught his attention.

Some birds were jumping around near him. Conan stared at the sparrows that had flocked near his lap, hoping for some crumbs that spilled over from his munching.

"Get out of here, I already fed you guys," Kaito tsked as he reached into his tunic. He grabbed a fistful of seeds from a small pouch.

He chucked them off the wayside, spreading them all over the grassy clearing.

The birds hopped on over in a burst of feathers.

They arrived at the city gates by late night of the third day.

Conan’s legs were aching as he trudged through the quiet city entrance.

The streets, that had been full of festive and cheer, were now muddied from foot trodden cherry blossoms.

The festival stalls that had crowded the roads were all gone, leaving the streets empty with only its cobblestone paths. The oil street lamps lit the walkways in a lonely hue of orange, and the silence was accompanied by the chirps of crickets hiding in the bushes.

They finally returned.

Conan took a deep breath, feeling a renewed spike of energy from the fruitful result of his mission. His sword would have been long gone had it not been for his decision to leave the night he did.

Despite how anticlimactic the retrieval went, Conan should be happy with the outcome.

The sword that was gleaming the moonlight off its sheath, was now safe and sound within his reach.

But there was still much to do.

Although Kaito had taken care to retrieve his sword, the thieves themselves had yet to be taken care of.

The thieves had made a mockery of him when they stole the sword from him— they kicked him and beat him. And to leave them alone, lying drunk in their hideout, although the most practical decision given how there were only two of them— was ultimately unsatisfying.

Considering the amount of goods they had gathered in their wagons, Conan was plenty sure that it’d keep them grounded for the next few days. That was plenty of time for Conan to write up a proposal to round them all up and confiscate their goods.

Then he could hand them off to Hattori to receive their due punishment— by disbanding the group and sending them to labor away in the countryside.

Conan nodded, pleased with his plan, already recalling the location and amount of knights he’d need for the subjugation.

Conan wouldn’t consider himself to revel in revenge, but when someone dared laid their hands on his sword, he was rather ruthless when it came to holding grudges.

After arriving at the palace and getting through the gates via his steward trainee badge, Conan dismissed Kaito at the stairway up to the steward's dormity, slurring something vaguely about seeing him in the morning.

Conan remembered nothing after that.

He crashed through his door, flopped on his bed, and slept like the dead until noon the next morning.

Which was such a waste.

Conan rocketed out of bed with panic at the sun that had risen high into the noon.

He knew he always had trouble getting up in the morning, but to oversleep well into the noon was a bad habit he thought he had outgrown.

Grumbling to himself, he quickly grabbed a change of clothes and ran out towards the communal bath to freshen up so he can catch up on his plans.

Conan was too preoccupied with briskly walking down the halls to even register the slight jingle that resounded vaguely around the corner.

To no one's surprise— definitely not Conan who should already be used to the fact his guard was doing his job so ostensibly — Kaito was waiting for him outside the bath entrance with his arms crossed and an entertained kick in his lips.

Conan knew Kaito was marveling at the stubborn bed hair that refused to flatten.

"Definitely not a morning person, huh."

Conan couldn't help but yawn something unintelligible.

"Don't knights have to keep to a strict morning schedule?" Kaito asked as he fell in step with him. "Chivalric code and all that?"

As if the universe was answering for him, a group of training knights jogged by, dressed down in their under armors.

There was a time that Shinichi, being the Captain, had to be the first one awake and last to sleep. The division under his command all applauded his disciplined regime.

Shinichi had always hated it. Conan felt glad that now as the Royal Inspector, he didn't need to set so many examples.

Working on his own had its merits, though Conan was still embarrassed for sleeping in so much as he did—

"Right. How could I forget," Kaito added, smothering away that tilting smirk, "The Royal Inspector is a great conversationalist in the morning."

Conan yawned and pointedly gave him a bleary eyed glare.

"Shut up."

Once Conan got to his office, he ripped open the curtains and pushed out the windows to air out the overly dusty room.

Then, he wasted no time addressing the bandit issue, pulling out crisp parchment and his quill pen from the drawers.

"Ah~ How boring," Kaito yawned for what was probably the fourth time since they arrived.

Kaito stood behind Shinichi’s chair, which was laughably too big for Conan now. He stayed put like all guarding knights should.

Except, every half an hour, he’d break into a yawn and shift his weight around his legs noisily. Sometimes, he'd break away from his position to poke at the books that Conan had sorted away in his bookshelves.

Kaito would flip through it without pause before putting them back.

Conan paid him no mind. Instead, he flattened the parchment over his desk and reached over to dip his quill pen into the bottled ink.

The pen he had dearly loved to use, was now slightly heavier in his hand. Although he tried keeping his hand steady, there were instances in which he had flicked several drops of ink along the margins.

In his rush to make up for lost time, Conan had flubbed the first draft of his proposal.

He smeared the ink accidentally when his arm brushed over the still drying words.

This was now the third time he started over. His discarded drafts laid in a heap beside his desk.

Conan was quite disciplined and patient, and after carefully penning his words, he had finally gotten a handle on writing. With a scrawl of his signature, which he had practiced on a stray parchment, his proposal was now legible and passable.

Ready to be presented to the crown prince.

“I’m done,” Conan announced, capping the ink bottle.

He yanked open a drawer and rummaged for his seal and ink pad, hands pushing aside rolled parchments, wax sticks, and candles.

Conan finally found the curved handle of his seal.

As he pressed it into the ink, Kaito’s shadow loomed over him.

“Eugh, paperwork. Can’t believe you like doing these things.”

Conan felt a bloom of satisfaction at the crisp ink stamp he left behind. Two lions adorning his initials in pitch black ink.

Conan snorted as he smoothed down the creases in the paper, appreciating his neat script and flowing words. There were some stray ink flecks, but otherwise it wasn't so badly done after being away from his office for so long.

The paper detailed a solid case to capture these thieving bandits— and it wasn't only because they stole his sword.

“Of course. There are proper procedures to everything. If I were to request assistance, I need to present the details of the case.”

And with that, Conan pushed himself away from his desk and stood from his seat.

“Once I submit this, we'll depart and head back."

Conan reached for his sword he had propped against his study table. Upon returning, he didn't dare part with it. It felt too strange not having it next to him.

Kaito stared at him for a long moment. “Head back where? Is there another sword they took?”

Conan rolled his eyes. “No. We’re going to Reinbach Mountains, we're going to catch them before they change locations.”

"Catch them?" Kaito’s eyes flickered down to the desk where the parchment paper was spread out on. “Hold on— are you asking for a squad to catch them?"

Conan looked at him like he grew another head. "Of course?"

"Pray tell where we can find this Kudou Shinichi given that you are Kudou Shinichi, but—" Kaito's eyebrow raised slightly. "Not inspector-sized."

Conan opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Damn. Conan forgot that he was a child . Being in his office and rummaging through his organized mess in his drawers made him forget that.

Kaito plucked the parchment from the desk and rolled it up. In one swift movement, the paper was gone in a burst of smoke.

“I’ll hand it to the crown prince and explain this. I think you can leave the case to the captain of the guards, he’s got it.”

"What? Hattori isn't even in the capital," Conan scoffed. "By the time he's returned, the bandits would've moved on."

"Then leave it to the next guy in charge."

Conan leveled a stare at him, then opened his mouth to retort. But Kaito sniped back, "Or are you thinking of leading the squad, Mr. Steward Trainee? You think the knights are gonna listen to some tiny kid?"

At that Kaito's hand brushed past his hair, and Conan frowned at the stark difference in their height.

Conan only reached a bit past Kaito's hip and had twiggy arms, knobbly legs.

Kaito, since learning the truth about him, had stopped treating Conan as a child.

But everyone else would still see him as a pre-pubescent brat.

"But they had the gall to steal Shinjitsu ," Conan grumbled, glaring at his small hands. He clenched them tight, bitterly remembering the searing between his joints when the bandits wrestled his sword from him all too easily.

"I want to personally arrest them and throw them behind bars.”

"Vengeful, but entirely understandable."

Kaito gestured at Conan and the sword belt that he had slung over his shoulder.

"But the knights are gonna think you stole that."

"It's mine," Conan said, only to shut his mouth after realizing how childish it sounded coming out a pitch higher. He was an esteemed Royal Inspector, god damn it.

Conan shook his head. "Regardless, justice needs to be served."

"And it will be," Kaito said, plucking the belt off Conan's shoulders. Conan didn't bother fighting him off. "Just not with you at the front lines. And especially not with this noticeable sword on your back."

Kaito plopped it back into Conan's hands. The weight was heavy, near overbearing.

Even if Conan could recall the weight of his weapon and the crisp sound of metal sliding out of its sheath, the sword was completely unfamiliar in his current, smaller grip.

"Fine," Conan mumbled unhappily. "I'll store this in my room."

Kaito sighed, as if he won a hard fought battle. "Great that we came to a conclusion."

Conan stared at his sword emptily.

"Some years ago, I used to be the captain of the East knight division. Wielding a sword is second nature to me."

"Uh-huh…"

"But what can I do with this tiny little body? It's absolutely useless. Am I just cursed to have some guy tailing after me until a cure is made—"

"Hey. I'm a guard, not just some guy."

"But I should be able to defend myself instead of just being guarded, " Conan grumbled, narrowing his eyes at the ground.

"I need a weapon," Conan sighed as he swung the sword back over his shoulder. The metal of the sheath was heavy on his back as he sagged. “But they don’t exactly make real swords for children.”

Kaito gave him a long stare.

“Uh, I don’t think people would want children to have swords.”

Conan blinked and then grumbled. Fair point.

"If there's a way to contact the black smithy to make a child sword," Conan mumbled, settling his chin into his hand. He could request the prince to put in an order—

"They have the wooden swords they sell during festivities," Kaito interrupted and Conan's head jerked up in offense.

"You could whack people and leave them with a nasty bruise—"

"You expect me to carry a sword that's meant for a fetus ?"

Unexpectedly, Kaito immediately backed up, hands up in the air. He laughed good naturedly, "All right, master swordsman. Sorry for the offense, I was joking."

"But I do agree. It's a good idea for you to have a way to protect yourself. Or at least buy enough time for me to do my job."

Kaito reached his arm behind his back, rummaging in the scarf that had been drawn over his shoulders.

“How's this?”

Something flashed in Kaito's grasp before he threw it at Conan.

Conan panicked, hands outstretched as something smooth and hefty landed in his palms. When he looked closely, he was holding a silver sheath decorated in gold and black ivy.

A dagger.

Conan gripped the handle and pulled it out, hearing the sharp slide of the blade. The dagger was comfortable in his hand with a well-balanced weight.

He turned it this way and that, admiring the intricacies of the weapon.

Although it wasn’t as fancy as Shinjitsu , it was still forged with utmost care. The handle was a bit long for him, but it was a suitable weapon for his stature.

“It’s… beautiful,” Conan mumbled dazedly. He gave it a few experimental slashes.

The blade glided through the air as if he was cutting butter. In a well-practiced movement, he sheathed the dagger.

Kaito’s choice of weapon was surprisingly good. Conan would give him that.

“But how did you get your hands on this?”

Kaito picked at his ear with a nonchalant shrug.

“It’s from the prince’s armory.”

"What?!" Conan didn’t mean to, but he dropped the dagger in shock.

It clattered on the floor loudly.

He immediately crouched to pick it again, hands darting over the sheath in panic. He turned it over to assess the damage.

“You— You stole this from his highness?!”

Conan shot an incredulous look at the guard.

Kaito gave another flippant shrug. “It’s not like he can use everything he’s got in there. He’s only got two hands. You might as well keep it for yourself.”

“Stealing from the prince— that’s, that’s the grounds for execution!”

Conan couldn’t believe the way Kaito just smirked at his flabbergasted expression.

“Meh. Well, if you wanna put it back, go ahead, but you’ll have to explain to the guards why you have it in the first place.”

The prince's armory was an underground room with two knights guarding the entrance. Conan couldn't imagine how Kaito even made it there.

The knights would probably spear Conan on the spot if he tried anything strange.

Conan grudgingly looked at the dagger in his hands. At how perfectly it fit his child-sized hands, and how smooth the cut was when he made it.

It was the crown prince's dagger, but— the prince's choice of weapon had always been the sword—

Conan shut his eyes and ground out, “...I can't believe I'm going to be complicit in this crime against his highness.”

Kaito laughed heartily as he clapped his hands.

"Well, get used to it."

Kaito strode towards the door to Shinichi’s study. He pushed it open, waiting for Conan to catch up.

“If it makes you feel better, the prince isn't gonna care. Especially if it's gonna save your life down the road."

Conan gripped the sheathe closer, wondering if he could stash it secretly into his tunic somewhere, lest someone recognized it.

"Now let’s get some practice with your new weapon.”

Conan trotted after Kaito, following the familiar pathways that led to the knights’ training grounds.

The dagger was safely stashed between the buckles of his tunic and hidden under the sagging folds of his red cloth.

When Conan took a turn to the training grounds, Kaito stopped him, arm outstretched.

"Aren't we going to the training grounds?"

"And have the knights see a kid swinging the prince's dagger?"

Right, Conan forgot about that.

Conceding, Conan just tailed after him, walking down winding path through the garden, around the rose maze, across the clearing where the servants hung their laundry, and past the horse stables.

Honestly, it felt like he was being taken on a strange tour of the palace.

It wasn't that Conan was unfamiliar with the palace. He was originally a palace knight, so he should know the layout of it best. But there were gaps in his memory.

Conan peered around, trying to recall other training grounds within the palace walls.

"And here we are."

Conan glanced up as they slowed to a stop in a small dirt field overshadowed by a tall cobblestone tower.

It was an abandoned watchtower, probably constructed decades ago and made obsolete after the palace borders expanded into the mountains.

Conan had heard of the watchtowers, but he assumed they had all been taken down. Strangely, this one was quite far out of the way that it probably had been forgotten.

“No one comes around here,” Kaito explained as he went to the side of the tower and dragged out a well-beaten dummy. The potato sack had seen better days.

Did Kaito steal that from the training grounds?

He settled the dummy’s post in the center of the dirt field and gestured to Conan to come closer.

“So have at it. You can try out the dagger to your heart's content."

Conan stared up at the dummy, now standing much too tall for him. It had comical features drawn on its face that the other training bags didn’t have.

Kaito must've drawn on it, too.

It seemed to smile at him; an imaginary "Hello~" sat on its squiggly mouth.

Conan sucked in a breath and sighed.

It had been a decade since he had to strike his sword against one of these sand bags. He recalled his first year in the academy, being a lanky boy, wielding a wooden sword that was somewhat too heavy for him.

Yet here he was again, clutching the dagger in his palm, instead.

“Well, go ahead and get used to it. I’ll deliver your proposal and be back.”

It wasn’t that hard wielding the dagger.

It was much like using a sword but with quicker strokes across a shorter distance.

As comical the dummy looked, Conan appreciated the time he spent whacking at it.

He re-learned the reach of his current limbs and adjusted his swings each time to ensure a clean strike.

The fibers splitting through the layered sacks were quite satisfying to witness.

It was around noon, and the shadow of the tower had long traveled away from the dusty field.

Conan was left squinting at the dummy in the searing sun. He sheathed his dagger and took off his glasses to wipe a stray bead of sweat from his brow.

He left a number of slashes on it— and even slashed a clean cut across its stupid face.

A faint clapping echoed from behind him, from under one of the trees that circled the area.

“Wow~ As expected of a Master Swordsman, you sure know how to adapt well.”

Conan straightened his back. He squinted through the sunlight at the figure approaching him with languid steps.

Kaito was still clapping, although it slowed to a stop once he was a few steps away.

Conan put his glasses back on with a frown. He ignored the patronizing implications of Kaito's applause.

“How did his highness take the proposal?”

Kaito shifted his weight on the balls of his feet. “He’ll dispatch a squad to take care of it in the afternoon. Some guy, Kanazawa, is leading it.”

The higher ranking knights must all be out of the capital if Kanazawa was put in charge. He did his job well, but he usually escorted criminals rather than subjugated them.

Well, it wasn't like Conan could do anything to help. He let out a bitter laugh, his arms dropping to his sides.

“It’s unfortunate I couldn’t watch.”

“There are more important things you should be doing,” Kaito said with a kick in his smirk.

Conan raised a brow.

But instead of explaining, Kaito reached past the cloth of his tunic and— pulled out a black dagger.

Conan stared at it in alarm. The blade was as dark as slate and gleamed ominously in the sun. Kaito tore off his red scarf and let it drift to the ground.

“All right, let's see how you fare with your new weapon."

“What? Now ?”

There was a dark glint in Kaito's eyes as he ducked, suddenly rushing much, much closer to Conan in a flash.

The black blade gleamed, momentarily blinding Conan, as it whisked quickly to his throat.

Conan barely parried the blade with his sheathed dagger, eyes wide and bewildered.

Kaito laughed as his boots slid against the ground. Rocks crunched under his soles. “Why not?”

The guard lunged at him again with another strike. The sheathed dagger resounded in Conan’s hands as he narrowly blocked the blow.

But the impact was too overwhelming for his thin arms— it rattled his bones and he felt the tremors in his fingertips.

Kaito slashed at him again, quick and unrelenting, knocking Conan's weapon out of his hand.

It skidded across the clearing with a muffled thud.

“Kaito, what the hell—” Conan snapped his eyes at him, intending to glare.

Conan bit back a gasp as he ducked. The shining blade clipped a few strands of his hair.

Conan scrambled to even his footing; his breath tumbled furiously. “Wait, my weapon—!"

“What, you think the enemy is gonna sit and wait for you to go grab it?”

Kaito's laugh was scathing.

Conan twisted to the side, hearing the shriek of metal near his ear.

Scrambling to his knees, Conan managed to dive against the ground. The dirt skinned his elbows as he reached for his fallen weapon.

Before he could grab it and steady himself, Kaito's shadow leaped over him again. His blade aimed downward to stab Conan's back.

Conan rolled onto his side, barely avoiding the black blade, and hearing the thump of Kaito's knee hitting the ground.

This bastard was trying to kill him!

Conan gritted his teeth, tightening his fist around the dagger's handle.

He managed to scramble away, far enough to stagger onto his feet.

But Conan didn't have a moment's rest because in the next second, Kaito was lunging at him again.

God damn it.

Conan parried a few slashes as he steadied his footing.

He had been taken by surprise by the sudden attack, but that didn’t mean Conan couldn’t even the score.

Conan clutched the grip on the hilt and launched himself at Kaito. His sheathed dagger tore upwards through the air in an uppercut, aiming at Kaito's chin.

The bastard back-flipped out of reach. The toe of his boot was purposefully aiming at the hilt of Conan's dagger.

“Hah, if you’re gonna come at me, you have to be ready to kill me,” Kaito laughed as both his feet landed solidly on the ground.

Before Conan could ask what he meant, he felt a stinging tremor against his palm before he realized Kaito was a breath away. Conan saw his own reflection in those creasing, blue eyes.

"Off this goes."

Kaito's blade dug against a nick in Conan's sheath. In a swift flick, the clang of metal against metal resounded, and the sheath was forced off Conan's dagger.

It landed in a thud somewhere in the distance.

Conan's wide eyes landed on the gleaming dagger in his hand, all too aware of its sharpness.

When Conan used his sword, he was accustomed to the long reach it had. The sword, despite being powerful and heavy, was forgiving. It gave him the extra millisecond to divert its path if he chose to.

In friendly duels with his knight peers, there were also precautions— chest plates and arm guards, for the just-in-case accidents. There was never a time when Shinichi lost control of his sword, because it gave him enough time to think.

Swish—

Conan avoided another slash, his heart pounded sharply in his ribcage like a panicked bird.

He needed to gain the advantage— to attack but.

The dagger gave him no time for calculations. Its reach was short, and the movements required him to strike wildly and quickly.

But with Kaito trapping him in a flurry of blades that he could barely parry— Conan’s heart thudded loudly in his ears as sweat dribbled down his forehead.

He couldn’t land a hit.

Part of him was too afraid to.

Kaito attacked him with an intensity, but his strength was tempered with years of experience with his weapon. Even though Kaito aimed at him with lethal precision, Conan knew there'd be no accidents.

But Conan only had an hour of practice with it— who was to say, he wouldn't accidentally cut the guard in his flailing.

Well, if he got hurt, he was literally asking for it.

And that thought was enough to steel Conan's nerves. He tightened his hold on his weapon and launched an offense.

He missed.

It took three slashes and several fluid side steps, when Conan came to a harrowing realization that Kaito had no blind spots.

Why was Conan uselessly worrying about cutting him when he couldn't even reach him in the first place?

Kaito was swift and relentless with his dagger strokes, giving Conan no time to breathe.

Even worse, Kaito’s movements were nothing like the traditional training the academy knights went through.

His steps were feather light, and there was no formula or pattern to his movements. He would jump and twist his body with infuriating flexibility and ease.

Conan was mustering all his energy to dodge his strikes, but Kaito was entirely composed, as if the duel was nothing more than a walk in a park.

"This is bad, Tantei-kun," Kaito sighed .

Their blades clashed and some sparks flew from the contact. Conan’s arm shuddered from the whiplash.

Conan tried to spring up against him, stretching out his arm for a horizontal slash.

He missed, only managing to swipe the empty air in front of Kaito's face.

Panting, Conan staggered backwards, hoping to catch a breath in the moment Kaito stilled.

Kaito bounced back a few steps, tapping the toe of his boots against the ground. “You’re gonna die if you keep fighting like this.”

“What?" Conan demanded. His ribs throbbed as he breathed deeply. "What's wrong with the way I fight?”

"I'm sure you'd give me trouble if you were your original size," Kaito mused as he propped a hand against his hip. "But you aren't, so that way of fighting isn't doing any good for you."

In his impatience, Conan rushed in to swipe at Kaito's torso.

He missed, again.

" What are you talking about?"

“You fight too clean, like it’s a duel.”

Right as Conan aimed for his legs, Kaito disappeared, whipping behind him. He left a cloud of dust in his wake.

Conan felt the pressure of Kaito's arm hooked around his neck, as he was forcibly yanked off his feet and held all too easily.

Conan coughed, grappling at the solid arm pressing against his jugular. He tried to pry the suffocating grasp off him, to no avail.

Kaito’s voice was low and goading in his ear. “When you're fighting for your life, you gotta play dirty. See? You should be biting, scratching, pulling hair—”

Conan gained a grip against the hard leather of Kaito's gloves and pushed enough to make a gap for him to slither out.

Kaito could've grabbed him again, but Conan skipped several steps back to put some distance between them.

“I’m not going to do that! Where’s my pride as a royal knight—”

Conan’s words were cut off in a squeak as Kaito’s knee dug solidly against his abdomen and pushed him backwards.

He wasn't even done talking— and Kaito shoved him down.

Conan toppled over, back hitting the dusty ground. A gasp was forced out of him.

Conan’s right hand was twisted above his head with an oppressive weight caging it against the ground.

Conan felt strength leave his fingers under Kaito's iron grip—his dagger slipped away from his hand and dropped on the ground.

Kaito’s wild mess of hair blocked the sun overhead. Conan could make out the sharp grin on his face as he felt an equally sharp dagger pressing into the skin of his neck.

“You just died, Royal Inspector.”

Kaito’s eyes were dark and blue as he stared down at the blade pressed against Conan’s neck. His eyelashes fluttered slightly and it was a cold expression that Conan hadn’t seen on his face before.

Conan held his breath.

Shock was caught in his throat as a bead of cold sweat trickled from his hairline.

“Hm.”

With a flick of his wrist, Kaito withdrew his blade and stood from where he pinned Conan on the ground. He patted away the dirt from his black clothes, nonchalant.

Conan slowly sat up, gingerly reaching a hand up to his neck. He could feel his pulse throbbing under his finger tips.

“Pride? What does that matter when you're dead? You can’t fight the way you used to, expecting others to fight honorably,” said Kaito, sheathing his own dagger away. His weapon disappeared under the folds of his tunic.

“Those who cling onto their useless pride usually end up dead."

Conan rubbed his neck, his fingers dragging against the slightest cut Kaito had left behind.

Kaito could have killed him.

He shivered at the phantom chill of his blade at his neck and clenched his fists.

Shinichi was a master swordsman— that much was true. But he had proven his rank within knight tournaments, bound by rules and honor.

As the Royal Inspector, he sleuthed more than he fought. And any scuffles that broke out were easily subdued since the perpetrators attacked him in a frenzied panic.

Should someone experienced and calculative decide to kill him— would Shinichi stand a chance?

Would Conan stand a chance?

Conan shuddered. He was no longer who he was as Shinichi.

He could have all the skills and sword formations he had learned during his knighthood but he was half the size with less than a quarter of his original strength.

"Do what you have to do to survive, you got that, Tantei-kun?”

Kaito's gloved hand unfurled in his vision, a proverbial olive branch.

Conan swallowed thickly, unhappy with the bitter realization. Nevertheless, he grasped Kaito's hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

“...Got it.”

Chapter 7: My baby brother is so sickly and frail.

Chapter Text

---

07. My baby brother is so sickly and frail.

---

Conan still had a mission left unfinished.

Since Shinjitsu was now carefully stored into the closet of his bedroom and his dagger safely tucked into his pants pocket, Conan could focus on tying up loose ends.

“Seriously, we just got your sword back and you’re prancing off again?” Kaito sighed as he walked after Conan.

His footsteps were silent, but his voice was very much loud and obnoxious.

“You’re not asking the crown prince to give you a battalion of knights to command again, are you?”

Conan had woken up early to pen his new report. He had stamped it with his ink seal, rolled it up, tied it neatly with a silk ribbon, and refused to let Kaito get his hands on it, lest he offered to deliver it for him like the last time.

“Of course not. This is the case that I was working on before I was interrupted with this condition,” Conan scoffed, throwing Kaito an unimpressed gaze. “Storming around with a squad of knights would just alert my target.”

“Uh-huh, so… what’s this case about now?”

“Weapon smuggling,” Conan replied, vaguely surprised that Kaito was actually interested. “I’ve been trying to locate the hideout of this group, Cobra. They’ve been evading the knights’ arrest for so long since they change locations often. So I've decided to catch them on my own.”

Kaito’s eyebrows raised. “Huh, really… though I don’t see why we need to visit the prince. I could just hand it off to him, you know.”

“Well, it’s proper courtesy to update the royal highness on the progress of the case, and—” Conan stuttered slightly. He cleared his throat. “And I need to ask the prince to replenish… some travel funds.”

A light of understanding crossed Kaito’s eyes. “Ah, because it was stolen—”

“That was clearly out of my control," Conan fired back.

Now there were some cases when Shinichi had requested for more funds on his extended investigations, but those happened so few and far between that it made the embarrassment and sheepishness somewhat bearable.

But this was probably the first time Conan had to ask for such a thing because it was stolen .

Right out of his child sized hands.

Tch.

“In any case, I can’t have you just deliver this in my stead. That’d be shameless.”

Kaito shrugged, obviously not completely understanding, but not caring too much to insist otherwise.

Conan slowed to a stop at the door in front of them before boldly stepping forward. He cleared his voice and gave several firm taps on the door to the Prince’s study.

“Your royal highness, it’s your humble servant, Ku— Edogawa Conan, may I request permission for an audie—”

Kaito's arm reached above him and shoved the golden bars to the door in one fell swoop. The door wooshed open, rebounding noisily against the wall behind it.

“Prince, as per your instruction, I have finally used the door.”

Conan’s mouth hung open in shock; his eyes were wide. His hand was still frozen in a half closed fist in front of him.

Hakuba was near the bookshelf adjacent to his wall, his hand pausing over a page.

“...I can see that,” Hakuba said after a long stretch of silence. He placed the book down against his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Come in, though I suppose you’ll already make yourself comfortable.”

At that, Kaito ushered Conan forward, planting his hands sturdily on his shoulders. It was only after a few stumbles that Hakuba noticed Conan there, who was quite flushed and still speechless at Kaito’s rude entrance.

The prince’s face lit up with a warm smile. “Oh— Conan-kun. I thought I heard your voice earlier.”

Conan blinked furiously, snapping himself out of his trance. Habits made him cross his arm over his chest. Conan lowered his torso the same way everyone had been taught in manners class. “Yes, I greet the sun of our empire—”

In his momentary distraction, the proposal that had been tucked carefully in his hand was swiped away.

Before Conan registered it missing, Kaito strolled up to the prince and handed him the rolled parchment.

“Right, right, yes, sun of the empire, goddess bless you. Here’s an update on Cobra and a request for more silvers.”

Conan’s blood froze as Kaito, all too leisurely, sauntered back to his side.

Hakuba was nonplussed, pulling apart the ribbon and unfurling the report Conan had written.

“Ah, so this is about Conan-kun’s current case."

As Hakuba sunk into a silence to scan over its contents, Conan knocked his fist into Kaito’s leg.

“ What are you doing? How can you be so rude? ” His voice came out in a harsh whisper.

Kaito replied, in a not-whisper, “And how can you be so stuffy ? It’s much more efficient doing things this way.”

Conan frowned. It wasn't about efficiency, it was about manners and courtesy. It was just rude to barge in without notice and interrupt the prince while he was busy.

"He's the crown prince—"

"And I'm still alive, aren't I? If the prince had that many sticks up his ass to care about formalities, I'd have had my head lopped ages ago."

Conan gave Hakuba a panicked glance because— he was right there! He could hear you, Kaito, god damn it!

And Conan was complicit in the crime of engaging this fool in this blasphemous conversation.

The prince had shut his eyes in something like measured patience, and Conan's brain rattled through everything he could say to assuage his annoyance—

Kaito nudged him with his knee. "You should try to loosen up a lil too. It'll make things less awkward, Conan-kun."

Conan opened his mouth, to either scold or refute Kaito's statement but he held his words because something suddenly struck him odd.

Odd from the very beginning when the prince introduced Kaito and Conan to each other.

Conan had been so blinded by the anger of his situation that he overlooked the implication.

Hakuba, who had his eyes glued on the parchment, seemingly paying no mind to their bickering, had been all too permissive of Kaito's outlandish behavior.

Had the prince wanted the nuisance gone, it'd be all too easy to banish the "knight" away to the dungeon.

But here the prince was, in the study, allowing Kaito to speak a myriad of blasphemous words.

Conan stared openly in wonder.

Shinichi had attended the same knight academy as the prince, and had been under his command for so long. It would be strange for Shinichi to not have heard of a guard with foul manners hanging around the prince.

It begged the question of where this guy crawled from and why he received special treatment.

Kuroba Kaito was one of those odd mysteries to be solved.

"I see," Hakuba said after a long silence, looking up as if Kaito and Conan hadn't been exchanging elbow pokes and hard jabs.

"A detailed report as usual, Conan-kun. Concerning your next destination, it just so happened that a carriage was arranged for a messenger from Toutou. I will instruct them to take you there to shorten your trip.”

Conan startled from his thoughts and bowed. “That would be really appreciated—"

He stifled a confused noise when Kaito kneed him again.

The prince continued smoothly as if he didn't see Conan shooting a dirty glare at Kaito.

“And I'll have someone from the treasury deliver you a new coin purse. It'll be more than you requested, as you're now traveling with your guard."

Twice the people, twice the expenses.

That'd mean Conan would have to keep a tighter clutch on his coin purse before it was stolen yet again.

And while there was the option to hand the pouch over to Kaito to guard— no, Conan couldn't be too sure the man wouldn't run off with the money, given how he was busking for coppers only a few days ago.

"I humbly thank your highness for— gah. "

Kaito elbowed him. When Conan glared at him, the guard just not-whispered. " Stuffy~ "

Conan ignored him and continued.

"Thank you, your highness, for both the carriage arrangement and the purse," Conan said with a bow of his head. "I will send frequent letters updating your highness about our trip."

“I look forward to it,” Hakuba said, pleased as he put Conan’s report on his desk.

The prince turned to direct his smile at Kaito, who immediately frowned at his expression. “Kaito-kun, I’d like you to learn from Conan-kun’s exemplary behavior and write detailed reports as well.”

Conan quirked a brow, amused and intrigued at Kaito’s flabbergasted look. “What, why? What’s wrong with the ones I write now?”

“Your scrawls are hardly much to go off on, let alone decipherable,” Hakuba explained, even though he shouldn’t need to, given that he was the crown prince. “The journey north toward the hideout may be long and arduous. If there is no word, I may very well assume that you’ve failed your task.”

Conan bit on his lips to smother his smile. Ha.

Kaito’s frown deepened before he let out a rattling sigh. “Fine, fine. But make sure your bird doesn’t snap at mine again.”

“Of course,” Hakuba nodded, matter of factly, and Conan couldn’t help but wonder what kind of ill-fated relationship Kaito’s sparrows had with the crown prince’s hawk. “Well, I’ll dismiss you to prepare for your journey.”

Conan nodded solemnly. “We’ll depart after noon.”

“May you have a safe trip.”

There wasn’t much to prepare since Conan was used to traveling light.

He had packed his rucksack filled with some food, canteens of water, some extra clothes, and some other necessities. Conan also didn't forget his new coin pouch, heavy with silver. Despite packing less, when he stood in front of the mirror, his travel rucksack dwarfed his entire back.

Conan took one last glance of his room, stark and stripped of fanciful decorations. There was nothing out of place and nothing to be missed on his journey.

He shut the door and locked it.

“Eh, is that all you’re bringing?” Kaito’s voice came from behind.

Conan, by now, should be used to the guard's constant presence that floated in and out much like a ghost.

Nevertheless, he still jumped.

“I’ll purchase necessities as we need them,” Conan explained as he tucked away the pouch into his tunic. He turned towards Kaito, who had only a messenger bag slung across his chest.

He raised a brow.

“...You’re not bringing much either.”

“Eh, well,” Kaito said and shrugged, leaving it at that.

He was content with Conan leading the way to the palace entrance.

This time— Conan noticed— rather than trailing three steps behind him, Kaito fell in-step with him.

They walked, nearly side by side, to the wide plaza of the gates.

When he traveled alone, Conan didn't need to sit down and study maps as he moved, but with a travel partner, Kaito had to know the details as well.

So the early morning while he wrote his proposal, Conan had also spread his large annotated maps on his desk and transcribed them into a bounded hand-sized leather notebook.

“Here, look at this,” Conan said, handing his pocket book to Kaito. The carriage rocked back and forth on the grassy path.

Kaito opened the cover with interest, his blue eyes flickered over the maps and projected itinerary.

The governor’s messenger sat on the opposite side of Conan, looking quite discomfited with his unannounced travel partners.

Conan, also, didn’t feel all too comfortable explaining their itinerary details within the earshot of an outsider, and so just handed the book off to Kaito to read.

Which— after staring at Kaito— Conan belatedly wondered, could Kaito even read?

Kaito didn’t have any mannerisms of a noble. He also wasn’t a typical knight. Though after the duel Conan had with him in the dirt field, Conan was sure he could overpower any of the royal knights with his unconventional methods.

Then, he must be some kind of knight. Or was he a commoner? A mercenary prior?

It wasn't unheard of for the prince to hire someone mainly for their skills rather than their upbringing.

Conan watched Kaito as his eyes flitted across the itinerary page almost too casually. His reading speed was too fast. It seemed like he was just looking at the map and trying to decode Conan’s writing to make sense of it in his own way.

Conan recalled the time when they were in his office. Kaito had been idling about, picking up books and flipping through them with the same carelessness.

Kaito turned a page to their travel path inked with red. His eyebrows raised and he nodded at the map he transcribed.

It looked like Conan would have to give him further instructions later after they alighted the carriage. And going forward, Conan would have to consider the fact that one of them was illiterate.

But it seemed that Kaito could at least understand the map and travel route.

Conan reached his hand out, intending for his book to be returned, but Kaito turned some more pages.

His eyes lingered on the mission details Conan had penned down in shorthand.

Kaito was probably satisfying his curiosity of what else Conan had written, but it wasn’t like he would be able to understand shorthand, anyways.

Important mission details were always coded in shorthand. In the event that Conan lost his notebook, no one would be able to decipher it, unless the person who picked it up belonged to high nobility. (And Conan was sure it was unlikely that someone of that status would peruse through a shoddy notebook in the first place.)

After a moment, Kaito nodded and closed the book.

“Hmm, got it. We're heading through the northwest passage to Kurama for their merchant logs."

Conan perked up, surprised Kaito actually read a written detail. “Really? I didn’t expect you to understand that much.”

Kaito handed the book back to him, looking somewhat offended. His words were cutting. “What. You thought I couldn’t read?”

Come to think of it, back in the prince’s study, the royal highness even instructed Kaito to write him reports. How could he be able to do that if he couldn’t do something as basic as read?

"I mean," Conan mumbled, feeling a slight nip of shame crawling up his throat. He lifted his chin as his eyes flicked up and down Kaito's attire. "You don't look like you could. At some point, I even wondered where a half-baked knight like you even came from."

Kaito raised a brow, though there was a slight amused tilt in his lip. "Rude much?"

All right, so Conan who was making perfectly sound conclusions based on Kaito's first impression, his attire, and odd behavior with the prince was seen as rude .

"And swindling a child out of copper, isn't?"

"Don't make me look bad; it didn't hurt to ask for charity," Kaito shot back, but it was all mumble no bite. Though this time, the toe of his boot bumped into Conan's.

Kaito jerked his head toward the messenger who had buried himself in a parchment scroll. The discomfited look in Kaito's eyes keyed to the fact that he was probably too aware of what this argument between an adult and child may look like from the outside.

Ha, would you look at that. So Kaito was capable of feeling shame.

“It’ll get colder as we go north,” Kaito tried to divert, crossing his arms noisily. He leaned back against the plush backing of the carriage seat, his eyes cast out to the passing scenery.

Conan held back a laugh.

All right then. He'll spare the poor guard some face and let the conversation change.

“Once we're in Toutou, we’ll purchase some extra clothes and warming elixirs,” Conan said, looking down at his book. He flipped to a blank page and pulled out his charcoal tipped quill.

It would be a few hours more until they reached their destination.

Conan set out to scribble a list of supplies they needed before they journeyed up the passage.

The wheels rolled over uneven rocks in the road as the sunlight passed through the trees and entered their carriage.

It was quite late in the evening when the carriage reached Toutou Town, with its flickering orange lanterns dotting the town gates.

The coach driver dropped them off at the town center, before he continued his way toward the governor’s mansion. The coachman took with him a signed message addressed to the prince; a simple: arrived in Toutou.

The oil lamps on the street had been lit and gently cast the plaza in a warm, golden glow. There were still bouts of people scurrying home for a late supper.

Despite the plaza being mostly deserted, there was some bustling in the streets. Faint murmurs floated in the air from a few brightly lit stores.

Kaito reached his arms up into the air, stretching out the kinks in his shoulders as Conan readjusted the straps of his rucksack on his back.

“If I remembered correctly, the tavern shouldn’t be too far from here,” Conan said, eyes scanning for a familiar sign on the signpost. He spotted several drunkards toddling out from a darkened street, arms over shoulders, and singing offkey.

Where there were drunken men, there was a tavern. Though it was really too early in the night to be wasted.

Conan gestured at Kaito to follow. “Here, this way.”

The path stones were loose with rocks crunching under their boots.

"We'll stay here just for the night, collect supplies, and depart the next morning."

Kaito was glancing around as they threaded through the streets. "Seems like an upscale town, can't imagine how much it'd be for a night."

"I've stayed here before; it's three silvers for a room," Conan answered. "Though, meals are an added charge."

Shinichi didn't travel luxuriously, but for his brain to operate at its efficiency, he needed to prioritize a good night's sleep and a solid meal — however cost efficient it was to camp and eat his dried meat.

"Uh, if their prices hadn't changed since the last time, it'd be about five silvers?" Conan had trouble smoothing away a grimace as he said it.

Not even a day out of the capital and the coin pouch would lighten considerably.

Budgeting was much easier when he only needed to consider himself. Now that there was an additional person— he had to sit and re-evaluate their daily spending limit.

Kaito only hummed contemplatively and wordlessly followed along as Conan sunk into his thoughts with prices and numbers swirling about his head.

The tavern was as boisterous as ever— it being a weeknight when the blacksmiths and woodworkers closed up their shops and came to celebrate their finished projects over steins of beer.

Conan pushed the door open to a warm gust. He could barely hear the bell jingle over the cacophony of laughter and hearty stories pouring in from the dining area.

“Hm, not bad,” Kaito commented as the door clanged shut behind them.

Conan walked up toward the reception desk, a smooth oak furnishing that was worn down over the years. Still hanging from the desk was a battered sign with bold letters: Help Needed.

The tavern was family run— from the restaurant, to the pub, and to its accommodations. It was a large family, the staff consisting of cousins and extended relatives.

They were open until an hour past midnight, which made them one of the popular pubs in the evenings. This more than made up for their slow stream of travelers.

The kind middle-aged lady hadn’t changed from the last time Conan stayed here, and she was just as attentive to the barely audible door bell.

“Oh, what a young child! Are you here for dinner—?” Though her face lit up once she dragged her eyes from Conan to the guard standing behind him. “A pair of brothers! Shall I arrange a table for two?”

Conan blinked— brothers? Kaito didn’t look anything like him. Kaito's hair was too ruffled and unkempt, and he often had that uncaring expression on his face that Shinichi would never be caught dead with.

He cast a cursory glance at the guard in question, who was very much amused by the misconception.

Well, it didn't matter for long since they'd only be here for the night.

“Actually, may we request—”

Gloved hands wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him back. Conan felt the red scarf draping over his face, muffling over his mouth.

Kaito planted his hands on his shoulders in an uncharacteristic show of affection.

“Kind madam, we have traveled from far away and for many months. But for the night, we need a room to stay in,” Kaito began, his words laced with a distinct melodic trill that Conan recognized as a dialect from the far eastern territory.

Conan looked up at him in shock.

“My baby brother is so sickly and frail, so I’m afraid we don’t have any money to offer for a night, but I’m good with my hands and I can work hard. Please allow me to work for the fee—just one room for my sick baby brother?”

While Kaito spoke, the lady had her hands clasped together. Her eyebrows dipped further and further in sympathy and concern.

Kaito lifted a hand from Conan's shoulder only to dab his eyes as he held back a sob. His voice was pitifully small.

What is he doing??

“Oh no, how unfortunate! May the goddess have mercy on your souls,” the lady responded in kind, completely bamboozled by Kaito's act.

Conan started to shake his head, but Kaito’s fingers dug into his shoulders even harder.

“You sound like you're from the east. Oh, how much you have traveled!”

“Yes, it’s been tough, especially with my baby brother! The cold nights have not been good for his illness." Conan grabbed Kaito's wrist, but his fingers didn't budge. "Why, just a few days ago, our wagon ran into a ditch, and our belongings were stolen by the bandits near Beika. We had no choice but to camp in the woods for the past few days—”

“Oh, the dreadful Beika thieves, may they righteously be thrown in jail,” she sympathized. Her warm chestnut eyes bore down on Conan, apologetic and pitying.

The scarf covered up half of his vision. Conan grappled at that instead to voice an objection.

"Shh, shh, it's all right," Kaito immediately soothed, his hand reaching under the scarf to smother Conan's mouth shut. "Just another one of his coughing fits."

Conan coughed sharply at the pressure under his chin. This bastard??

The woman glanced back up at Kaito.

“Tell you what, young man. We're always happy to have able hands help us manage for the night. I’ll have you situated in our warmest room above the kitchen. Get yourselves settled in, and you can step out any time for supper. Afterwards, you can meet my husband in the kitchen, and see where you can lend a hand in the back.”

Kaito gratefully received the room key with both hands, cupping her hands with extra measure. “Your generosity is most appreciated. Come now, Asa. Don’t forget to say thank you.”

At that, Conan stared at him, eyes wide and bewildered. But Kaito firmly patted him on the middle of his back.

“Ah— ah? Um, thank you?” Conan stuttered, automatically mimicking the eastern accent that Kaito had been speaking with, until he shot Kaito a panicked glare. Why is he being dragged into this despicable sob story?

“Don’t worry your sweet little heart over it,” the inn lady cooed, looking at him with an endeared gaze. “Keep yourself warm with your brother’s scarf. I’ll have some tea boiled for you when you come down for supper.”

Kaito ushered him away, bowing with a friendly smile. “Thank you, thank you! We’ll settle in and come down right away.”

The door slammed shut behind them.

“I can’t believe what you just did.”

Kaito took off his rucksack and tossed it to the bed closest to the window. The crocodile tears that were beading in his eyes had immediately dried up as he walked around the room, eyeing the amenities and tinkering with the oil lamp.

Conan was still standing at the door in shock, looking at his hands that had participated in the crime of swindling this kind lady out of the best room in the inn.

“We have money,” Conan murmured, blinking owlishly at his hands— the hands that were supposed to fish out the coin pouch from his tunic. “The royal highness gave us three hundred silvers , and you— we swindled the poor lady out of her rightful money?”

“Hey, I think you forgot the part where she was more than happy to have me help out in the kitchen. Kind as she is, nothing is free in the world."

Conan clutched the scarf that had been thrown around his neck, holding it tightly in his grip. “But we have money—”

“Look, city boy, it’s better to have more money than less at the beginning of the trip,” Kaito lectured flatly. “If there’s a way to save, it’s better to do so. You never know when you’ll need those extra coins to get out of a sticky situation.”

Conan frowned. He knew that; he knew that.

But still. Still. He shook his head. “But sickly? Frail? I still can’t believe you used me in this scam—”

“You're kind of scrawny so it works,” Kaito replied, shrugging nonchalantly. Conan narrowed his eyes as Kaito neared him; his figure towered over him like a hard reality that couldn't be ignored.

"Might as well make the use of your appearance, yeah?" Then Kaito's hands grabbed at the messenger bag still around Conan’s body.

“All right, rucksack off. We gotta get food for your frail body.”

Kaito disarmed the rucksack off Conan’s back and Conan let him.

“But how can I swallow the food in good conscience? This is immoral!! How do you even sleep at night after committing such grave misdeeds against the innocent—”

As if the universe was against him, Conan’s stomach growled.

Kaito had the gall to chuckle and then sigh, “The inn lady probably has a nice hot bowl of soup waiting for you and it’d be a grave misdeed to let her generosity go to waste.”

“But there were better ways to negotiate for a room other than lying—" Conan rambled as Kaito grabbed his shoulders again and pushed him towards the door.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll work extra hard to repay her,” Kaito assured as he walked him to the door.

Damn it.

Conan knew something was bad with the guard the moment his eyes landed on him in the plaza that day. Conan had just been momentarily gracious and forgiving of Kaito's shortcomings after he retrieved his sword.

The scheming, the swindling— knight or not, assigned guard or not, Conan really had got to plant his feet on the ground and refuse getting swept up in this man’s questionable morals.

But that was hard to do when Kaito was twice as large and Conan had toothpicks for legs.

His boots skidded uselessly against the floorboards.

"Such deplorable—"

Kaito chose that moment to push the door open, pushing Conan outside with strong arms.

“Now, now, don’t be petulant, Asa. You’re disturbing other guests.”

Kaito tilted his head at other inn patrons passing by the hallway, muttering a sheepish apology to them with a bow.

“So sorry, my baby brother is just cranky from a long trip.”

“Why you—!” Conan started, and then shut his mouth angrily as he felt the prickling gaze of patrons looking down at him and Kaito, feeling heat rush to his cheeks.

Conan yanked down Kaito’s tunic collar to his eye level and hissed, eyes blazing. “We’re not done talking about this, you fraud!”

Kaito huffed, an amused twinkle in his eye, announcing louder than he needed to. “Okay, okay, Asa, I’ll carry you—Ow! You didn’t have to kick me!”

Conan sauntered away, still fuming but feeling vaguely satisfied he had left a smarting dent in Kaito’s shin.

“And for your little brother, we gave him an extra helping of simmered pork and lentil soup, but you don’t need to force yourself to eat it all, Asa-kun,” the daughter of the innlady said, setting down the wooden bowl with a heavy clack.

Conan stared at it.

The steam rose from the clear broth soup and fogged his glasses. To his left was a large loaf of bread, freshly baked out of the oven.

“Many thanks, may the goddess bless you,” Kaito responded, his voice back in that damned, fake eastern dialect. He clapped his hands into something like a prayer. “I’ll see to it that my baby brother finishes every drop.”

“And Kidou-san, take your time with your meal. The work father has for you isn’t anything too urgent, just some help with the bar and some dishes that need to be washed,” the woman continued as she set an identical meal in front of him. The bowls clacked and clacked on the wooden table top.

“You’re much too kind. I’ll finish up and get to work soon.”

Satisfied, the waitress held her serving tray under her arms and walked away to tend to another customer.

Conan glumly stared at his soup, fists clenching in front of him.

“This is preposterous.”

“No, it’s soup.” Kaito stuck the wooden spoon in one of Conan’s tightly fisted hands, and then stole a spoonful from Conan’s bowl. He smacked his lips, his tongue peeking out. “Mhm, that’s soup right there.”

Conan snapped his eyes up at Kaito in disgust.

Did Kaito just steal from his bowl when he had his own?

“This is bread too,” Kaito announced after having torn a piece off Conan’s loaf and stuffing it in his mouth. “Nothing preposterous here. Just food.”

“I know it’s food, but did you just—” Conan didn’t even know what to say as he watched Kaito shamelessly digging into his own share. “You have your own!”

“Do you want some back? As expected of Mr. Stingy,” Kaito said as he ladled up a spoonful, complete with a potato chunk.

Conan grimaced even more in disgust. How crude.

“Forget it.”

Dinner time chatter was loud, with the clatter of utensils and thuds of beer steins hitting the tables.

Conan chewed his food slowly, picking through the soup and balancing the chunks of vegetables on his spoon.

Kaito had long scarfed down his dinner, his dishes left in front of him, neatly stacked. He was content on sipping water by the side, staring off at something pinned on the wall.

Conan felt a nudge near his elbow.

"Hey, I see your name."

He blinked, looking up from his soup. "What?"

"Kudou Shinichi," Kaito said, voice in a hushed whisper, his eyes skimming over the fading paper that was tacked on some wooden board. "It doesn't look… exactly like a wanted poster."

Conan turned to look and— grimaced. He knew exactly what that was. The strange caricature that was doodled in charcoal underneath his name.

“Of course, it isn’t.”

“Then what is it?”

“Nothing,” Conan mumbled. He took a hearty bite of bread so he had an excuse not to talk anymore. Kaito watched him carefully for a few moments, before he leaned away from their table near the wall and to the adjacent space.

“Excuse me, sir, mind sharing what that is about?"

Conan wanted to kick him.

The man that had been dining alone instantly lit up. Judging by the multiple beer steins that peppered his table and the red flush on his face, he was a little loose lipped and all too friendly to answer.

“You must be talking about Kudou Shinichi, the Royal Inspector,” the man started, grasping his wheat bread tighter. “There ain’t no one in this town who don’t know his name.”

Conan coughed, dropping the carrot chunk back into his soup with a splash.

Kaito, blissfully, urged, “Well, sir, we’re from out of town, so we’re unfamiliar. Sounds like he did something to warrant a poster.”

“Aw, he did something all right!” The man took another swig of his beer and smacked his lips loudly. He leaned closer, a hush in his voice. “You see, last summer, there was a string of random killings that plagued this town for months on end. Everyone was shaking in their boots, you see, ain’t no one wanted to go out in the night, lest they get their necks sliced!”

“Oh no! How terrible!” Kaito gasped, scandalized. Conan shoved an elbow into his side.

“Then there was a young man, round your age, I reckon. He was poking his nose around town, asking questions no one dared to ask,” he rambled, his face gleaming red. The man had a wild look in his eyes as he recounted the tale. “He stayed at this very inn for near three weeks. I saw him around, chatted some with him. Seemed like a nice fellow, but kept his head in his book most of the times when he wasn’t looking around town.”

“Strange guy,” Kaito hummed. Conan, on the other hand, sunk further into his seat. His face was burning.

“Yes, he was a strange lad, but I could tell, he had good in his heart. But one day, he left and didn’t come back. Everyone at the tavern feared that the murderer got to him, so we all gathered up and decided to search for him in the morning.”

Kaito unhelpfully prompted him. “Oh no… what happened next? Did you find him?”

I’m right here! Conan elbowed him again, but Kaito just blocked him with his own arm.

“Well, right as we decided to search the forest, lo and behold, coming up the dusty ol’ trail, was a cavalry of Royal Knights, riding in on their gilded stallions, carriage gleaming, coming with some real business to do.”

Conan sighed, holding his head. What was with this stretched story?

“The Royal Knights have come on command under this Kudou Shinichi, the Royal Inspector, who had come to investigate and solve the mystery! Turned out, the murderer was none other than the woodcutter’s estranged nephew!”

Kaito gasped, as if on cue. “That’s hard to believe!”

“Aye, you better believe it. They took the crazed man out of this town, and peace, at last, befell us. But that boy— I’m sure of it, we all are, he was our savior.”

Kaito nodded, regaling the poster with a new light of understanding. “Ahh, it’s no wonder I’ve been seeing his name plastered around. One might think he was a wanted one.”

“He is wanted, indeed! The governor had been sending envoys of gifts to the capital in hopes that the inspector would receive his gifts of gratitude, but the inspector always turned it away. So the townspeople took it upon themselves that if we were to see a man matching this picture, we would give him the appreciation that he deserves!”

Kaito's brow lifted as he studied the almost cartoonish drawing of Shinichi. The only thing resembling him was the unmistakable cowlick drawn on the back of his head.

“So that’s the whole story, huh. Kudou Shinichi is really well liked here.”

Conan could feel Kaito’s gaze burning holes into his head. He sunk his face further into his hands.

It was only a matter of time after Kaito continued to entertain the man with nonverbals of hums, oo’s, and aa’s— that the man closed curtains on his story.

Conan had shrunken himself, even further, into the table, burying his face into his arms to quell the red blooming on his cheeks.

Alas, silence fell over the table next to them, and Conan spoke up, voice small.

“Is he gone?”

He heard Kaito laugh. “He went out for air, so you can stop pretending to be sick now.”

But Conan felt very much queasy to his stomach, even as he lifted his head.

Ugh. Kaito was grinning widely, from ear to ear, obviously entertained by the man’s story.

“That was too embarrassing,” Conan sighed, resting his head against his palm.

“So, Kudou Shinichi, savior of Toutou Town after solving a murder and sending a cavalry of Royal Knights to clean up the mess,” Kaito recounted.

“Please, it wasn’t a cavalry. It was just three knights,” Conan mumbled, feeling the heat rising from his face again.

"An envoy carrying gifts of gratitude."

"He was gifting a carriage— it was flashy, all right? Gold and black! Riding it would defeat the purpose of undercover missions."

"Still, it's such a shame to turn down such generosity. These people genuinely want to thank you, no? Shouldn't you revel in the glory?"

Conan turned to glare at Kaito, but he looked surprisingly curious— and oddly sincere with his question. He let the tension recede from his shoulders, took a deep breath, and picked up his spoon. "I do it because it's my job. Solving crimes and murders—it's nothing to glorify when people's lives and safety are endangered."

Conan stirred his spoon, contemplatively watching it swirl in his unfinished soup.

"Huh. That's very noble—" Kaito paused just before he sipped his water. His eyes had wandered back to the poster. "Then again, it's rare for any noble to think of anyone but themselves."

Conan lifted the spoon to his lips, staring at the bulletin board, at the strangely off-mark charcoal drawing of Kudou Shinichi's face.

"Hm, I suppose."

Conan was taking his time finishing his bread, eyes pinned on Kaito as he bustled about the bar, holding multiple beer steins in hand with incredible ease.

If it had been busy when they stepped in, it was busier now. The tavern was as popular as ever, every table was packed to the brim with people, food, and beer. Conan was starting to think that if given the choice between help and silvers, the lady would prefer the former immensely.

“My, are you a new hire?” some ladies had coyly asked, stopping Kaito in the middle of his bustle. Conan had squinted his eyes at Kaito’s beaming smile as he explained, yet again in that eastern dialect, that he was here for the night just paying his due.

Conan received some starry glances from the ladies and he was sure Kaito was tearfully telling them about his sick, frail baby brother.

Even if Conan may not entirely like it or come to peace with the sleazy way Kaito got a room for them, Conan was satisfied that the inn owners were working Kaito to the bone for his sins.

Or at least, it looked like back breaking work.

The guard seemed to enjoy serving the dinner crowd, dishing the platters around the tables and pouring extra drinks as if he was made to be a waiter rather than a guard.

And the same group of women who had stopped him earlier were very bent on inviting Kaito out to drinks after his work ended.

Conan scoffed. That guy was sure having the time of his life.

Conan kept munching on his bread until there was nothing but crumbs left on his hands. He had been so preoccupied watching Kaito prancing around the dining area that Conan hadn’t realized he had finished the entire loaf.

His stomach was ridiculously bloated.

Sitting on the high bench, Conan cupped his mug of hot, honeyed milk— except, it had long gone cold since the waitress gave it to him.

“Done with your meal, Asa-kun?” asked the inn lady. Conan blinked, looking up.

The kind lady was smiling at him with a warmth that ladies should only have towards young children. “I’ve got a warm bath ready for you; the wash basin had been brought to your room. Since your brother’s busy, do you need some help with washing—”

Conan’s face flushed as he jumped out of his seat, quickly dusting the breadcrumbs off his pants.

“No, I'm—" He stumbled over his rudimentary eastern accent. "That’s all right! I can do it myself!”

And that was how Conan was chased out of the dining hall.

Washed and dried, Conan collapsed on his bed, tired. His limbs flopped uselessly next to his side and sunk into the mattress that smelled faintly of soap.

The inn lady had heaped some coals and tinder into the warming oven and put it at the foot of his bed to rest his “weary bones after such a long travel."

What the hell was Kaito on about? They rode a carriage for god’s sake.

Nevertheless, Conan welcomed the warmth near his toes. Once he collapsed into the sinking comforts of his bed, he was resistant to moving.

He stared at the oil lamp that the lady had lit for him too. The small flame in the oven and the candlelight flickered across the walls of their expansive room.

Conan took off his glasses and let his eyes bask in the warm darkness, listening to the faint rumbling of people on the first floor.

He woke up with a start, body clammy from being wrapped tightly in blankets and toasting too close to the oven.

Conan pushed the sheets off him, rubbing his eyes before he found his glasses near his pillow.

He adjusted them on his face as he peered around.

What time was it?

The oil lamp had gone out in their room, and only after squinting for a long time at the clock, could Conan make out the time.

Twenty past two.

He swept his gaze over to the bed at the opposite side of the room, expecting to see a Kaito-shaped lump resting after busying about the dining area all night.

But the bed was empty, save for the messenger bag Kaito had tossed when they first came in.

Conan let his vision adjust to the darkness. He stared around the room, wondering if Kaito was standing in some corner, camouflaging with the shadows against the walls, dutifully standing guard.

But it was quiet. Conan's rousing didn't spur any conversation of the sort, and his glasses didn't make out any notable shapes, other than the furnished desk and some shelves.

Where was he?

Could Kaito still be downstairs helping them with cleaning?

Conan crawled out of his bed and slipped on his boots. Once he left his warm nest of blankets, he shuddered in the cold.

Spring nights were chilly and his clothes weren't warm enough for a night's walk.

Conan grabbed the nearest cloth to him, and pulled it over his shoulders. A woody scent, reminiscent of warm cedar, settled heavily around him. It was enough warmth to forgo his second tunic for an extra layer.

Narrowing his eyes, Conan shuffled quietly to the door.

The dining area of the tavern had long been cleared of people and dishes. The lamps have been snuffed, leaving the tavern looking much less welcoming than when they first stepped in it.

Shadows loomed and clung to the walls as the faint tick-tock of a grandfather clock echoed in the air.

Conan stepped down the stairs, pausing every so often when the wooden steps groaned under his weight.

Sitting near the entrance with a lone lamp light keeping her company was a woman he didn't immediately recognize. She seemed a tad younger than the inn lady, but had the same strong nose and high cheekbones.

Perhaps it was her sister's turn to burn the midnight candle.

Conan cleared his voice, hoping that the soft noise wouldn't startle her too much.

"Excuse me," he started softly, not forgetting the eastern dialect that Kaito coerced him to use.

The lady didn't seem too surprised. She gave him a look over, taking a moment to recognize him on the stairwell. "It's the little brother, Asa-kun, is it?"

Conan wondered if the inn lady had spread news about him to the rest of the staff or if it was Kaito and his blabbing mouth.

"Um, where's…"

What was the fake name Kaito used again?

"Your brother?"

Conan nodded, not entirely comfortable with using the eastern dialect. He could understand them without a problem, but to speak it with convincing fluency was impossible. He wasn't even sure how Kaito pulled it off flawlessly.

"There wasn't any more work for him, so we had him to rest for the night," the lady smiled warmly. "You should wait for him in the room, dear. Your brother probably stepped out for a bathroom break."

"Mm," Conan hummed, nodding again.

"Hurry back to bed now," she said as she stood from her chair. She closed the book she had splayed in front of her. "I'll be down here, if you need anything."

And with that, she took an empty glass of water and headed to the kitchen, presumably to fetch more for herself.

Conan looked back up the stairwell where he had crept down from.

There was no way Kaito could have "stepped out for a bit" if he hadn't touched the bed since they arrived.

He looked at her retreating back and then at the door to the tavern.

Quickly and quietly, Conan nudged the door open, careful with jostling the bell, and stepped into the cool, chilly night.

The air was cold, and in turn, froze Conan's nose along with his small puffs of breath.

He rubbed his face with the back of his hand before he pulled the makeshift shawl closer over him. He tied the corners together to form something like a cloak.

Every so often, a cough would rumble out of his throat; his chest was chilled by the wind.

The frosty air reminded Conan to shop for thicker clothes come the next morning.

But that came after finding Kaito.

So much for a guard.

As if the attention of the town girls flocking around him during the night wasn't enough, he abandoned his task just to join them in a late night drinking session.

Conan tsked under his breath as he quietly trotted down the familiar streets. His glasses helped him immensely with finding his way to the pub that he knew opened until the morning.

No one was wandering out at this time of night. No one should be, unless they were drunk and hobbling home.

Conan glanced around every few paces to keep a watch of his surroundings.

The street lamplights had long dimmed, leaving only the pale moonlight to illuminate the roads.

Conan looked to the single establishment that still had lamps flickering light through their windows. It was something akin to a lighthouse.

He was just a few streets away, walking along a strip of shadow cast by the town’s cathedral.

Conan was aware of his own steps resonating along the paved path, but every so often, he'd hear the phantom of a tap behind him.

Something deep and ill surged in his gut. When Conan turned a corner, he heard tip-taps that followed him shortly after.

Someone was there.

While there often was an eerie feeling that followed him when he was alone, this time he knew better. Swallowing thickly, Conan discreetly picked up his pace, making sure to walk the whole length of his boot, from his heel to his toe. He lightened his footsteps as he walked along the edge of a wall, sticking as close as he could, hoping the shadow engulfed him and lent cover.

Who was following him?

A drunken townsperson? A bandit hoping to rob him of his belongings? Or maybe it was a well meaning citizen who followed after a wandering child?

No— most well meaning citizens would shout after him rather than silently prowling like a predator.

Conan shook his head as he turned another corner sharply.

Breathe and think.

Conan reached into his pocket— gripping the smooth handle of the dagger. This time was different from the last time he had been caught by surprise.

For one, he was aware of the presence, however faint it was. He was keen to the taps that followed a beat slower, and the faint crunch of gravel under a boot’s sole.

And for two— Conan had a weapon. After the duel with Kaito, Conan had learned that if used without hesitation, it could be a lethal weapon, much more so than the sword. The blade was deadly and sharpened for his highness’ use, after all.

Ahead of him, Conan spotted a gap between the townhouses. It was big enough for his child-sized body to hide in and small enough for it to be overlooked.

Holding his breath, Conan broke into a run, his shoes noiseless against the floor. He took an immediate turn, slipping into the gap just as the footsteps paused slightly at the turn of the corner.

Tap.

Tap.

Conan’s lips parted to allow his breath to slip out slowly and measured— he cleared his throat, fighting down the itch threatening to give him away.

Damn cold. He wasn't dressed as well as he could. His lungs seemed to have weakened considerably upon regressing his age.

Conan pressed his body flat against the wall, his dagger drawn from its sheath and clutched tightly under his grip.

The footsteps were even— pacing about.

It was still faint, some meters away.

Conan crouched low against the ground. He placed a palm against the dirt underneath him, grasping a fistful of broken pebbles and sand.

To get his hand dirty— he knew this was dishonorable.

The knights back at the academy would laugh and call it uncouth behavior, likening the behavior to dogs scrimmaging for scrap meat, but—

“Those who cling onto their useless pride usually end up dead. Do what you have to do to survive, you got that, Tantei-kun?”

Conan couldn’t help but bite back a wry smile, bitterly remembering that the duel had ended with a dagger to his throat.

Pride? Honor?

Conan had been at a disadvantage the day he turned into this scrawny child. Bandits didn’t wait for him to stagger to his feet before they kicked him down again, and Kaito didn’t hold back any of his punches just because Conan was half his size and weight.

Forget honor— Conan was going to throw sand in this man’s eyes and interrogate him with the dagger pressed under his chin. And if that didn’t work, Conan would claw his way out of the mess.

Tap.

A beat passed, Conan held his breath.

Clouds slowly rolled over the moon, covering the town with a dimness that even his glasses couldn’t help with. Conan swallowed, or tried to. His tongue was dry against the roof of his mouth.

His heartbeat was loud in his ears.

Tap.

Tap.

The footsteps became more frantic and louder, scurrying over the pebbled path, looking for him.

Just then a shadowy figure passed by the crevice—

Conan jumped to his feet.

He sprung out from the crack between the walls, aiming for the flash of skin near the figure’s neck.

The figure snapped back when Conan got too close, ducking before he could even try to swipe the back of the blade against his neck. He missed.

Of course, he would.

A blur of black made a motion to grab him by the scruff of his shirt and— forget pride, Conan had to survive.

Conan reeled his arm back and cast sand right into the space before the figure’s eyes.

It bought him the second’s pause that he needed.

The shadowy figure flinched, movements jolting. Their hand retracted toward their face, but Conan didn’t miss the beat.

Conan thrust his other hand at their neck, fingers not quite long enough to wrap completely around it, but pressing hard enough to cuff into their jugular.

At first glance, Conan saw the shining blue clover that peppered the charm attached to the figure’s earring, vaguely thinking that he’s seen that somewhere — before the mess of dark chestnut hair and furrowed brows, familiar nose and jaw, and the shining blue jewel jingling against his chest dissolved all his thoughts into—

“Huh?!” Conan choked. He immediately dropped his dagger before he continued the stroke and slashed it against the tender underside of his neck.

His shock interrupted his momentum, and Conan dropped to his feet noisily. His landing stung through the soles of his boots, as his heel accidentally stepped on the dagger’s hilt.

“It’s you?!”

And the gasp of cold air shocked Conan's chest and he erupted into a coughing fit.

Kaito’s eyes were squeezed shut, dusted with sand, but despite that, he dropped to his knees, hands immediately reaching toward Conan’s voice, feeling for his shoulders—

“Wha— Tantei-kun?!"

Kaito grabbed a firm hold of Conan, though his eyes were still clamped tight. “Is that you? It’s you, right?”

Conan couldn’t help but cough hoarsely in response, his whole body shaking, as Kaito’s hands started to pat at his cheeks and head in a frenzy. The rough leather of his gloves mapped out Conan’s entire face.

“What happened? Is someone chasing you?”

“It’s—” Conan's cough quelled just as Kaito’s palms pressed against his cheeks, squishing. He composed himself and shoved the guard’s hands off him.

Conan's voice came out wobbling. “You! You were! What the hell was that?! Why were you chasing me?”

“Me ? Chasing?” Kaito had finally started to rub his eyes, dusting off the small particles of dust that were flecking around his face. A watery, red eye opened, and Kaito stared at him. “I was just following you when you started running out of nowhere! And then you were gone — do you know I’m gonna have my head lopped if anything happens to you?!”

Conan sighed, dropping his forehead into his hand.

Kaito, in turn, was shaking his head to jostle the rest of the dust from his eyes and hair. Conan felt only marginally terrible about doing that.

“Where did you come from anyways?” Conan asked after clearing his voice. He glanced around the area. While trying to run from his assumed chaser, Conan had wandered quite far from the pub he intended to go to. “I thought you went to the other pub.”

Conan watched him stand to his feet, the back of his hand still rubbing his face. Conan didn’t miss the way Kaito looked at him with his eyebrows furrowed.

“No? I was outside, guarding,” Kaito sounded just as confused as Conan was. “You were going to the pub.”

“I was trying to find you, because you weren’t in the room,” Conan seethed, holding a hand to his head. A dull headache was starting to set in. He couldn’t even make heads or tails where their miscommunication started. “I assumed you went to the pub after those girls invited you to go with them.”

Kaito’s face was blank; his red, sand-dusted eyes were bleary. “I…turned them down, remember? You were there to hear it.”

And Conan was there; he had been giving Kaito the most unimpressed stare he could muster.

Conan coughed and scratched the back of his head. “Well, I thought you still went since— you know, you weren’t inside the room or anywhere for that matter.”

“Because I was outside.”

And so they circled back around.

Conan sighed heavily, giving up on pursuing the train of logic. “Right, outside.”

Kaito didn’t say anything for a short while, and Conan appreciated the silence to compose himself. The wired tension was falling off his shoulders like a weighted sheet.

Although Conan wasn’t too happy about being flustered and almost nicking the guard in the neck, this was probably the best possible outcome of being followed. In other scenarios— he didn’t think that far aside from splashing sand in their eyes and hoping for the best.

“So,” Kaito started. “You thought I wasn’t doing my job and went looking for me.”

Conan felt somewhat sheepish.

He had thought Kaito would take the chance to frolic with the town girls while he was asleep. Some knights in his division did so when they thought Shinichi wasn’t looking.

Who would figure that however frivolous and shameless Kaito was— he was properly standing watch.

From wherever he was.

“Well…” Conan mumbled as he bent over to pick up his dagger to inspect it. It was dusty now and he stepped on it. He wiped it with the edge of his tunic as he felt Kaito’s gaze bearing down on him.

“It’s good that I was wrong,” Conan huffed as he sheathed his blade and tucked it away back into his pocket. “I suppose you do take his highness’ orders seriously.”

“Of course I do?”

Conan couldn’t care much at how offended Kaito looked as he stifled another cough. His throat was dry and itching. “And the next time you decide to follow me, at least let me know. I thought you were someone suspicious.”

Conan expected Kaito to quip back, something snarky about his sneaking skills, or how easily spooked Conan could be, but Kaito only looked down at the shimmering blue jewel and white pearl.

“Oh, huh,” Kaito said, as his fingers gingerly pinched the pearl between his finger tips. “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

Kaito sounded vaguely apologetic, and considering how it was technically his fault for walking like a ghost, he had better be.

“It’s cold, let’s head back,” Conan announced as he turned on his heels, and walked back in the tavern’s direction. As he had requested, Conan heard the faintest chime of a soft bell behind him.

Good— for how insufferable Kaito could be, at least he knew how to listen.

The streets had become even more barren and quiet— almost eerie with a strange haze. A slight fog had cloaked the town, and Conan coughed again. He pulled his makeshift cloak much closer to him, feeling the warmth wrapping his shoulders.

In hindsight this whole situation had been dumb.

Conan operated on the wrong assumption of the guard and unnecessarily walked out into the cold. That was Conan's fault, he'll admit that much— but Kaito didn't really make himself out to be a reliable character in the first place.

Not after swindling the poor inn lady— but, Kaito did work his due, and it didn't look like easy work either.

Conan could only conclude Kaito was the way he was.

He might not do things the way Conan preferred, but ultimately— he got things done. Even through unconventional and illogical means.

“I’ve been wondering—” Kaito spoke up. “Where did you jump out from? I lost track of you at the corner.”

Conan threw him a glance. “... there was space between the houses; it’s dark and easy to miss. It was small enough.”

He waited for Kaito to make some smart remark about Conan's size, but he continued with an almost approving hum. “Throwing sand. That’s dirty.”

Conan felt his face warm, and he muttered spitefully. “You said I needed to fight dirty.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing. You caught me off guard,” Kaito laughed. “I’m pretty sure if you hadn’t dropped your dagger, I’d be dead.”

At that, Kaito made a motion with his finger cleanly dragging across his skin, drawing a line through the black band around his neck.

Conan scoffed, but he couldn’t fight the upward kick that was threatening to spread past the corners of his mouth.

“If getting sand in your eyes was enough to get you killed, I'd want another guard.”

“So mean!”

It was easy sneaking past the lady, as she had clocked out at the reception desk with her no longer warm cup of tea. Kaito was also particularly good at opening doors without the bell ringing noisily overhead.

They both tiptoed up the stairs without so much a creak and finally made it safely into the room.

The door slipped closed quietly.

The room was darker than when Conan left it, but not for long, as Kaito had relit the candle.

Conan heaved a sigh as he untied the shawl and dropped it against his bed.

He swept a tired glance at it and froze, realizing now that it had been Kaito’s scarf all along.

Conan shot Kaito a panicked glance, but the guard had kneeled down in front of the small oven with the candle to relight it. Taking the chance, Conan folded the scarf up and plopped it on Kaito's bed, hoping that that'd be the end of that.

As Kaito fed the fire again, Conan took the liberty to get comfortable again in his bed, wiggling his feet against the cool sheets, and feeling for the dagger he had tucked under his pillow.

"The fire should keep for a few more hours," Kaito said as he stood up and dusted his hands from the kindling. The bundle of sticks near the oven had dwindled a considerable amount.

Conan only hummed sleepily as he watched Kaito trek about with silent footsteps, closing the curtains, and moving the water jug closer to the bedside table.

Before long, Kaito snuffed the candle’s light and the room was cloaked in darkness again. Only the flickering oven illuminated the room with a weak glow.

“All right,” Kaito said finally. He started to head toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Conan blinked, the beginning of sleep falling from his eyes. “What? Where are you going again?”

“Outside?” Kaito said without missing a beat, in that nonchalant but serious tone he sometimes spoke in, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Conan blinked again, not understanding, because outside where? Conan had looked outside the room, outside in the hallway, outside the tavern, outside in the streets, but Kaito was nowhere outside because he was hiding wherever he was hiding.

“But why— why outside? It’s cold outside, do you not sleep?”

Kaito’s hand had paused over the door knob. He stared at Conan with equal confusion. “…well, I’m your guard. I’m supposed to guard you. While you sleep.”

Conan felt an odd sense of deja vu of the conversation circling round and round with no end. He pushed himself up onto his elbows.

“And you won't sleep?"

"How am I supposed to guard you if I'm sleeping?"

Conan narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "How are you supposed to guard me if you're sleep deprived?"

Kaito shrugged, eyes sliding away to avoid the accusatory stare Conan was pinning on him. "I'm used to it."

Conan knew that look on Kaito's face.

It wasn't anything different from when Shinichi had caught a rookie knight swinging his sword at a dummy overnight. The rookie's efforts were commendable, but Shinichi frowned at his dismissive attitude toward his own health.

"Used to it or not, a night's rest is important," Conan said sharply, sitting up before he melted entirely into his pillow and lost his edge of authority. "A competent knight knows that without rest, he can make costly mistakes."

Kaito quieted, his hand still unmoving.

Then he dryly remarked, "You called me a half-baked knight."

Conan had been calling him that since the beginning! And it was true— given the circ*mstances.

"But," Conan continued in an authoritative manner, as he raised his chin. "Half-baked or not, you're still a knight and you're working with me. And I say, you need rest as much as I do."

Kaito seemed unconvinced.

"Look, you can guard in your bed,” Conan pointed at the other side of the room, at the crisp bed that had Kaito’s rucksack strewn on it.

The guard just stared at it with a blank look.

“And who would come after me right now anyways? As far as the townspeople see it, I’m your sickly frail brother, and if the older brother who’s supposed to be caring for him disappeared off somewhere—" Conan sighed, quite theatrically. He shrugged. "That would make people wonder about the credibility of your fraudulent story.”

Kaito let out a breath after a long moment and scratched his head.

“Okay, all right. I get it. I’ll stay here.”

“And if it makes you feel better, I have my dagger under my pillow too,” Conan yawned as he buried himself back into his bed.

Conan dropped his head against the pillow, hearing it hiss under his weight. Now that he was lying down, he felt gravity pulling on him all the more strongly.

“Right, I feel very assured," Kaito said dryly.

Conan turned his head to watch the guard walk slowly to his bed, sitting down against the edge of it. He seemed— uncomfortable, as if he was at a loss of what to do with it, aside from just sitting, with his hands on his lap.

“You should sleep,” Conan mumbled, and then yawned. “We’ll be buying supplies and such tomorrow.”

“Hm.”

"It'll be a two days trip to the next town," Conan slurred, shutting his eyes. "So we should gather everything we need here before we leave…"

Whether Kaito listened to Conan’s suggestion to sleep or not, he wouldn’t know, since his eyes blinked into the darkness.

Chapter 8: Such was the Way of Kaito

Chapter Text

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08. Such was the Way of Kaito

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When Conan woke up, he realized it was already well past eight.

Conan took a while to drink in the sight of the tavern room, eyes adjusting to the warm light spilling from the window.

His linen tunic, having been purchased prior to this trip, was now rumpled with unseemly creases. There were also patches of sand and dirt from what had happened yesterday.

Embarrassed by the state of his clothes, Conan clambered upright, swinging his legs off the bed while trying to pat down his tunic.

He paused, catching the sight of the bed opposite to his.

Conan wasn't sure what he was expecting but the bed remained the same as it was last night— crisp sheets with the barest wrinkle on it. If there were any wrinkles, they were on the edge of the bed where Kaito had sat.

The guard himself wasn't anywhere to be found.

As usual.

Conan fixed his glasses on his face and tried to flatten the front of his tunic. It seemed presentable enough for the day.

After pulling on his boots and washing his face in the basin left near the table, Conan pushed the door out to the hall.

It was still.

Most of the tavern's patrons probably had already left for the road to avoid the harsh midday sun. The ones that stayed would've already left their rooms for their meal.

Conan followed the sound of clatters from the dining hall downstairs. When he emerged from the stairwell, he was met with the cheerful bustle of the breakfast crowd, consisting of tavern guests and passing customers.

And in the thick of it all—

"Set One with apple cider, mushroom soup with rye," Kaito called off, his voice a pitch gentler and looking quite busy with a notepad in hand.

"Kidou-san, bring this to table ten," the waitress instructed, handing him a steaming plate of eggs and roasted vegetables.

Kaito was, unexpectedly, hard at work.

Considering that he scammed the inn lady into giving them (or actually, Conan) the best room in the tavern, Kaito shouldn't be slacking off any less.

Conan felt relieved that Kaito, at least, put his hands to work instead of running off with free service.

"Oh, good morning, Asa-kun," the inn lady chimed, perking up from her chair at the front desk. "Your brother will be done soon with work; you can go ahead and sit."

At her gesturing, Conan saw an empty table off in the corner of the restaurant. He gave her a quiet Thank you and tottered off to his seat.

The table was tucked in the far back of the dining hall and away from the path of people funneling in and out. Not too many people paid Conan any mind as he sat, glancing around at the crowd.

It looked to be a typical morning where people joined together to eat a hearty meal before their day began.

Clack.

A large tray was set before him. Conan blinked at the steaming scramble of eggs, several slices of rye bread, and a bowl of stewed meat.

"Breakfast is on the house, so the madam says," Kaito said, resting his hands on his hips. He was given a white apron that contrasted his usual black tunic, and a bandana that pulled back his wild hair.

Conan stared at his hair, at the spikes that refused to stay tame and then redirected his gaze down at the meal.

It was enormous.

A hand flitted in front of his face, fingers fanned out.

"Hello? You're awake, right?"

Annoyed, Conan slapped Kaito’s hand away. He growled, frown deepening. "I'm awake. Why is there so much food?"

Even when Conan was Shinichi, he'd only eat half as much as this.

Kaito smoothly slid into the opposite seat. "The madam said someone as boney as you need to eat, since—"

He shut his eyes, audibly sniffed, and then sobbed in his fake accent. "I'm much too poor to afford meat for my frail little brother, and it's been hard raising him with the illness he has."

Conan's frown turned into a grimace, and he resisted kicking the guard in the shin— but realized he didn't need to.

This guy needed to be kicked for all the shenanigans he pulled.

But just before his boot could make contact with Kaito’s shin, the guard shifted, just so, and Conan’s foot slid past his knee.

Tsk.

If Kaito knew Conan intended to kick him or not, he didn't show it. Instead he was blithely oblivious and spun a fork out of nowhere, flipping it about his fingers.

"Just kidding, we're supposed to share. I'll eat what you can't finish."

And the guard stabbed his fork into the eggs, heaping a large amount into his mouth and dripping bits of eggs in his wake.

Conan couldn't muster the energy to be annoyed at his eating habits anymore.

Such was the way of Kaito.

Conan grabbed the fork off the tray and started poking into his eggs.

"So what's the plan today, Royal Inspector? Sachie has offered us another night, if we need it."

Since when did Kaito get so close to the inn lady to use her first name so casually?

Shelving that mystery aside, Conan blew the steam off his eggs.

"You can tell her we have to leave for our next destination. We'll finish buying supplies around town and leave right after," Conan said. He took a bite of the eggs; they were warm and fluffy.

"Ah, right, the next town is Kurama," Kaito mused.

"It's a bigger town than Toutou, but we should get most of our supplies here since we'll need it on the way."

Kaito nodded, his palms pressed into both his cheeks as he watched Conan tearing bread into small chunks. Conan was making quite a pile of shredded bread before he dusted the crumbs from his fingertips.

"You know," Kaito started and then trailed off.

Conan looked up at him, brow raised and nibbling away at the hardened piece of bread.

"I don’t mind lending you the scarf, but once we’re in the north, it’ll be harder to share it. We should get you a cloak."

Conan choked on his food and nearly squeezed his bread piece into a ball.

So he did notice!

A plume of heat overcame Conan's face. "I— It was dark okay?!"

Kaito, at least, gave him some dignity by roving his eyes away. He leaned his head into his hand and looked up at the ceiling.

"Eh, yeah, understandably."

And then, right when Conan's embarrassment was subsiding, Kaito piped up, eyes swiveling right back over to him. "It's warm, isn't it?"

And the guard smiled expectantly, as if he was waiting for Conan's detailed review of the darn thing, at its remarkable warmth despite its thinness, at how easily it draped over his shoulders —

"I can get myself a new one, if you want the scarf—"

Conan swallowed his bread and with it— some pride.

"No, I'm buying a cloak."

The morning afterwards was spent with Conan walking into choice stores and walking out with a rucksack heavier with supplies and coin purse a few silvers lighter.

Conan kept track of their purchases with his notebook— crossing words off his shopping list and recording the amount of silvers spent.

Vials of potions, medicinal herbs, bandages, and so on.

For food, Conan purchased several flat loaves, a sizeable chunk of smoked meat, and bags of dried berries.

It was enough to last them for at least three days. If Kaito had any objections to the amount Conan rationed for them, he didn't voice them.

His only opinion was that he preferred cloudberries and made a face at gooseberries.

Kaito also picked things up for himself— small bottles and jars cradled in his arm, which he paid for and then whisked away into his own bag. Conan was too preoccupied with his own spending to take note of what things Kaito bought.

At the end of their shopping spree, they had spent about thirty five silvers. A hefty amount that Conan grimaced at.

Potions weren't cheap, but Conan knew better than to cheapen out on them.

He had bought ten bottles of warming elixirs— one having an effect lasting for twelve hours. That would be enough to keep them warm during the chilliest part of the night.

As they reached the end of the list, Conan's rucksack had started wearing down on his shoulders until Kaito yanked the bag off him.

Conan, of course, didn't like the idea of handing everything off to Kaito. But his shoulders were stiff from the weight and Kaito made a convenient pack mule who didn't break a sweat hefting around their supplies.

At last, they reached the end of their list: climate appropriate clothing— or more specifically, a cloak.

It was difficult trying to find a child-sized cloak that wasn't embroidered with flowers or animals, but at last, Conan ended up with an unassuming velvet blue cloak that was heavy and sturdy against biting northern temperature.

Conan originally intended to walk into the store and walk out with a cloak and perhaps another tunic, but the seamstress had shook her head at him and kept him hostage in her dressing room.

Dressed in thick snow boots, wool lined slacks, fleece tunic, and now his cloak— Conan was prepared and ready for winter .

The door’s bell jingled behind them, and Conan scrunched his nose at clear, blue skies and budding flowers on the trees.

It was spring.

"Shouldn't you also get a change of clothes?" Conan grumbled as he scribbled down the unexpected expenses.

Kaito just pulled his scarf around his neck and shrugged. "Eh, this is warm enough for me. And sorry to say, but the shop lady's got a point, your child-sized body won't last a night in the cold up there."

Conan frowned. Whether the seamstress was genuinely concerned for him or just wanted them to spend more money, she was very, very convincing with her sales pitch.

And Kaito was utterly unhelpful in turning her down. He just nodded and agreed with her in that same eastern accent he used at the tavern.

What a strange dedication to consistency.

Conan readjusted the cloak over him. He had thought it was too overbearing but it was doing well to protect him from the winds that had been blowing in from the north.

Clack—

Conan bit back a disappointed sigh. He knelt down to retrieve the dagger.

Not even a full two days away from the capital, and the prince's dagger had already been bruised and covered with sand.

"You're keeping that in your pocket?"

Kaito's incredulous voice made Conan stutter to a stop. His head jerked up to see Kaito's judging, blue eyes.

"Where else am I supposed to keep it?"

Conan's eyes flickered down at Kaito's legs, at the belts wrapped around his thighs, obviously made to hold dagger sheaths, except there was an astounding lack of daggers in them.

Kaito probably kept his weapons hidden, god knows where.

Instead of answering him, Kaito looked at him for a long moment and— reached behind his back and into where his scarf cloaked him.

He flicked out the same black blade he had used in his duel.

In a fluid movement, Kaito sliced off a length from one of the bandages hanging from his elbow. That bandage was thrust at him.

"Here, use this to tie it to your belt."

Conan made a face, but nevertheless accepted it. "What? This dirty, sweat stained bandage?"

Kaito tutted, "I'll have you know I changed them this morning."

Conan threaded the linen strip through the dagger sheath, tying it securely. He then lifted his cloak so he could fasten his dagger to his belt. It was flimsy but it was much better than having his sheath stuffed at the small of his back.

When Conan let his arms fall, the cloak was long enough to hide the dagger strapped to his side.

Good enough, he supposed.

"All right, let's get some lunch before we leave, Asa."

"Huh— but we just ate a few hours ago?"

"And Sachie wanted to send you off with a full belly, so don't disappoint her now."

And Kaito herded Conan quickly, step by step back in the direction of the tavern.

The initial plan was to take the Northwest Passage to Kurama Town.

There, Conan would look through the merchant logs to corroborate his suspicion of Cobra's trail. He had three locations in mind where Cobra could be hiding at.

And once his deduction was confirmed, he could send word for an arrest.

But—

"This is completely out of our calculations," Conan mumbled as he splayed his annotated map against the specks of grass and dirt. His knees pressed into the cold earth as he pored over the crinkled picture of the region.

The paved Northwest Passage carving through the mountainous region had been transformed into a disastrous lump of earth and overturned sign posts.

There were makeshift tents pitched along the path's borders. Workers with dirt stained tunics and pointed pickaxes bustled about, removing rubble in wheelbarrows.

There had been a landslide three days prior, so said one of the men. Unexplained happenstance, there were no quakes or rainfall that had loosened the rocks.

Conan had a gut feeling it had something to do with Cobra.

Destroying the Northwestern Passage made the two-day journey to Kurama a two-week trip. It'd force them to traverse around the mountain rather than through it.

Conan could only guess that Cobra was operating carefully as they did and became nervous at the slight increase of knights Conan had assigned near the outskirts of the canyon.

Conan swallowed as his fingers traced the maps for any other viable route.

"Not good?" Kaito asked, drifting back from his walk around the area.

Conan bit his lip as he breathed deeply. "We have to head back to Toutou. There's no other way there aside from hiring an expedited carriage. Even then, that’d still be ten days."

"I'm guessing the smuggling group must be buying time so they can move elsewhere," Kaito hummed.

The guard was quick on the uptake, Conan had learned. He also had keen enough senses to leave Conan alone to stew when they first came upon the hill.

With plans thrown awry, the last thing Conan needed was anyone talking to him as his brain whirred through ways to salvage his plan.

Conan gripped his fists, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

Even though he picked the case up due to a request, Conan had been working on it for months. To finally close on them only to let them slip away because of time , was frustrating.

All Conan needed was to confirm his suspicions and send word to rally those outskirt knights for an arrest.

But if he was to arrive a week later, there was a chance he'd be met with an empty alcove where they had once stashed their goods.

"Damn it."

Conan growled with an intensity that made Kaito's shoulders jump slightly.

"We wasted half a day coming here and we'll be wasting time going back," Conan sighed loudly as he unceremoniously crumpled the map under his hands. "But what can we do when they blew up the damn passage? They'll be gone in weeks' time."

Kaito stared at him for a while as Conan folded the map messily and tossed it aside. He crammed his notebook and charcoal pen back into the rucksack without care.

Conan knew he looked childish with his foul mood but god damn it. He thought he did better to anticipate their movements and they'll be slipping away through his grasp.

Time— Conan wasted so much time .

From being shrunken, to traveling back to the capital, to retrieving his sword— was there any time he could've spared to slip through the passage before the landslide had happened?

Conan took a breath, letting the frustration run its course.

Had Shinichi continued with his initial mission, he would've been here a week ago, long before the canyon was filled with rubble. He'd be able to add Cobra to his ever-growing list of caught criminals.

He'd be able to continue his successful streak of investigations.

But— Conan was not Shinichi.

He didn't feel quite like himself ever since he had actually become Conan. He had missed a step, and since then, helplessly and relentlessly kept tumbling down.

But despite whatever misfortune befell him, Conan knew he'd remain tenacious despite his body being half its original size and strength. And wherever his prey swerved, so could he rely on his mind to match its pace.

After a long moment, Conan took a measured breath. The rush of frustration was still there, but instead of a coursing flood, it trickled away through his fingertips.

"There's nothing to be done aside from returning to the capital," Conan announced with a resigned sigh. He sat on his haunches and looked at the passage. There were a myriad of possibilities of where the group could go next, and the last he needed was to plunge headfirst due to his frustrations.

"It's unfortunate to let them go like this, but I'll anticipate their next moves after we regroup at the palace."

"You know," Kaito chimed, his voice somewhat careful and airy. Conan tossed him a look, watching him pick up the crumpled map.

He crouched next to Conan and was smoothing the map out again. His eyes lingered on the charcoal X that Conan drew on the mouth of the passage in his bout of anger.

"There is another way."

Conan stared at Kaito doubtfully. He knew better than to take false hope so readily, but his eyes followed Kaito's finger as he drew a line through a different entrance of the canyon and up through a grayed forest area.

"It's not officially marked, but I've been through here countless times. It usually takes me a day."

Conan stared at him for a long time. "You knew this and you're only telling me now?"

God damn it, Kaito. He should've said something earlier! Then Conan wouldn't have had to wax poetry about gracefully accepting his failure.

"Well, I mean, I didn't know time was that dire," Kaito answered with a shrug. "This isn't the easiest path, just to let you know."

Conan's heart thumped at the chance. Impatient, he got to his feet. "Let's do it."

Kaito looked at him. "Wait, I'm telling you, it can be—"

He paused, looking to the side for the right word. He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Um, challenging."

Conan gave him an incredulous look.

"Challenging? You said it yourself, you've been through here countless times," Conan said as gathered the map away from under Kaito's fingers. He hauled his bag over his shoulders again. "So let's stop wasting time and go."

"Well, I'm just warning you, you might not like it."

Like? Conan didn't have the luxury to be picky about journeying and camping through wet mud and trees.

He had just given up when he was given this second chance to resume his mission. There was a smuggling ring to catch, and Conan had enough of being led around the nose when he was so close to their capture!

"We don't have a choice here, do we?"

Conan's eyes flickered from map to mountain, before he headed off in the direction of where Kaito had pointed.

From a few steps away, Conan pretended not to hear Kaito sigh.

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you."

Conan was hating every muscle in his body at this very moment.

As his boots dug into the crumbling loose soil, Conan frowned deeper, brows furthering more.

Whose stupid idea was this?

Kaito's.

Who was the fool to go along with it?

Me.

Conan could blame no one but himself for getting too excited that he didn't stop to actually consider what Kaito meant by challenging.

As long as they arrived to Kurama within the week. As long as they didn't dawdle to sightsee the dense forest and rocky paths. As long as Conan was able to confirm the hideout and arrest Cobra, everything would be fine and worth it, but—

"I hate the cold."

Conan coughed, something deep and rumbling his entire chest. He sniffed, tugging the hood closer to his face.

His fingers were stiff from the blistering wind. Conan snapped a brittle twig and threw it on the ground.

"I hate this body."

His legs were stretched out in front of him, as he took, for the tenth time, a sitting break at the base of a tree.

Conan’s soles were burning and throbbing. He clanked his boots together, breaking apart the mud caked on the bottom.

He limply leaned against the bark, feeling the downward slope of the mountain pulling him. One careless slip and he’d be tumbling back down from where he climbed.

Conan barely heard Kaito's voice from underneath the thick brush.

"I said I'd carry you; make this easy for the both of us."

The first time Conan keeled over and flopped uselessly against a tree, Kaito had the gall to laugh.

"No, I'm fine ."

Kaito's voice was much more distant. "Right, sure."

The second time he stumbled to the base of the tree, Conan glared at him, daring him to make another snide remark. Kaito only rolled his eyes and shrugged, definitely smothering away a I-told-you-so smirk.

By the third time, Kaito ducked away to make himself busy. Wherever he had gone in the time Conan rested his feet, Kaito would reemerge with leaves and twigs in his hair, and his bag, oddly fuller than normal.

Night time was falling quickly. The red glare of the sun burst through the forest and Conan had pulled out his pocket watch. The metal felt scorchingly icy against his fingertips.

They had already walked for three hours, following the trail of trees that Kaito had tied ribbons on, once upon a time.

Sixty eight ribbons, Kaito had told him. They would have to pass that many before the town of Kurama broke over the hill.

Conan had been keeping count.

He was resting on the sixth tree. The thin band of red silk rustled with the leaves.

Progress was excruciatingly slow.

Conan shut his eyes. His eyelids were stinging against the whipping winds. His skin seared hot and cold at the same time.

Kaito's heavy footsteps crunched over fallen leaves. When Conan tiredly opened his eyes, he saw something brown and fuzzy in Kaito’s grip. He couldn’t quite make out what it was.

"We're gonna stop here for the night."

Conan lifelessly lifted his eyes up to stare at Kaito’s profile. He flatly concluded, "We're not getting to Kurama in a day at this rate."

Kaito started clearing the ground with his boot, sweeping aside fallen leaves for what was obviously going to become a campsite.

"Oh, you just figured?"

Conan dropped his eyes back down to his watch; its short hand was pointing at seven.

"We could've just turned back," Conan mumbled, eyes staring at the shining silver of his pocket watch and then at those stubby fingers of his. "Why did I agree to this."

"Why're you being so dramatic? We're just gonna take three days instead of one. We'll get there before they up and leave."

But at what cost? Conan wanted to ask, eyes wide and taking in his stout legs. His whole body was pulsing with pain and exhaustion. The cold was nipping at his lifespan.

Cobra was just a smuggling case. An old subordinate had asked Shinichi to try his deductive prowess on the case. This was nothing dire or life threatening to the civilians of the kingdom. Catching Cobra would be nice and all, but at the cost of his limbs falling off?

Conan would much prefer sitting in his warm office, poring over newspapers to figure out the next course of action than doing this.

In the cold.

Conan laid limply against the bark of the tree, watching as Kaito finished kicking the stray twigs away.

From his hand, Kaito then dropped something messily on the forest floor.

They were— rabbits, limp and gutted.

Kaito flicked out a dagger and proceeded to set up the fire. Conan tore his eyes away from the brown, fuzzy mound, feeling a chill deeper than the biting wind.

He couldn't help the uneven squeak. "What— why are there rabbits?"

Conan focused his eyes deep into the forest, but after the cracke of fire, he could hear the shhk, shhk of Kaito's knife scraping, flaying skin off.

"Dinner."

Conan gestured at the bag that Kaito had also tossed next to him on the floor. "But we brought food with us!"

"Hey, they ran right in front of me. Would I pass up the opportunity for fresh meat?"

Rabbits don't just " run " right into anyone. Hunting required too much energy and time that missions rarely allowed. Even when Shinichi traveled with his squad of knights, it was more efficient to fall back on provisions than trapping animals for food.

Hunting for sport was one thing, but preparing it as food was another.

Conan chanced a look at Kaito— at this half-baked knight who was oddly too comfortable dismembering the rabbit into pieces—grimaced, and looked away.

It took a while for Conan to be coaxed away from the tree he had situated himself under.

Partly because Conan didn't really want to be sitting so close and witnessing whatever Kaito was doing to those rabbits.

But mostly because Conan's bones felt like they've melted together and the cold had frozen all his limbs to the tree. The only indication that he was still alive was the hoarse coughing fits that rumbled his entire body like a brittle leaf.

If Conan was to die from the cold, intertwined between the roots, so be it.

But the spitting crackle of the fire was alluring and the dark shadows crept closer to where Conan sat.

Finally, with heavy limbs and frozen fingers, Conan pushed himself off and staggered, step by step, to the campfire.

Kaito had an impressive array of things set in front of him— berries, brown mushrooms, some leafy greens, and of course.

A rabbit.

That looked only a quarter less than a rabbit now that the skin had been sheared off.

It had a sharp stick skewering right through it and was propped up by two daggers staked on the outside of the fire.

"Glad you decided to join me, thought you died at the tree."

Conan hunched over near the campfire. He coughed and then sniffed, faintly smelling something sweet and woody.

His nose was warming. The dancing licks of flame were entrancing to watch. The browning meat, even more so.

Kaito tapped Conan's knee with a hand before he stuck something cold into Conan's loosely clenched fist.

"You should probably drink your warming potion. You look like you're dying."

Conan's eyes roved onto the clear vial; the scarlet liquid looked unappetizing as usual. The taste was akin to drinking a watered paste of the spiciest peppers.

He never grew accustomed to drinking it despite depending on them heavily in his childhood.

Conan habitually popped the cap off and sipped the potion, eyes squeezed as he braced himself for the familiar sting against his tongue.

All elixirs were bitter medicine to swallow; that much he knew. He just hated how the potion had to burn the entirety of his mouth first before it did its proper job of warming him up.

The elixir trickled down his throat and a heat bloomed in his chest. The persistent itch in his throat settled down soon enough.

Less miserable, Conan stared into the fire but still shriveled into a ball underneath his cloak and fleece lined clothes.

The seamstress was right. Had Conan not been pushed to buy all those clothes, he would've chilled to death even faster.

How was Kaito, who had set up some elevated thin wire mesh and cooking mushroom caps over it, not at all affected by the biting spring night?

"It's abnormal how you're not cold." Conan couldn't help but feel bitter.

Kaito hummed in acknowledgement as he turned the skewer over to roast the underside of the rabbit.

"If we're talking about abnormal, aren't you the abnormal one?"

Kaito finally settled away from the flames, dusting ashes off his fingers. "No one would expect the Royal Inspector to actually be sickly and frail."

Conan made an unhappy noise because it was true, just that— "I outgrew this phase, god damn it. I was stronger than this."

With his knight's training over the years, his coughs became tamer and manageable. But after regressing to his state, Conan was once again reduced to a shaking mess that made him sound sicker and more pathetic than he actually was.

Conan's chest rumbled with another cough. "This damn body just keeps on giving me trouble."

"Wow, first time I've ever heard you swear this much. What's next, a blood moon?"

Conan clammed his mouth shut as he took a deep breath. He flexed his hand.The effect of the medicine was traveling slowly through his body and even warming his fingertips.

Maybe he should have bought more potions. Conan had severely underestimated how much his body would suffer.

"Mushroom's done," Kaito broke the silence. He poked it with the pointed end of his dagger, fishing it off the wire mesh. "It'll be a little while longer till the rabbit's ready."

Kaito held it up, suspending it in the air with his dagger. The mushroom had blackened to a crisp, and Kaito experimentally poked it with his fingertips to test its heat.

It looked no different from a lump of coal.

"Here it is, eat up."

At that, Kaito nudged Conan's hand open and plopped it squarely in his palm. It was warm and steaming.

Kaito helped himself to a similarly burnt coal lump, peeling it apart and blowing at the steam unfurling in threads.

After a long moment, Conan spoke up.

"These aren't poisonous, are they?"

Kaito already had a cheekful of it when Conan looked up from his hand.

"You think I'm gonna poison my own charge?" His words were muffled and full of mushroomy bits. "Bratty as you are, I don't hate you that much, believe it or not."

Thanks…? Conan ignored the implications of his comment.

"I'm not talking about that. You can't just pick anything off the ground and eat it." Conan looked at the mushroom that seemed to cover his whole hand. "Some of the knights in my division tried cooking some mushrooms too. They had a sour stomach and the runs for weeks afterwards."

Though, Conan was sure Kaito could cram anything into his mouth and get away with only slight discomfort. He seemed to be the kind of wild man that built himself an iron stomach on account of eating everything.

Kaito blinked and then swallowed.

"Eh, I wouldn't count on nobles to know the difference," Kaito drawled. "There's lots of mushrooms that look alike. But lucky you, I've been round these parts and I haven't died yet."

That was assuring to hear, but Conan continued staring doubtfully at it. It looked no different than a lump of coal that burned in stoves.

"Look at it like this: it's my job to make sure you can do your job," Kaito continued. His next few words were muffled with mushrooms. "And if anything happens to you, illness or death, I'm the one whose neck is gonna get chopped, so."

Another black lump was placed in his other hand. "Eat."

Conan frowned at it, but Kaito was right. If anything terrible was to happen, Kaito would have to answer to the crown prince.

Hakuba would make sure to avenge Conan if he fell to an untimely demise.

"All right, fine," Conan sighed as he, following Kaito's example, peeled off the blackened skin. Curls of steam rose from it and disappeared into the chilly air.

"They don't teach you these basics at the knight academy?" Kaito asked.

That confirmed one thing— Kaito was clearly not from the academy. Or at least the academy in the capital.

Was he from the eastern region then? Given how he had a flawless accent.

"There was a botany course and something about medicinal herbs but," Conan mumbled as he tentatively bit into a piece of it. It was chewy— a little firm but gave easily when he ground his teeth. "It was an elective."

"All study and nothing practical," Kaito hummed. "Strand a noble alone in the woods and he'll starve to death."

Conan would be offended but Kaito was right. A noble knew only how to hunt and kill. Everything that followed after was prepared in a kitchen.

"But see, if knights needed supplies, it was just easier to buy them from stores. If you're thorough with preparations, would you need to rummage for food?"

There was a pause as Kaito considered his words.

"Fair point, but things can happen," Kaito offered and then shrugged. "It's also not bad to save your supplies for when you're really out of luck."

Kaito had said something similar before at the tavern in Toutou. It made Conan wonder what kind of life the guard led that made him have such a tight grip on his silvers and provisions.

Even though Conan had a rucksack of dried meats, loaves of bread, and a pouch of berries to eat instead of wild mushrooms and game— Kaito did have a point. If there was an available resource to forage from, they should save their rations for much later.

Not to mention, if Conan decided to eat his store bought foods, that’d just make him out to be a picky eater , and he had already given Kaito enough reason to call him a brat.

Kaito plopped another mushroom, unsolicited, into his hand. And had also started to pile a bunch of them atop his rucksack, since Conan was slowly peeling the mushroom apart.

Conan sighed, not caring too much to fight against it. He wasn't that finicky with food to begin with. As long as his stomach was full and his energy restored, whatever Kaito scrounged for didn't matter to him—

"Here, the rabbit's done too."

And the rabbit skewer was jabbed into the ground in front of him. The meat was evenly roasted. The rabbit was headless. Its paws were missing too.

Kaito then placed the other rabbit over the makeshift spit. He reached for another mushroom, tearing and discarding some burnt bits off to the side.

It was a long while until Kaito sighed, “What’s wrong now?”

Conan couldn't tear his eyes away from the cooked flesh. "… it looks like a rabbit.”

"Because it is a rabbit."

"Which, I usually have in stews. Cooked by actual cooks. In warm taverns," Conan mumbled emptily, eyes glazing over, because the fool who decided to follow Kaito's suggestion was him. He was the fool. The fool who decided to trek through the cold and mud and be subjected to this misery.

Conan didn't need to look to see Kaito loudly rolling his eyes.

"Are you serious— do I have to break it apart for you too?"

Before Conan knew it, the stake was taken from his sight and Kaito spun a dagger out from one of the belts on his leg.

Now that they were away from Toutou, Kaito's belts had filled up with the rest of his black daggers. Conan watched him cut a slice of meat with ease.

Kaito offered him a piece.

Conan accepted it, a stringy meat peppered with flecks of herbs. When did Kaito have the luxury to add spice ? Conan had expected it to be cooked in its most basic form.

"Knights normally don't know how to gut and cook a rabbit," Conan said carefully. He munched on the meat, pleasantly surprised that it tasted as good as it smelled.

Another piece was passed to him.

"They don't." A pause. Kaito had his knife angled as he broke through a tendon in the joints. "They don’t have to learn these kinds of things."

They.

So Kaito didn't consider himself a knight, which by extension meant he wasn’t a noble.

Not all knights belonged to noble families, but they were definitely the majority. Commoners who became knights wore their knighthood with pride and mentioned it in every turn of conversation. Most of them strive for titles to prove their status.

Conan chewed thoughtfully as he ate. The rabbit didn't have any strange gaminess to it, either.

"If you're not from the academy, then are you from the east?" Conan asked, deciding to be straight forward.

There were simply too many mysteries surrounding the guard. Anything that Conan observed just led to more questions than answers.

Kaito laughed though his eyes didn't laugh with him. His lips were twisted as his eyes focused on his task.

"Wow, doing background checks now? I see it's hard to earn the Royal Inspector's trust, huh."

A non answer, a deflection. The air between them had changed slightly— a tension had settled on Kaito's shoulders.

Conan swallowed thickly.

He messed up.

Conan couldn't help it— as the Royal Inspector, it was in his nature to ask questions. Innocuous but prying questions.

And apparently, he hit a sore spot.

"Look, I've already followed you deep into this forest and I'm eating your food." Conan kept his voice light and casual as he nibbled into his meat. He redirected his eyes to the fire, jumping and crackling underneath the second rabbit.

"If we’re talking about trust, isn't it obvious that I've already put my life in your hands?"

Kaito let out a breath that vaguely sounded like a scoff.

"It’s natural for anyone to want to know about who they’re traveling with," Conan continued, picking up another mushroom. It had long gone cold, but it still broke easily under his fingertips. "Consider this idle chatter and nothing more."

There was a long silence as Kaito continued his work of deboning the rabbit. Conan was almost hesitant to glance at him to see his expression.

"Well," Kaito began. "I'm from some small town in the central region, nowhere special. But I've traveled around, so I picked up some accents, if that's what you were wondering."

Kaito's tone had lightened considerably.

"Huh, I thought you were a native easterner, given how you fooled the entire tavern."

Kaito's hand tapped his and Conan accepted the rabbit's leg with a slight mutter of thanks.

"And the entire town," Kaito helpfully reminded. "Y'know, just in case we go back. Sachie would recognize us a mile away."

Which was a problem— Kaito made them stand out like a sore thumb that Conan would have no choice but to participate in the scam every time they'd try to go to Toutou. Talk about being indiscreet.

Well— it wasn’t like Conan ever really had plans on visiting it again. Especially not after the Savior of Toutou incident.

"Since you asked me a question, it's my turn," Kaito spoke up just as Conan shredded a thin strip of meat off the rabbit leg.

"Sure," Conan replied as he nibbled on his piece. He had expected this: it was a fair exchange. A question for a question. But Conan did wonder what kind of things Kaito would ask.

Maybe he would ask about Shinichi’s previous cases, or how he gained the title of Royal Inspector— or more obvious yet, perhaps he'd ask how Conan came to be.

"So.” Kaito said as he turned the second rabbit over the crackling cinders.

Conan held his breath as Kaito paused just a tad too long.

"You really haven't hunted a rabbit before?"

Conan stared at the rabbit leg in his hand, at the hole he had been picking away at, and then at Kaito. An eyebrow raised to his hairline.

"What kind of question is that?"

"It still counts as a question."

Conan stared in confusion but gave up after a moment.

Kaito was just who he was. He asked odd questions with no clear intentions. Conan could try to understand him, but he had already learned his lesson of trying to understand anything that Kaito did.

"Fine," Conan relented and then sighed. "No, I don't hunt, not usually, unless it's necessary. Though there was a time when a woodcutter's wife had asked me to trap a rabbit for dinner…"

Conan picked at the strands of meat as he was forced to relive the moment when he had crouched under a bush with a rudimentary trap of a basket, stick, and rope.

"Did it run away?"

Conan shut his eyes in shame. "It never came! Don't rabbits like herbs and roots? I waited for five hours in the underbrush! And in the end I had nothing to show for the effort. It would’ve been much faster going to the town butcher and buying one!"

He felt Kaito's hand clapping his shoulder sympathetically. Though his tone sounded much insincere. "There, there."

Conan lifted his eyes and sighed, resigned. "So there you have it."

Belatedly, he wondered if Kaito asked so he could jeer at Conan's incompetence. He had already been amused by Conan's pathetic stamina during the mountainous climb, it wouldn’t be far-fetched if Kaito was looking for something else to insult.

"Go ahead and laugh," Conan prompted as he readied himself for boisterous laughter. He had already gotten used to it back at the knight's academy. "I know I'm terrible at hunting. I don't think I can brutally mutilate an animal either. Like you said earlier, leave me stranded in the woods and I’ll probably die."

But Kaito did nothing Conan had expected— no laughing or jeering. He just nodded as he tore off meat with his teeth. "Well, you're fine. You make do with your preparations anyways."

Conan looked down at his hands, feeling quite— puffed out. He had braced himself to snipe back that now he was feeling incredibly sheepish for being so wound up.

Kaito piped up, overturning the lull in the conversation. "Never understood why the nobles even bother with hunting tournaments if they don’t even know how to eat it. They block off a part of the forest just for sport."

"Well, nobles do so to defend their status or to raise it," Conan mumbled around his food, though, he too barely understood the pomp and grandeur of hunting as a pastime hobby. "It's an easy way to win accolades and recognition."

"But the prize is kind of sh*t."

Conan gave him a scandalized look— if they were in the capital, among the rest of the knights, Kaito would get a sword whacked at him.

"Is the dowager queen's acknowledgement not worth anything to you?"

"Silvers," Kaito said simply as he tapped his index finger to his thumb, making a circle— the sign for money. "It's what makes the world go round. What use do I have for awards and titles if I don't have money?"

Conan gave him a long look. Kaito reminded him of rough, travel-worn mercenaries that perused tavern bulletin boards for odd jobs. They cared none for fame, only fortune.

He also remembered when Kaito busked in the plaza for coppers and how he swindled his way through the inn—

"Hold on. Doesn't his highness pay you?"

Kaito suddenly became very interested in the nearby brush of trees.

"If you work under his highness, you get two hundred silvers a month, including room and board— so pray tell why you were asking a child for money to begin with?"

Kaito chewed slowly and then swallowed.

"All right, Tantei-kun, imagine this," Kaito said, clearing his voice. "You're walking along the palace gates, when you see a child holding onto some gold badge. What would you do?"

Conan quirked a brow, wondering exactly what was the point of this thought exercise. "Approach him and ask about it?"

Like the normal thing to do?

Kaito shook his head. "Hm… no, let me start over— a beggar child was holding onto a golden badge that you knew belonged to a noble, what would you do?"

Conan crinkled his nose at the description.

"Approach him and ask him about it," Conan stuck firm to his answer, failing to understand how looking like a beggar changed anything. All right, so his state of dress was left much to be desired, but to be called a beggar was offensive.

Kaito shook his head, obviously at something Conan failed to grasp. Conan continued turning his thoughts over in his mind, the frustration that Kaito knew something he didn't was starting to gnaw at him.

"And if the child doesn't want to talk? And if they run away? What would you do?"

"Candied fruit? I don't know, I usually have them on hand when I need to ask the town’s children for information," Conan thought aloud.

"Candied fruit isn't always gonna solve everything," Kaito tsked. "And let's say, some other noble knight, not so kind and understanding, was to see this kid holding a gold badge—"

Kaito shook his head forlornly. "They'd think he stole it, and the poor kid would be dragged off to the dungeon without a chance to explain."

Conan thinned his lips. "I'd know how to persuade the guards to fetch Hattori."

Kaito made a disbelieving sound. "Right. That's if the guards don't decide to just cart you off to the countryside and dump you at a chapel orphanage first."

Conan opened his mouth to argue that that wouldn’t have happened had Kaito asked in the first place like any normal person, but—

Kaito wouldn’t have known Conan was who he was— no one would have known it was the Royal Inspector at the gates, a beggar looking child with a tunic torn and muddied. He had multiple bruises fading from his temples, too.

He belatedly recalled Kaito explaining himself the morning that the crown prince assigned him as his guard.

As far as I saw it, you were a beggar child holding onto a noble's badge. That could've gotten you tossed in jail, you know.

"All right, I get it, I get it," Conan sighed loudly, "You weren't swindling me for money, you were just trying to get the badge off me."

Kaito nodded in agreement, "I was just looking out for a beggar child's fate from becoming worse. I can't be blamed for that."

Much like how Kaito lied his way to receiving a free room, his intentions were clear, but his methods were convoluted.

Annoyingly so.

"But was it necessary to throw an entire magic show just to steal it from my pocket?"

Kaito barked out a laugh. "Necessary?Nah, it's just more fun that way."

Conan narrowed his eyes in disbelief— fun? Doing all that was just for fun?

"Besides, I can't say no to more coins— but eh, you ended up chasing my money away, so I guess we can call it even," Kaito replied with a lackadaisical shrug.

Conan shook his head, repeating the mantra that Kaito, however much an unpredictable miscreant he seemed to be—

Such was the way of Kaito.

The rest of the evening continued in scattered conversation as Conan picked the meat off the remains of their meal.

The fire slowly dwindled as the night carried on. Conan yawned for the tenth time that hour, as Kaito went off to gather more sticks to rekindle the flame. What was left of the rabbit meat was shaved down into jerky sized pieces and smoking above a smoldering pile of embers.

Conan blearily looked around the trees, faintly hearing the sharp snaps of twigs breaking. For however crude Kaito was, he was unexpectedly resourceful.

The palace knights could probably take a page from his book.

The night’s wind blew softly, cold and persistent, and Conan wrapped the cloak closer to him as he leaned against the tree.

Crossing his arms, he settled deep into the folds of the warm velvet, and shut his eyes to rest.

Conan woke to a red cloth pillowing his head and birds enthusiastically chirping about his face.

It took a while for him to reorient himself to the time and place. Conan had to remind himself that he had long left the tavern and he was sleeping on a hard surface which was only made manageable with his cloak and Kaito's scarf.

He pushed himself up, elbows feeling like they'd snap under the heavy pressure of gravity. Some of the birds flew away at his movement.

Some brave ones still flocked around his perimeter.

One of the sparrows greeted him, hopping from the grass and to his knee, head tilting side to side. Tied around one of its feet was a red ribbon, silk, and oddly familiar to the ones tied on tree branches.

"Hey, get over here."

Conan blinked in bafflement at the curt, rude tone. He rubbed the sleep out of eyes, doubting his own hearing upon waking.

As if sensing his confusion, the bird fluttered even more energetically, not at all shy about nestling into Conan's palm.

"Clove."

Some leaves rustled overhead.

Kaito was sitting a distance away, his hand outstretched, fingers snapping. But his eyes were fixed on a torn piece of parchment in his hand. "I said come here."

"What?" Conan's voice came out as a sleep ridden croak. He coughed dryly, feeling the ache threading down his throat.

Kaito's head snapped up in tandem with his hand dropping quickly.

"Oh—" He looked flustered, almost sheepish that Conan had caught him snapping in his direction. Propped on his knee was a pocket sized book, not as used as Conan's one, but its inner pages had been shredded away.

"Erm, didn't know you were awake. Morning?"

But Conan wasn't too focused on how sheepish Kaito looked. Rather his eyes roved right to his hand that had Conan's charcoal pencil.

"Are you writing a report?"

Kaito's expression froze minutely before it immediately schooled into a frown. His voice was flat, "Why, yes, I am. I know. It's amazing. I can write."

Conan wasn’t actually too surprised at that. Considering how Kaito could read, he should also know how to form letters correctly as well.

Rather, he was astounded that the guard was actually listening to his highness' suggestion to write anything down. He had kicked up such a fuss back in the prince’s study that Conan thought he’d just continue being petulant.

So he did actually listen to the prince, huh.

Kaito magicked the charcoal pen away as he tore the page off from the book. Conan caught a glimpse of the messy scrawl that looked no different from a child's handwriting.

"Wait, are you thinking of sending that to his highness?"

Kaito looked at his messily torn paper and then at Conan. "Yeah?" And then at Conan's look of disbelief, he added, "It's longer than my last ones."

It wasn't the length Conan balked at but the messiness, but.

Conan's mouth hung open— what kind of reports did Kaito even write if it was "longer" than the previous ones? Kaito's current message only had two words on it.

Conan shook his head, clearing his thoughts. It was too early in the morning to tie his brain into a knot.

This was just how Kaito was. The guard already raked his mud stained boots through the windowsill of the prince's study and the prince let him do it.

"Clove," Kaito said, again, this time more sternly. "Get over here."

And Conan was rattled by the fact that Kaito was still staring at him and snapping his fingers at him, or more accurately— at the lump of soft feathers that was snuggling in Conan's hand.

"Don't spoil him," Kaito sighed with a frown. Only then did Conan realize he had been absently rubbing his thumb over the sparrow's head as he was consumed in thought.

"Clove."

The bird didn't budge despite Conan withdrawing his hand to his side.

"I won't give you any snacks anymore."

The sparrowed looked up at Conan, squarely ignoring the guard.

“Clove. Come on. Oi.”

Kaito sounded like he was trying to bribe a petulant child, and unfortunately, he was at the end of his rope.

Conan looked down at the sparrow, Clove, and gave it a gentle nudge in Kaito’s direction. "You should go."

It looked at him with a long, meaningful gaze, as if it understood him and then, took off towards Kaito with a flutter of feathers.

Conan watched the bird jump around Kaito's hand before it stilled long enough for the guard to tie the wrapped note to its leg.

Kaito didn’t look too pleased, especially not with the way Conan was looking at him with his lips quirked because, ha .

It seemed even Kaito had his fair share of inconveniences.

With the note tied securely, Conan expected the sparrow to take off to the capital, but before it could leave, Kaito grabbed it like a potato.

“You little traitor. Try that again, and I’ll smoke you alive.”

The bird just pecked Kaito’s glove as Conan’s smile dropped.

“What the— you’re so cruel!”

Chapter 9: I know you hate it, but I’m gonna carry you.

Chapter Text

---

09. I know you hate it, but I'm gonna carry you.

---

The wind had changed.

It wasn't as bone chilling like the days prior. The air became stilted, and following it, an eerie silence filled the forest.

The spring morning became colder.

Kaito rubbed his nose, making sure that it was still there. He let out a deep sigh, watching the plumes of breath float and disappear into the air.

He peered up at the trees. Sunlight was peppering through the leaves, bright and cheerful.

Thankfully, with the sun rising high into the air, the forest was slowly warming in spots.

And in one of those spots, a pathetic lump of red and blue was toasting himself warm.

Another bird, a traitorous snack-to-be, was comforting the pitiful inspector by jumping and tweeting its condolences.

A few hours earlier, the Royal Inspector had been stubborn despite the wind nipping his cheeks and nose red. Kaito ignored his flimsy resistance and firmly tied his scarf around Conan's velvet cloak and bundled it up over his head.

Kaito had tsked, his finger flicking firmly into Conan's forehead.

What did I say about clinging to useless pride?

Which shut Conan up immediately with a childish pout, allowing Kaito to jab another warming potion into his frostbitten fingers. Kaito stared Conan down as he cringed through every drop.

Seriously— looking at the guy, Kaito couldn't help but doubt.

Now, Kaito wasn't one to ask needless questions. So, when the prince said the brat was originally an inspector-sized Royal Inspector, Kaito accepted it.

Some guy being cursed into a shrunken form of himself?— sounded like it could happen.

Strange stuff went about in the world, and Kaito had seen plenty of it.

But when Conan coughed, his whole body shook and rattled. His voice, that had been as confident as it could sound, was reduced to nothing more than a husky whisper. His eyes had dimmed behind the fogged glasses as the morning mercilessly chilled him further.

Kaito looked at him and couldn’t help seeing a scrawny, helpless kid. Not the noble, prodigious Royal Inspector, savior of Toutou Town and other places— probably.

Rubbing his head, Kaito left the spot Conan was at— a tree with the twentieth ribbon waving limply from its branch.

Kaito wandered into the brush, scouring the floor leisurely for anything else to pick up.

They had made progress in the last few hours.

The perilous, sloping mountain had evened out. And they had run into more ribbons than they had yesterday.

Conan had brightened up noticeably after noticing that.

The little inspector even scrounged up the energy to deduce that according to the remaining ribbons and the distance they’ve hiked so far, their mountainous trip would be over by the end of the next day.

Then he uselessly spent that energy telling all this to Kaito in scattered breaths, sounding so confident and proud in his accomplishment of walking so far.

Kaito only hummed in agreement, eyes rolling elsewhere. Because he didn’t really have it in his heart to tell the inspector— the ribbons were tied only when Kaito remembered to do it. And as for the reason why there was long distances in between each tree?

Kaito just ran out of ribbons the further down the mountain he went.

Regardless of the truth, Kaito was glad that the inspector wasn’t as miserable as he was the day prior. It was fascinating watching him alternate between striding in energy and devolving quickly into an immovable lump only half an hour later.

Even when Kaito had walked deep into the brush, he could still hear the dry coughs that broke the silence in the forest. Maybe Kaito should convince the guy to drink another glass of warming potion.

Then as Kaito bent his knees to brush away fallen twigs, he heard:

“What are you doing?”

Kaito plucked off a few mushrooms and stored them into his rucksack. He gave another glance around.

Nothing else here to forage, aside from a few young leaves from a tree.

He nabbed a few of them before he made his way back. Conan's eyes immediately flickered to Kaito's hair. Kaito must've collected a few leaves and twigs. Enough for the sparrows to make a nest.

“Making sure we have enough food,” Kaito answered as he stuffed the leafy stems away. He shook his head, freeing it of stray leaves.

Conan hummed in response, but his eyes followed Kaito as he plopped down on the ground next to him.

That was one of the first things that Kaito noticed about him— shimmering badge aside.

Conan had eyes that were too sharp, too fierce to be anyone normal. Kaito always felt like he was trapped in a corner being studied and examined. And all the conjectures about Kaito that Conan had drawn so far hadn't been that good—

Okay, sure, from all the encounters with the inspector thus far, Kaito had to admit he didn't make a great impression.

But he had a heart of gold! Really!

Despite his innocence, Kaito still couldn't help but feel — unnerved.

The Royal Inspector just had a way with his gaze that made Kaito feel like he did something wrong. Even when he didn't.

Kaito could only carry on like normal, eyes pointedly looking away, and hoping the inspector's interest swiveled to something else.

Distraction, distraction. The air was incredibly stifling.

“How’re you feeling?" Kaito asked, even though he already knew the answer by the way Conan had been slouching over the tree stump as if it was a cushy chair.

Conan's eyes dropped into a deadpan. His lips thinned into a frown. He looked more like a petulant child and less of— whatever that was earlier.

Kaito let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Conan thumped his boots on the floor. He kicked up some dust and twigs at his heels. "This body is utterly useless."

Kaito hummed as he took a swig from the canteen of water.

It wasn't the first time he heard it that day. Kaito let Conan’s grievances go unanswered, though he did offer water to him— by knocking it into his closed fist until he grabbed it.

“Maybe I should send a letter to Haibara,” Conan mumbled, more to himself, before he tossed his head back for a drink.

Kaito rummaged through his bag, organizing it. So the Royal Inspector was acquainted with the pharmacist.

That was something interesting to note. Though Kaito wasn't too surprised. Down the grapevine, he had heard about the inspector's triumphant drug bust and how crates upon crates were delivered to the pharmacy.

Part of him wondered if the inspector's unique condition was due to one of those weird vials— Kaito shook his head. He should stop thinking. He wasn't one to pry or ask questions.

The slosh of water swayed in the metal canteen when Conan brought it down.

In a way to distract himself, Kaito had plucked a few leaves from his bag, rolled them up into a ball, and tossed them into his mouth.

He chewed slowly, basking in the fresh air and taking in the rustle of trees.

It was peaceful— before something gurgled noisily.

"Ugh."

Kaito glanced at Conan, quirking his brow.

The inspector couldn’t even pretend to be ashamed of it in the midst of his misery. Rather than ashamed, he seemed annoyed.

Conan sighed in defeat, collapsing even more on himself. He made a gesture at his stomach. "Look at that, it's hungry again. Utterly useless."

Kaito bit back a short, amused laugh. "You barely ate anything."

“I thought I ate enough.”

Kaito raised a brow in disbelief. He had given him five strips of rabbit jerky and three mushrooms until Conan held a hand to his cheek and mumbled about how his jaw hurt from all the chewing.

Never in Kaito's life had he ever heard of chewing being a problem.

“Eh, it’s not enough when your stomach is hungry again,” Kaito said pointedly as he rolled up another burst of leaves. “But we’re all out of rabbit, so you’ll have to wait till some run by again.”

The more uphill they climbed, the less rabbit burrows there were. That wasn't to say the forest was sparse of other animals. There were deers and boars— and also northern wolves.

Maybe instead of a rabbit, Kaito could find a boar somewhere. He’ll have to set up some overnight traps to lay out if that was the case.

"Ah, wait. Don't we have the food you bought from the village?"

Kaito had suddenly remembered the chunk of ham and wedge of cheese in Conan's rucksack that he had been hefting along. But Conan limply shook his head.

"That should be used for emergencies."

Which meant he was fine with eating the stuff Kaito had been feeding him so far.

Huh.

Kaito had originally expected the noble inspector to kick up more of a fuss about having dirt covered mushrooms for a meal. Who knew after firing a few jabbing questions, Conan settled to eating it quietly.

Weird guy.

Other nobles Kaito used to guard usually tossed their dishes aside if it wasn't up to their taste. Too much salt, too bland, or some other stupid reason.

The poor chefs had to clean up and appease their tastes. As bad as Kaito felt for the chefs, it wasn't ever Kaito's responsibility to feed nobles—

Wait. Come to think of it. Was it even his responsibility to feed this guy?

Kaito finished chewing his leaves and dug around for some berries to wash down the herbal aftertaste.

It wasn't like the inspector forgot to bring his own share of food. He meticulously rationed it, making sure there would be enough to eat from for a couple of days.

And Conan was supposedly supposed to be an adult trapped in his smaller form. If anything, he should be left to his own devices.

The wild berry burst under the pressure of Kaito's teeth and he grimaced slightly at the tartness.

But, could Conan really be left alone when he was a wilting puddle on the tree stump? Kaito was the one who suggested the mountainous path, so if Conan died cold and hungry, the prince would have Kaito’s head.

Kaito was just doing his job. Guarding the inspector meant keeping the guy alive, and if Kaito was up against things like the weather and hunger then it was easy enough of a task to do — and.

Conan was staring again.

He was staring at him, again.

Kaito swallowed his berry with some difficulty, but made sure to keep his eyes down and away.

What the hell.

Kaito probably did something again— something unbecoming. Maybe it was his mannerisms. It wouldn't be far-fetched for Conan to label him a barbarian after what he did to strip the meat off the rabbit carcass.

That was another title added to Kaito's name, right after "thief," "swindler," and "half-baked knight."

The road to redemption was long and tumultuous. Much like the rocky path up the mountain, peppered with thorny bushes.

Jabbing at him.

Like the prickling gaze that was making the small hairs along his neck stand up on its end.

"What?" Kaito couldn't help but sound curt.

The inspector was practically burning holes into the side of his head. Kaito was starting to sweat despite the chilly air.

Conan leaned closer, eyes wide and deceptively innocent and curious. Thankfully, his gaze had moved down to Kaito's open bag.

“What are you eating?”

His words tumbled out with a small puff of breath. It lingered before being whisked away with the breeze.

“Leaves,” Kaito answered simply and he swallowed thickly. He kept his eyes forward, tone nonchalant.

One other thing Kaito was realizing, rather quickly, was that the inspector liked to ask questions. Whether to satisfy his own curiosity or to find some new fault with him, Kaito couldn't be sure.

Kaito only remembered the times when his answers gave nobles more reasons to hate him. He learned that the less he talked, the less interested they became.

"Leaves?" Conan asked, as if he wanted to know more. But what could Kaito say?

That he had been snacking away as they climbed, chewing on this and that, whatever he found on the ground, like some wild man stranded in the forest?

Kaito gave a noncommittal hum and hoped that was the end of that. Though he was bracing himself for some smartass reply, something scathing, like all nobles were inclined to do.

In which, Kaito could smartly lance back about Conan being pathetic—

“Can I have some?”

Kaito choked and then coughed. “...what?”

Conan stared at him, unrelenting. His eyes were wide, blue, and if Kaito didn't already know he was the Royal Inspector, Kaito would've probably been fooled that he was a kid asking for candied fruits.

But he wasn't asking for candied fruits. He wanted a leaf.

At Kaito's baffled silence, Conan continued. “They’re not poisonous, right?”

Conan didn't need to ask since he had been watching Kaito munch away at them.

“No, but,” Kaito mumbled, eyes wide with undisguised surprise. He blinked several times and then looked at his bag, smeared with damp dirt and ground. “They’re leaves.”

“And you’re eating them,” Conan countered with as much normalcy, as if he was simply saying the sky was blue.

He stretched out his hand, prompting.

Kaito looked at him and then at Conan's fingers, cold-bitten and stubby.

Before Kaito realized, he had pressed a stem of leafy greens into Conan's hand, watching it unfurl on his palm.

“Well," Kaito cleared his throat and straightened his back. "Don’t complain if it's not to your taste.”

There were other things— better things Kaito had found for the inspector to eat. Tart woodland berries, white mushrooms, or maybe even the dried fruits from the market back in Toutou.

But he wanted leaves.

Weirdo.

“It’d be childish if I was that picky.”

That's right. Besides being squeamish about the shape of rabbit aside, Conan hadn't turned his head away at anything Kaito had stuck into his hand.

Kaito watched curiously as Conan considered the leaves before he plucked one off the stem. He twirled it around, observing the toothy edges and bright green color.

Then he popped it in his mouth and chewed— he resisted a face.

Expectantly, it'd taste unpleasant and green.

Kaito's lip twitched slightly, his hand already reaching for the pouch of dried cloudberries which would chase down the vegetal taste.

Conan swallowed it, and without missing a beat, ate the other leaf before Kaito could even offer the sweet berry.

“What plant is this?” he asked in between chews.

"Uh, it's hawthorn," Kaito found himself replying. "You can eat the leaves like this when they're softer in spring. There are berries too, but not all of them have ripened yet."

Why he was even telling Conan this was beyond him.

Why Conan wanted to know about leafy greens was also beyond him.

Without Kaito realizing, Conan had reached out between them and into the rucksack, fishing out a few more leaves.

"Is that a hawthorn tree?" he asked casually while munching on the greens.

Kaito's eyes followed Conan's finger to the nearby brush that Kaito had noticed but passed over.

"Yeah, but the leaves already changed color. You can't eat that."

"I see," Conan hummed in contemplation, as Kaito's mind fogged over with confusion.

In most unpleasant social circ*mstances that Kaito ended up in, he thought quickly on his feet and had plenty enough wit to jab back and fierce.

Traveling with the inspector so far had been that kind of song and dance. It was nothing that Kaito wasn't used to— having been used to deflecting questions from other knights about his place in the palace.

Though with Conan, they'd become comfortable with smarting words and backhanded insults thrown back and forth— good naturedly, of course.

Despite all the banter, Kaito never forgot who Conan was: a noble he was assigned to protect.

So it wasn't often that Kaito was stunned into speechlessness. But when Conan went off script; off the bantering and the entitled attitude nobles should have—Kaito wasn't sure what to make of it.

The first time was Conan's insistence that Kaito slept.

In a bed.

Even though Kaito's job entailed keeping a vigilant watch over his charge outside.

The following morning, Kaito had brushed it off as a nobleman's whimsy. His previous charges often threw him a bone— free food or board with thoughtless generosity.

So during the mountainous trek, Kaito was wholly prepared for a prickly tantrum thrown by a spoiled, troublesome brat.

But Conan chewing on leaves and asking him questions on top of that?

What was he supposed to think about all of this—

"This is the mushroom we ate for breakfast, right? What's it called?"

Kaito's open bag had slid away from him and was sprawled open on Conan's lap.

He was holding a mushroom. It had completely filled his hand and he was turning it over, inspecting it in all its muddy glory.

"Uh, it's a puffball," Kaito said lamely, because there was some other name for it, a more official, scientific name, but this was just what he called it. Because it was white and puffy.

Conan quirked a brow, though thankfully didn't question its name. “This looks just like the ones my knights picked out."

"Well, like I said, they don't know any better."

Kaito plucked it from his hands and broke it apart between his palms. "If the inside is all white, it's good to eat. If it's brown or tan, it's poisonous."

Conan nodded in understanding.

Kaito blankly stared at the uneven lumps of mushroom in his hands.

Why did he do that?

He should've used his paring knife for a cleaner cut. Then it wouldn't look like the crumpled snow on the underside of his boot.

"Do you have to cook it before you eat it, or can you just eat it like this?"

Kaito was startled by how close Conan had come. His breath tickled Kaito's ear and it took every ounce of will for Kaito to keep from jumping back.

"Well, it doesn't need to be cooked, but it'd taste better if it wa— what are you— why are you eating it?"

Kaito puffed on air, speechless at how Conan just took half a mushroom, brushed off the dirt, and boldly chowed down— even before Kaito was done talking.

"Hrm?" Conan's cheek was puffed like a chipmunk's. He held up a hand, asking Kaito for a moment, as he chewed his food thoroughly.

Conan's jaw moved slowly, working away at breaking the fleshy mushroom apart. The inspector's eyes flickered up in thought, like he was deciding whether he liked the taste or not.

Whatever conclusion the inspector reached, he gave a half nod at the remaining crumble in his hand.

And then he swallowed.

"Am I not supposed to?" Conan asked, picking up the conversation as if there hadn't been a long pause. "Didn't you say it can be eaten as is?"

"I did say that, but…"

Kaito just stared at him, because all Conan did was brush the dirt off the dirty mushroom. Mushrooms were more palatable when they were cooked. Nobles don't eat anything but cooked food.

Nobles don't go around snooping through his bag and chomping down leaves and raw mushrooms with gusto. Unless they fell off their horse and hit their head in their childhood.

Conan's eyes narrowed into a glare the longer Kaito didn't continue his thought. "What?"

"You can't just pick anything off the ground and eat it."

Kaito realized the blaring hypocrisy in what he said. And so did Conan, by the way those deep, blue eyes flattened into an unimpressed stare.

He knew that he knew.

"But you were doing that." Conan relentlessly pointed it out, but not without taking another bite of it.

"That and this are different, Royal Inspector."

Conan stared at him for a while, chewing slowly until a light of understanding crossed his eyes. He let out a snort, swallowed his remaining food, and shrugged.

"Food is food. As long as it gives me what I need, I'm not complaining about what I eat."

Conan had lifted his chin regally in that way he usually did in trying to sound authoritative. Kaito figured it was a habit from his inspector-sized days.

It'd be a lot more effective if the inspector didn’t have bits of mushroom peppering down his chin.

"We're in a forest to begin with; I'm not that daft to expect amazingly cooked meals from a chef."

Kaito bit back a snort. "Ouch, I thought I seasoned that rabbit pretty well."

"Anyway, my point still stands," Conan said, rolling his eyes and brushing Kaito's comment aside. How mean. "It's fine as long as I don't die from food poisoning. Though if I do, the prince will make sure that you'll be coming with me."

And at that, Conan drew a line across his neck with his finger. A grim gesture paired with a boyish smirk.

Kaito felt the corners of his mouth quirk into a smile. What a way to use his words against him.

"All right," Kaito seceded, lifting his hands up. "I was just trying to be considerate." Since the inspector was from nobility and all.

Conan laughed— an unexpected arms-clutching-his-stomach kind of laughter.

His smile was bright, childish even. Kaito didn't think the inspector could laugh in any way besides a scoff.

"Considerate? You? What kind of gourmet food can you find in a forest, anyways?"

By his words, Kaito should have been offended— should have frowned.

But— Conan's eyes twinkled as he brushed a knuckle under his eye. His burst of laughter was settling down, leaving a relaxed smile.

And here Kaito thought he was stranded in the woods with a stuffy, stick-up-his-ass kind of guy. Who could’ve guessed he could joke like that?

Kaito cleared his throat. "Hey, just so you know, there are some mushrooms here that the royal chefs would sh*t themselves to have. Top grade stuff, you know. Nobles spill their pockets for it."

"So, are you going to find those and serve them to me?" Now Conan's grin came much more easily, and it was the most playful one Kaito had ever seen yet.

Kaito blinked several times, mouth opening but at a complete loss of what to say.

And in that moment, Conan snickered again, "Didn't know I had a chef for a guard."

Kaito stared at him, brows drawn, because it hit him like a hammer to an anvil.

Conan was teasing him. What the hell.

When did the roles reverse?

Well, Kaito wasn't going to let him have the last say.

He clapped Conan on the back with his hand. "Consider yourself lucky! Cus for dinner, I'll prepare the best course for you yet."

The way Conan's smug grin dropped quickly made satisfaction plume in Kaito's chest.

Conan glared at him with suspicion, and it only made Kaito smile wider. It was really fun goading a reaction out of him.

"What are you planning?"

"Shh, don't you know how to wait?" Kaito tsked, shaking his head as he collected his bag away from him.

Truthfully, Kaito bluffed. Like he always did. Now he'll actually have to find something amazing in the woods to back his words.

Though the feeling wasn't all too bad. Somehow the air smelled sweeter and felt a little more refreshing.

Kaito adjusted the rucksack over his chest and stood up. He patted away the dirt and twigs left on his pants.

Conan understood the cue and started to brush the bits off his hands with a light clap-clap.

Funnily enough, Conan was the one who stood up and announced, "All right, let's keep going."

Something had definitely changed since their break time.

Gone were the unhappy mumblings about how useless each stringy limb was. And instead, the traveling duo had fallen into a lull of peace and quiet.

And rustling.

Every so often, Kaito would glance back curiously, wondering what the inspector was doing on the ground or with his body leaning against the bush.

Did he fall? Was he resting?

All he saw was Conan's oversized cloak dwarfing his entire body. Kaito had tied his scarf around Conan's head and neck, swallowing him in more fabric.

The first few times, Kaito had asked, "Uh, do you need another break?"

And every time, Conan's head had jerked up, Kaito would see a glimmer of those blue eyes and wind bit cheeks. The hood shook side to side. "Huh? No, I'm fine."

So Kaito was inclined to believe him and let the issue go, even when the inspector looked like he keeled over with his hand resting on the loose ground.

Conan coughed again.

That was the fifth time Kaito had counted. These weren't the dry, short coughs that came when he so as much breathed wrong, but the deep coughing fits that seemed to punch the air out of him at the end.

It was getting colder the more uphill they climbed. At some point, Conan was slow to respond to Kaito and slow to push himself back to his feet.

Now Kaito wouldn't consider himself the most caring of people, but— the Royal Inspector was gonna die if they continued like this.

And if he died, Kaito would too.

So Kaito, like any man with a strong sense of self preservation, fished out his idle project, confirmed that the alchemic powders did their job, and tied it around Conan's neck.

Once Conan blearily got a closer look at the fuzzy, brown scarf, his expression became scandalized.

"Is this the dead rabbit?"

Before Conan could flail, Kaito pulled the knot tighter. The rabbit fur tickled Conan's red nose and he scrunched his face.

Pft.

Kaito cleared his voice to keep his laugh from escaping. The fur did a great job of keeping Conan from seeing his sh*t-eating grin.

"The pelt's already tanned and dried. So shush your whining."

Thankfully, whatever the inspector was going to say was quickly dissolved into a coughing fit.

Which was good, because Kaito took the opportunity to tie the second rabbit around the first.

Lunchtime.

Kaito had swept out a clearing on the forest floor for a small campfire. Nothing big, just enough for him to set down a wire mesh to roast some mushrooms.

Like a moth to a flame, the red-blue creature waddled close and dropped to his haunches. The cloak swallowed his legs fully. He looked like an unmoving boulder.

It seemed that the inspector had finally come to accept how stout and stubby his limbs were, given how he stopped mentioning them at every turn of the hour.

The Royal Inspector worked like clockwork. He needed a sitting break every half hour, and he needed a defrosting break every four hours.

Kaito recalled the salesman saying that warming potions were effective for twelve hours. But after watching Conan, it seemed to only keep the cold at bay for a few hours before the guy looked like death chilled over.

Who knew the Royal Inspector had such a weak and frail constitution that even warming potions were barely effective.

Kaito could only shake his head in pity.

He turned his eyes to the mushrooms that were slowly charring over the fire. He poked at them with the tip of his dagger.

Yet, the more he tended to the mushrooms, the more Kaito felt a prickling heat on the side of his head that wasn't from the fire.

Ah. It hurt. Like stabbing needles into his face. Kaito lifted his eyes and resisted startling.

The creature had fully defrosted and somehow inched close enough to be right next to him. When the hell did that happen and how did Kaito not notice?

Kaito didn't know what to say but let out a confused noise, "Uhm…"

He watched the blue cloak billowing about. There was also a rustling of cloth as he saw the faintest flash of fingers.

And from those fingers— broken mushrooms, leafy stems, and berries in various shades of red tumbled onto the flap of the rucksack Kaito had dropped on the ground.

Conan's hands slid back under the cloak to clutch around his knees.

"Would you say these can be eaten?"

Kaito stared down at the sizable mountain of forest snacks.

"Wait— was that why you were crawling all over the dirt a while back?"

Conan gave him a look, eyes narrowed. His cheeks were red, but they had always been that way for the last few hours.

The only thing different was the annoyed downturn of Conan's lips.

"I wasn't crawling, I was foraging."

Foraging— he was following what Kaito had been doing. Getting his hands dirty and frozen while searching for mushrooms and leafy stems.

Like the bundle of sticks Conan brought to him that night they went to retrieve his sword.

Conan didn't need to do it, yet he still did. He overturned his cloak pockets and brought his contributions.

This was beyond a nobleman's whimsical whimsy of playing a commoner.

"Well?" Conan prompted him, impatient. "Don't tell me they're all poisonous."

Kaito blinked out of his stupor, finally staring down at the bundle for what they were.

"Well…"

Truthfully, it was a mess.

The mushrooms looked like they were stepped on and had seen better days. The leaves were crumpled and bruised. And the berries— some unripe and others overly ripened.

He stretched out a hand and carefully sorted through the mushrooms first. Kaito tossed aside the lookalikes. Small round, puffy mushrooms but—

"Why? Aren't they white in the middle? I made sure to check."

Kaito's mouth opened slightly in realization. That explained why each mushroom was broken into pieces. Conan was meticulously checking.

"Puffballs don't have ridges underneath," Kaito answered as he turned over one of the rejects. He traced his finger along the cap. "They usually grow like— well, a puffball."

"Hmm," Conan answered, but otherwise gracefully accepted Kaito's explanation. He watched Kaito sort through the rest of the array with an unwavering intensity, as if waiting for Kaito to pass a verdict of some kind.

"The rest of these are fine," Kaito decided to say.

Not perfect, but fine. Good enough for a noble's first jaunt on the forest floor. He’ll give him that much.

"The leaves weren't like this." Conan had picked one up and frowned at it. Clearly, he was unhappy with its condition. Even Kaito would think twice about eating it.

"That usually happens when you shove them into your pockets any which way."

Which was surprising.

For someone who Kaito thought was a regal, noble inspector, Kaito expected more delicacy or something.

Then again, Kaito's expectations kept getting overturned today, so it'd probably be better if he just stopped having any in the first place.

Conan dropped the leaf, though his frown still remained. He picked up a ripe red berry. "At least this one's fine?"

"Yeah, should be fine," Kaito agreed.

Blowing the dirt off, Conan examined it before popping it into his mouth. He chewed slowly as his frown twisted into a grimace.

Kaito laughed, peering over to get a glimpse at the way Conan's eyes scrunched tight.

So he wasn't that good with sweet things, huh.

"Not good?"

Conan’s tongue peeked out the slightest. "Not good."

With mushrooms, bread, and ham prepared and then eaten, Conan had long given up the pretense of keeping his clothes clean from dirt.

He flopped against the ground and sagged under the weight of a cloak and three scarves.

Kaito took inventory of the remainder of their foraged food. Enough mushrooms for two meals, some wild leaves, and enough tart berries to fill a pouch. Seeing how haggard the inspector still was after their lunch break, Kaito announced that he'll make sugared berries out of everything they'd found so far.

Conan would just have to sit for at least another half hour.

He didn't protest.

Conan only bunched his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and settled on watching Kaito pull out a small cast iron.

Kaito wished he could say that he was slowly getting used to the inspector's habit of sitting and watching with those piercing eyes of his. But the truth was that Kaito still felt like every move of his was scrutinized and silently criticized.

Conan didn’t think or behave like most nobles— that much he had proved so far. It was probably the fact that Kaito wouldn’t ever know what kind of thoughts churned in the inspector’s mind that made him all the more uneasy.

After a while, Conan's head started to nod and soon enough, the inspector buried his face into his arms.

To rest or to nap, Kaito wasn’t sure, but he just continued stirring berries into syrup, content on listening to the crackle of fire.

After his post-lunch nap, Conan became a lot chattier.

Kaito wondered if he had no one but himself to blame.

Kaito had given the inspector some sugar dusted berries to try, wondering how he’d like them. Sure Kaito knew that Conan disliked the overly ripened ones, but what of the tart ones?

Kaito had remembered Conan clutching onto a pouch of candied plums the first time they met.

And it turned out that Kaito's guess was right. Conan ended up devouring the tart berries while licking his fingers from the sugary coating.

Conan was also probably bored, since the path became much more scarce and dry. The trees were still bare, leaving only their branches. There were no more things to forage.

And so, a sugar-hyped inspector broke the silence with a question.

It must be a Royal Inspector trait— to always sniff and dig for secrets in the name of open curiosity. Now, Kaito was used to being questioned with spearing questions, but that clear, no nonsense gaze made him all the more nervous for no damn reason.

Conan asked him: "Can I ask you a question?"

Which was a massive improvement from having Conan throw knife-like questions at him from the beginning.

But now, Kaito had to agree to have knives thrown at him.

"Do I get to say no?"

"What other things do you know how to do?"

Kaito was ignored and rolled over like a bug under a donkey cart.

“You know how to do magic tricks, imitate accents, survive in a forest,” Conan listed, his voice muffled by the scarves tied securely around his neck and chin. Kaito threw a glance behind him. Conan’s eyes were searching the scenery as he was searching his memory. “Swindle children.”

Never mind, Kaito felt more like a bug under a magnifying glass being poked by a needle.

Kaito scoffed. “Oi, oi, didn’t we agree to drop the swindling—”

“Pickpocket like a petty thief. Sneak past the palace knights— in which case, I want to ask why. You have an identification badge from his highness, don’t you?”

Kaito had nothing to defend himself from the accusation aside from: “Well, it’s faster that way.”

“Faster…” Conan repeated, the word sounding hollow coming from his lips. But thankfully, he didn’t try to pick apart or refute Kaito’s answer. Instead, he just waved a hand and in turn, waved away the topic. “So, what else? His royal highness said you were quite useful.”

Now Kaito wasn’t sure what to say.

On one hand, it was kind of nice that the prince advocated for him in that way. But on the other hand— it wasn’t like Kaito had prepared a ready made list of things he knew how to do.

Rudimentary magic tricks aside, there wasn’t anything he could preen about.

And the things he thought were basic were apparently note-worthy to the inspector.

Kaito rubbed his chin, thinking.

Something inane.

Something pointless.

“I know how to tell the time without a watch.”

“Without a watch?” Conan’s voice floated near his elbow, and the stiff branches under his boot crackled. Judging by the cadence in his voice, Conan sounded intrigued.

All right, let’s go with that.

Kaito raised his fingers to frame the clear, cloudless sky. Now that the trees were becoming sparse as they went, he could see the horizon over the rocky dips of the mountain. He made a show of stacking his gloved fingers upon one another, squinting at the sun and counting.

“It’s about 1:13.”

He heard Conan fumbling under his layers of clothes to fish out the silver pocket watch he kept in his tunic. There was the jingle of the chain and a long pause.

“1:14,” Conan read. He looked up, eyebrows dipping, but now a strange glint had possessed his very blue eyes. Kaito wasn’t sure if he liked seeing that or not. “That had to be a lucky guess.”

Kaito shrugged. “Eh, you can believe it or not, Tantei-kun.”

It didn’t matter anyways.

"It's 2:34," Kaito answered, dropping his hand from the sky. When he lowered his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of Conan, with his mouth hanging open, looking down at his pocket watch. “How’s that?"

"Right again," Conan mumbled. His eyebrow raised as he scratched his head under his cloak hood. “How do you get it right on the mark? I don’t understand.”

This guy was stubborn.

Of course he had to be, if he was the Royal Inspector.

Kaito had thought that he escaped the harrowing game of many questions earlier, but Conan sprung it up on him right when Kaito forgot about the whole thing. Conan was hell bent on testing him every odd few minutes later.

Once upon a time long ago, Kaito had made a bet with the prince that he— for a few coppers— could tell the time to the minute. And when he did, the prince just nodded in approval, handed him a silver and said, That’d be very helpful, indeed. And left Kaito with that.

Which wasn’t the reaction Kaito expected the crown prince to have. Nor did he even want the extra silver.

But Tantei-kun, oh, Tantei-kun was true to his title of Royal Inspector. He couldn’t leave any mysteries unturned and spent the majority of the hike, turning his brain inside out on how Kaito, with only his fingers and hands, could make such an accurate guess.

If someone— anyone— was to grab Kaito by the wrist and unwrap his bandages, they’d see the wrist watch he had been staring at the whole time.

Which wasn't to say that Kaito couldn’t do it on his own. This was much easier and faster, and more hilarious to watch.

Somehow scamming the Royal Inspector felt more rewarding than scamming the Crown Prince.

“I’ll figure it out before nightfall,” Conan confidently declared. To which Kaito laughed as he pushed aside some draping branches in his path.

“That’s if you don’t die first from the cold,” Kaito said as he took a breath of the mountain air. It smelled like dirt and crumpled leaves. They were nearing the peak of the mountain now and they had to head westward to follow the slope.

He took a cursory glance around, wondering if it was about time for another sitting break, when the shifting sky caught his attention.

Low hanging gray clouds loomed over the distance and judging by the blow of the wind— it was going to roll over them soon.

It didn’t look good.

It definitely didn’t look good.

“Right, so, Tantei-kun,” Kaito stepped back to meet Conan midway up the hill. Ignoring Conan’s questioning glance, Kaito reached into Conan’s cloak and fished out the map that had been carefully folded into the inner pocket. “Change of plans.”

Kaito flicked open the map and spread it against the ground. He had a rough estimate where they were, seeing how they passed the 37th ribbon.

“What? Did something happen?” Conan’s voice hovered near his shoulder. They’d have to take a detour past the next tree— no, there was a cliff there. Dead end.

“Yeah, it’s gonna storm,” Kaito explained, as he drew imaginary lines with his finger. They’d have to go down the way they came and follow the stream. If he remembered right, the cabin should be somewhere in the dense forest. “We should hurry.”

Conan, who usually had enough spunk to fight and quip, must’ve recognized the urgency because he didn’t say anything else nor ask any more questions once Kaito bundled up the map and crammed it into his rucksack.

Storm was a gross understatement.

The first flitter of snow fell when they were walking back down the mountain. As they marched downhill, the forest had gone quiet. The animals had all escaped to their dens and burrows.

Kaito felt the slip in the ground underneath his boot as the white slowly piled on the forest floor. The frost was starting to set in, and the sloping hills were dusted with a flurry of snow that was getting worse by the second.

Kaito squinted through the white flakes whisking around them. He had started offering his arm for the inspector to grab after he slipped a few moments back, but now Conan's movements had slowed to a crawl. His glasses frosted over and his debilitating coughs had returned.

Snow was starting to cover the top of his head like dust.

They were barely halfway there.

The weather was such a bitch to deal with.

Kaito readjusted the rucksacks to cross over his chest.

“I know you hate it, but I’m gonna carry you.”

That got a reaction out of him and Conan jerked his head up. “What? I can—”

In a swift movement, Kaito had taken Conan’s arm over his neck and grabbed his leg, swinging him fully onto his back. Conan’s hands instinctively clutched around Kaito’s neck for purchase as he squeaked in surprise.

“Wasn’t asking.”

Taking a deep breath, Kaito steeled himself, eyes mapping the trail out in front of them. There were still spots of uncovered ground. They could make it if he ran.

“You should hold on,” Kaito advised, though he wasn’t really keen on listening for an answer. The snow crunched under his boots as he picked up the pace.

The only indication that Conan had listened was the warm puff of breath against the side of his neck and the fingers digging into the fabric of his tunic.

Kaito was out of breath.

And cold.

And very wet.

He shook his head slightly, trying to free the stubborn snowflakes that were clinging to his hair, but to no avail. He was thoroughly soaked. He slowed to a trot, his lungs burning from the sharp, cold air.

Icy breath filtered from his lips as he gazed at the wooden cabin and the steps leading to it.

“We’re here. You’re not dead yet, are you?”

The warm lump on his back roused, raising his face from the crook of his neck. If Kaito felt cold, Conan was probably ten times worse. His voice was small, lifeless. “Where’s here?”

The steps creaked under Kaito’s weight as he stepped up onto the cabin’s porch. “It’s a hunting lodge used by some noble during the winter.”

Kaito balanced Conan on his back as he knelt, reaching for his tools in one of his tunic belts. “But he usually leaves by spring so we can camp here till the storm is over.”

Conan made a feeble noise before his face rolled back into Kaito’s neck. At least his grip on Kaito was steadfast, though his whole body had become limp.

Kaito made quick work with the lock, fitting in the sticks of metal and jiggling it about until he heard a click.

He whisked the tools away and opened the door with a kick of his boot.

It was barren— to be expected. The noble was the stingy kind, one who ordered his servants to transport and arrange furniture at the beginning of fall and to take it down once the spring buds arrived.

There was only a table and chair, leftover firewood, and the fireplace with its poker still propped near it. On the wall, stuffed animal heads of the noble’s prized hunts.

Still, it was much better than outside.

Kaito firmly shut the door behind them. The windows were covered with a frayed curtain, though the blinding snowstorm was pouring a murky light into the room.

Setting Conan on the floor, Kaito’s first order of business was a fire.

The ice had bitten through his gloves and Kaito fumbled to find the dry kindling that he had kept carefully in his bag. Breathing through his teeth, it took him a few attempts to strike the edge of his dagger against his flint to create the sparks.

He uncaringly tossed a few sticks of wood to get the fireplace started before he went about the second order of business.

Clothes.

Kaito was sopping from his head and as the snow melted away from the fire and into his skin, he detached the belts around his waist and peeled off his layers of tunic, throwing them on the side to dry.

He kicked off his boots, thankful that the snow hadn’t gotten to his pants. He could be spared from being entirely naked.

Kaito glanced around the large cabin again, clicking his tongue— there really wasn’t anything useful here. No kind of bedding here. Maybe he’ll take down the curtains for a makeshift blanket—

“Why are you doing that?”

Kaito jumped a little at Conan’s sharp accusation. When he looked back, the inspector had uprighted himself from the floor, and although he looked feeble, there was confusion on his face.

Kaito looked back at the curtains he was dismantling from the rods. “What? We need blankets?”

“I didn’t mean that. Why are you undressing?” Conan would've flailed if he could. Kaito wondered if the inspector was in a momentary daze, too cold to have realized how soaked they've become.

But now that Kaito noticed, everything that had piled on Conan looked a shade darker and much, much wetter.

Kaito arched his brow before he clambered back to where Conan was with the curtains in tow. “What are you talking about? You’re gonna get sick if you keep those on, now off."

The blue in Conan's eyes sparked in realization as he glanced down at himself, but Kaito was much faster, hands nabbing the hem of his cloak.

“Wait, I can do it mysel—”

Kaito yanked each layer off Conan’s scrawny limbs until his clothes joined Kaito’s near the fire— a sopping, wet mess. The fleece-lined pants had been thick enough to keep snow from getting to his stockings, but it still had to go since it was laden heavily with frost.

And so Conan was left in his inner hosen and arms wrapped around his chest either for warmth or privacy.

“Gah, I could've done it myself—” he grumbled, though his shoulders shook all the more violently.

Conan was all skin and bones, rib cage prominent under his paper thin skin.

The realization hit Kaito all at once— he was supposed to guard this scrawny ass kid while he chased after bandits and some smuggling ring (which was an already ridiculous situation to begin with), but how was Kaito to do his job if he dies from hypothermia first?

Kaito made a grab for Conan’s thin arm, and without delicacy or finesse, tried to haul him to his lap. “All right, come here— mmph."

He got a palm knocking into his chin, his teeth clicked painfully. Through Conan’s frosty fingers, he could see the inspector’s face flamed red to the roots of his hair. “What the hell— Why? Let go!”

“Why else?! You’re so tiny, you’re gonna die faster than me, so shut up and come here, so we can warm you up—”

For a kid-sized body that had twigs for arms, Conan was fending Kaito off pretty well, with his elbows locked and shoving Kaito back with fervor.

Kaito would commend him on using his nails if it weren’t for the fact that he was gonna die if he kept this up.

With a labored huff, Conan wormed out of his grasp and made a dive for the rucksack. “Wait, stop— we have warming elixirs for this!”

A vial spilled out and rolled about before Conan swiped it desperately.

Kaito’s arms fell slightly as he stared at the red liquid swirling behind the glass. His shoulders were stinging from where Conan scratched him.

He could say nothing, but dumbly admit, “Oh. I forgot.”

He watched Conan fiddle with the cap, grumbling something about how insane Kaito was for doing what he did. Conan drank half and handed the vial to him. Kaito looked doubtful at his outstretched hand. Was that even enough to tide the inspector for the night?

“It’ll last,” Conan said as if he read his mind.

It’d be a lot more convincing if his teeth weren’t chattering and his breath wasn’t coming out in rigid puffs.

At another nudge, Kaito sighed and accepted the bottle. He drank it down without a pause, frowning at the spicy tang that left a burst of warmth on his lips. Ugh, disgusting.

While Kaito was making faces at the empty vial, Conan had retrieved one of the curtains Kaito had taken down and wrapped himself modestly. The tussle earlier seemed to have drained whatever spurt of energy he had and he was content with shutting his eyes and wilting into himself.

Feeling the burst of the warming potion blooming from his chest, Kaito actually didn’t really need the extra curtain. He bundled it up and then tossed it over Conan’s shoulder. Conan mumbled something but otherwise settled back into exhaustion.

Now to assess the damage.

Kaito sighed as he picked apart their wet clothes and spread them against the wooden flooring. Even if the snow storm passed in a few hours, it’d take more than a night for their clothes to dry completely.

He checked on his sugared berries, wondering if the wetness had melted the syrup off them and made a mess in his rucksack. But the hemp rucksack was sturdy and waterproof, which thankfully kept all their belongings and supplies snow-free.

“It doesn’t seem like it’ll stop soon,” Conan commented behind him. He was watching the blur of white mercilessly beat against the windows.

“We’ll have to stay here overnight,” Kaito agreed, just as he finished laying out his daggers and weapons on the side. There went his idea of trapping a wolf.

Although they had store bought food to tide them over, Kaito felt slightly disappointed he wouldn't be able to see Conan's knee jerk reaction to seeing Kaito hauling a wolf over his shoulder.

Well, another day. They'd probably have more triasts in the forest chasing after criminals and what have yous.

Kaito finished polishing off his tools from the melted drops of snow when he put them down with a clatter.

He didn't even need to look to know. "Yes, you have another question."

Conan didn't even pretend to be shameful. He wiggled closer with the curtains bundled around him.

He looked more alive than he was ten minutes ago. "Are those the tools you used to pick the lock open?"

Kaito blinked, surprised that Conan had been alive to even watch him fumble with the lock.

Conan was studying the metal picks Kaito had scattered next to his daggers, his curiosity didn't stop him from touching them too. "I didn't know blacksmiths would even think to make these. Did they know they were complicit in thievery by providing these tools?"

"Actually, they only make these for locksmiths. You know, in case somebody lost their key to some document chest or some manor," Kaito rebutted. "They gotta know how to open the lock without the keys."

Kaito didn't miss the way Conan stared at him, studying and accusatory. "So, you're a locksmith now?"

Oh. That's why.

Kaito cleared his throat. "Um, well. You know."

But didn't have any better answer.

How could he worm out of this one now, short of saying he "borrowed" it from a locksmith back in the capital.

The sticks jangled and clinked as Conan tested their weight in his hand.

"Can you teach me how you did it?"

"What?" Kaito's mind blanked. He wondered if his ears had been clogged with snow. "Am I hearing right, or is the Royal Inspector changing his career?"

Conan flushed red at that. "I mean, it’ll come in handy, won't it? Just in case, I get locked away or chained up, you know."

Kaito leveled a gaze at him for a long while, brows knitted in confusion. He wondered what kind of situation Conan would find himself in. Chained up? Locked away in a cage?

"I thought Royal Inspectors use their brain to catch criminals, not get caught by them."

Conan shrugged that away and Kaito wasn't sure what that meant.

"It's still useful," Conan insisted. "So, teach me."

It wasn't a question anymore. It was a demand.

There it was— the tell tale sign of a noble. How ironic that a noble's entitlement cropped up on the topic of picking locks.

Kaito was sure if he refused, Conan wouldn't put his tools down. Maybe he'd sneak it away from him and try something on his own.

Kaito pinched the bridge of his nose. He gave up trying to logic out Conan's intentions. "Sorry to say, but to practice picking locks, we first need a lock—"

"Problem solved," Conan answered and clunked something from his rucksack. It glistened under the flicker of the flames, and Kaito stared at it.

Metal shackles with a short chain attaching them together.

This suddenly explained why Conan's rucksack was stupidly heavy, all supplies aside. It had to have been put in a hidden compartment somewhere if Kaito didn't find it.

"Don't tell me you put that in your rucksack and made me walk around all day carrying that."

"You carried it all on your own," Conan said uncaringly, and Kaito pressed his lips thin because he did steal the bag off Conan's back. His heart of gold was too golden sometimes.

"Why do you even have that with you?" Kaito frowned at it, feeling the familiar, phantom weight of those metal links. Nasty memories with those, oof.

"To put criminals in shackles, of course?" Conan asked as if it was the most obvious question in the world. And it was, given how he was the Royal Inspector, but—

"What kind of criminals can you catch with that tiny body of yours anyways?"

Kaito was too flabbergasted to even laugh at the imagery of the half-sized inspector trying to tow away a criminal. Conan would have to threaten them at dagger point — that is if he wasn't kicked away first. Shackles only worked when there was someone to ground them, and Conan had twigs for limbs.

Suddenly, Kaito sympathized and understood all of Conan's grievances.

Indeed, how pitiful that the Royal Inspector was reduced to this.

"Give me your hand," Conan said, steadfastly holding onto his pride as he opened his palm in front of him.

Kaito raised a brow, wondering what Conan would even want with it—

Clack.

Kaito felt clammy fingers wrapping around his other wrist, lifting it up, before it was replaced by another clack.

Kaito dumbly stared down at his hands and the metal cuffs around it.

Why did Kaito do that.

Conan leaned back with an amused twinkle in his eye and a sh*t-eating grin.

"See, it's not that hard," Conan said, huffing proudly. His lips were still tilted in that sly manner. "I just caught one."

Kaito wasn't sure how he should feel.

Bewildered at the fact that Conan even cuffed him in the first place and was twirling the key around his finger?

Ashamed of himself for being cuffed so easily? Even the Royal Chief of Guards, who had sworn to throw cuffs on him, couldn't even touch him.

Indignant that Conan considered him (a man with a heart of gold!!) a criminal?

Or just speechless at the realization that Conan had a slight dimple on his cheek when he smiled—

"Here you go." Conan handed Kaito's tools to him. The smooth metal picks were inserted into his loose grasp and the bundle of white, silk curtains shifted until it bumped into his knee.

"I learn best by watching, so have at it."

So Kaito was coerced into doing this. Picking his way out of the cuffs with the inspector stuck to his side.

Kaito sighed as he balanced the familiar weight of his tools in his hands. He spun the stick with his fingers before angling it correctly. With well practiced movements, the metal of the shackles loosened.

It was off in seconds.

Kaito rubbed his wrist where the cold metal had been. "I can't believe I fell for that."

Conan's fingers clutched his wrist, his eyes wide and alarmed. "Wait. I didn't get to see it."

Kaito gave him an exasperated look, because he wasn't gonna let this guy cuff him again for demonstration purposes.

"See what? You don't learn by seeing locks being picked. You pick and learn."

Clack.

"There." Kaito dusted his hands and let the metal cuffs sit heavy on Conan's thin wrists.

They stared at it in shared silence, the realization dawning on them both that Conan could probably squeeze his bony wrists out of any handcuff and this whole thing was starting to spell itself as unnecessary—

"They don't make child-sized handcuffs," Kaito answered before Conan could even open his mouth to justify this whole thing.

Conan closed his mouth, though by the way his eyes flickered to the corner of the room and then to the deer antlers on the wall, he was thinking.

"It'll be useful one day," Conan finally said. There was something in his voice that sounded so sure and convinced, even though Kaito didn't particularly share the same view.

Well, it didn't matter since Conan had taken the picks on his own. He mimicked the angle in which Kaito had inserted the wrench and started to fiddle with the pick.

Kaito leaned his face into his hand and settled to being the one to watch Conan tinker with the too big cuffs.

Maybe there would come a day when Conan got cuffed with child-shackles and put into a child-sized cage where he'll pick out of it with child-sized picks.

The tools Kaito had were a little too long and heavy for Conan's fingers to get a grip on.

Kaito covered his face with his hand.

Ugh.

"You know what, try these instead," Kaito said and handed Conan a shorter tension wrench and pick. It was the tool set he had wrapped firmly around his wrists, if in the rare case, he ever got cuffed.

Which he didn't think would ever happen, until just a few minutes ago.

"Should I ask why you have another set?"

Despite his words, Conan was quick to adopt it into his hands, breathing a sigh of relief at how much easier it was to hold.

"For emergencies." And Kaito said nothing more.

The crackle of flames in front of them filled the silence and Kaito felt warmer than ever with the elixir's effect reaching his fingertips. Even Conan, who had been shivering like a brittle leaf in a violent wind, had completely forgotten about it and warmed up.

His brows were drawn in focus and concentration. Kaito idly wondered when Conan would impatiently throw the tools into the air and squirm out of the handcuffs on his own.

Kaito knew that most nobles had a shorter than average fuse when it came to doing anything new.

Two minutes passed.

The chains between the cuffs kept clinking and clanking.

Opening locks wasn't easy.

Kaito couldn't exactly remember the first time he pried open a lock. But one of the earlier instances involved him cracking open the locks to a gated forest the townspeople warned all the children not to frolic in.

But Kaito had been infamous for not listening.

Four minutes.

A loud sigh interrupted him from his thoughts. Kaito felt Conan leaning his weight against his side.

"All right, give me a hint," Conan not-asked, resting his wrists with the heavy linked cuffs around it. "Poking around isn't doing anything."

"We got time, it's not like we're going anywhere anyways for the rest of the day."

Conan gave him a wilting glare.

"All right, fine, geez." Even Kaito was starting to get frustrated on Conan's behalf. He took the tools from Conan's hand.

"Of course, poking around wouldn't get you anywhere. Anyone would be able to break out of prison if that was the case."

With a clack, the cuffs were undone and swiveling outward on its hinges.

"I know that," Conan mumbled, as Kaito clipped the cuffs shut, this time without anyone's wrists in it.

The shackles were off and laid on the floor.

"Tension wrench. Pick. They each have their own job to do," Kaito explained, raising each tool up. Conan straightened his back, eyes slightly widening to study the metal sticks.

Which was good— cus, Kaito wasn't gonna bother with explaining twice.

"The wrench goes bottom first into the plug, feel out the turn of the lock. Keep the pressure on, then put in the pick, this side up." Kaito felt the tickle of hair brush against his shoulder as Conan leaned over to get a look at the handcuffs.

"Imagine a row of pins, you have to keep a light pressure with the wrench, while using the pick to push the pins up inside. Each lock differs, but the idea is the same. The binding pin in the series has the most tension, and then once that's set inside the lock, you find another pin with the most tension. Rinse, repeat—"

As his words tumbled out, Kaito wondered why he was even taking the time to explain. Another part wondered if Conan even understood him.

Kaito moved his hands achingly slow, making sure to prod the pins into place as he spoke. Though Conan wouldn't be able to really observe anything aside from hearing the slight clicks as each pin was jiggled into place.

"So, from my understanding, there's a row of pins, and you're using the pick to nudge them upwards in the correct order while keeping the tension on the bottom."

Somehow the way Conan summarized it was more concise than Kaito was.

"That's the idea," Kaito said as he resumed speed and had the lock undone the next moment. "Theory is one thing, practice is another."

For all he knew, Conan could be some kind of genius and have the skill down to a pat after a few practices. If that was the case, then Kaito wouldn't need to explain it anymore.

Kaito reset the shackles, back to its original place and handed the tools back into Conan's hands. The tips of Conan's fingers weren't so frozen anymore.

"Have fun."

Patience was not Conan's virtue, but he sure had a lot of self-control.

After all, that had to be the only thing keeping Conan from throwing the handcuffs at the wall and sprawling across the floorboards and wailing like a child.

Conan had been fidgeting with the cuffs for more than an hour.

When it looked like he wanted to give up, he stopped, took a deep breath, and shut his eyes in some form of meditation. Probably to quell the building frustration.

Kaito left him to it, more than content with practicing his magic tricks. Flicking cards around, coins, practicing his sleight of hands.

Kaito somewhat expected Conan to give up on the lock picking and become intrigued with watching Kaito's magic tricks instead. But it turned out that once something grabbed the inspector's attention, he grabbed back with a vice grip.

After a long moment of passing time this way, the handcuffs dropped noisily against the floor.

"Seven," Conan sighed. "That's the first binding pin. I can't figure out the rest of the combination."

Kaito carded the deck back and forth, between his palms, deep in thought. The easy way out was to just tell Conan the combination code. 7351426.

But Kaito doubted the inspector would want that.

"Need help?"

Conan's answer was curt. "Obviously."

Considering how Conan wrestled with the lock for a good while but didn't throw word daggers everywhere in his frustration— Kaito forgave him. Well, not entirely.

Kaito jabbed his finger into his forehead. "Where's your manners?"

Conan flinched back, eyes wide and stunned.

"I—" Conan startled, but at least that discouraged expression was replaced with an annoyed frown. He rubbed his head. It looked like he was about to grind salt between his teeth by how tight his jaws clenched, but.

He shut his eyes. His cowlick on his head looked so feeble as he bowed his head. "Please…?"

Kaito organized his cards away into his rucksack.

Hm. Good enough.

Kaito leaned over him, taking hold of Conan's hand, right and left. The inspector jumped in alarm, but Kaito kept his hold firm. Conan was rigid down to his fingers that were still a touch cold.

Kaito had to readjust his own hands so he could get a better grip.

"I'll walk you through it, so you can feel how it's supposed to be."

At that, Conan's arms relaxed enough for Kaito to work with.

"When you move the pick, you can feel the pins," Kaito started. When Conan nodded, his hair was brushed against his cheek. "So, you got the seventh pin right."

Kaito took a breath and continued, showing Conan how to rake the pin to seek the second pin for the combination. He explained how to set it and then how to move onto the next—

There was a powdery scent coming from Conan's hair.

Something similar to dry wheat fields or ground flour.

Like the strike of the flint against a sharp blade, it sparked a realization.

So that's why his sparrows were pecking at the inspector whenever they could. It wasn't that they liked him, but they liked how he smelled.

He smelled like their favorite snacks. Which was strange. Do normal people smell like wheat?

It wasn't like Kaito smelled people on a regular basis. He wasn't weird like that.

Rather if he did notice anything, it was mostly the pungent smell of sweat stained clothes and dirty earth, smoked spices and burning wood, alcohol and tavern foods.

He wondered if it was the bar of soap from the tavern but— his birds had been pecking at Conan ever since their first jaunt in the forest to retrieve his sword.

"I think I get it," Conan said, breaking Kaito from his thoughts. He looked up, his hair sliding against Kaito's chin and to his shoulder. "I could try the rest on my own."

Kaito blinked, realizing that he had been mechanically rattling off instructions while he was smelling some other guy's hair.

"Oh, sure," Kaito murmured, quickly reminding himself where he was. In an empty lodge, in front of the crackling fire, with the handcuffs that Conan had been working and—

"Can… I have my hands back."

Kaito tore his hands off him and uprighted himself back to his original place. And for good measure, he reached for his rucksack just to give himself something to do instead of reeling in the embarrassment of being a weirdo.

"Erm, yep. Go ahead. Knock yourself out."

Kaito had given up sitting up and sprawled on the floor, emptily staring into the fire.

He had replenished their canteens with freshly fallen snow, checked if there was enough firewood to last them the night, and idly poked his nose everywhere in the cabin, hoping there was something to do.

Alas, he was doomed to boredom, lying on his back, head turned to the fire and just staring.

The clack, clanking was still going on.

Honestly, Kaito had no idea where that patience came from. It was just an hour ago when Conan gave up and asked for help.

But now he was right back at it. Though there was a time he had taken out his notebook to brainstorm all the possible combinations that the lock could have.

He was tenacious, Kaito would give him that much.

Bored, Kaito shut his eyes and continued to simply do nothing.

It happened in an instant— the sudden drop of metal against the wooden flooring and the scattered jingling on the floor.

Kaito jolted awake, heart thudding in his ears, hand immediately grabbing for the dagger sheathed on his thigh—

"Finally, it's open! It took so long."

Kaito looked dumbly as he relaxed his grip around the handle. Right, it was just them in a lodge, snow all around.

There couldn't be anyone else but them.

Conan was still huddled with his curtain-made cloak, but he had dropped both shackles carelessly in front of him. Both had been picked open.

He massaged his fingers and rotated his wrists.

"It's both impressive and annoying how the pressure had to be consistent else the lock system reset." Conan nodded to himself. "I suppose that's why locksmiths have such high commissions."

That was great and all, but jeez, could there be any more of a rude awakening?

Kaito dragged his hand down his face, wiping the remnants of sleep off his eyes.

"Wow, great. How long did it take you?" Kaito resisted a yawn.

Apparently enough time had passed for the cabin to have become this dark. The walls were bathed in the warm, orange light from the fireplace. Kaito glanced out the window; it was pitch black with a white frost crawling over the glass.

"Two hours," came Conan's eventual reply.

"And the guy would've rounded back and seen you picking the lock. Two hours’ too slow," Kaito drawled and scratched the back of his head. He could feel his hair sticking up in all sorts of ways.

"Do you expect me to have it opened in a few seconds?" Like you? went unsaid. Conan's tone was flat.

"No, of course not, it takes years of practice," Kaito said, not missing the way Conan's eyebrow quirked at that.

Before Conan could question anything, Kaito blithely continued, "Ten minutes. At least get good enough to pick it open in ten minutes.”

Conan glanced down at the cuffs and then back up at Kaito. His expression was glum.

“I need to do it in ten minutes.” It was a statement, laden with doubt.

“I thought the Royal Inspector could do that much.”

Conan shot him a glare, though it definitely lacked a bite. “You have such terribly high faith in my abilities.”

Maybe not abilities, but Kaito sure did have faith in his tenacity. The guy undid a lock in two hours when most people wouldn’t have the patience to sit through it all. Though by his expression, he seemed unwilling to subject himself to more torture.

“Tell you what. If you can do it, I’ll give you something.”

At the offer, Conan perked up, though he remained suspicious. “If it’s another dead rabbit, I don’t want it.”

“No, even better,” Kaito huffed whilst lifting a finger up. “A favor.”

Conan stared at him. His eyebrows dipped and his blue eyes were as judging as ever. He repeated.. “…a favor.”

“As you are aware, I’m a man of many capabilities and talents,” Kaito continued, sitting straight and patting himself on the chest. “I can be useful, but I operate on no one’s orders but mine alone.”

Well, except for the prince’s of course, but even then, Kaito was choosy with his missions.

“You can try it as many times as you like, but get it open in ten minutes, and I’ll do you a favor, anytime, anywhere, no questions asked. How’s that?”

Conan chewed on the thought, eyes flitting about. “…I’ll hold you to your word.”

Conan had shut the cuffs again and dug out his pocket watch. He had enough energy to try it again.

“Of course, I wouldn’t be so dishonorable to go back on my promises.”

Conan huffed, but then got right back into it, his fingers picking up the tools again to wiggle through them. Memorizing the combination was one thing, but feeling the pressure set by each pin was another.

Either way, he seemed determined to hunch back in his curtains and tinker away.

Good for him, Kaito thought as he settled back down. That’ll keep him occupied for the next few hours, maybe. He made himself comfortable again before dozing off.

Kaito awoke to the sound of incessant tapping and chirping against the window.

It was still the break of dawn.

Kaito blinked, staring up at the wooden banisters and feeling the stiffness of the hard floor against his back.

Turning his head, he saw that the morning air had permeated through the window. And at the sill was a bird, pecking and jumping.

Ah, so the prince received his message.

Kaito sat up, stretching his arms above his head. He took a breath and dropped them to his side, noticing that right next to him was a rolled up curtain.

After their dinner last night, Conan had been fiddling with the lock again, intent on breaking it open within the impossible time limit Kaito gave him. But Kaito didn't really keep track of how long he stayed up doing it, or how his progress went.

Kaito had been more than content with lazing well into the night.

Scattered on the floor were all the things the inspector had— the handcuffs, lockpicking set, his pocket watch, and a notebook with a list of numbers Kaito didn’t care too much to scour through.

Instead, Kaito noticed that Conan had rolled away from the mess on the floor and ended up next to Kaito's side, his back pressing against him.

Probably for warmth, Kaito thought as he glanced at the fireplace.

The fire had been reduced, now it was smoldering with remnants of firewood.

He'll have to stoke the flame back up, redress in dry clothes, pack up his rucksack, and get breakfast ready—

And let Clove in from the snow.

Clove was happily making a nest in Conan's bedhead. It wasn't a new sight to behold, but now that Kaito knew Conan smelled like wheat, he didn't feel as salty and annoyed at how quickly his sparrows changed loyalties.

Conan sleepily munching on his bread was also not another new sight to behold.

Kaito had watched the guy wake for the past few days and had estimated it'd be an hour until he was fully alert.

Until then, Kaito just had to keep handing him more bread and cheese until Conan was awake enough to complain about his jaw hurting.

Chapter 10: Out of the woods and nose first into books

Chapter Text

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10. Out of the woods and nose first into books.

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Paperwork.

Eugh.

The birds were twittering their afternoon song in the trees. Clouds were lumbering over distant mountain peaks.

Yet they were now shut inside a stuffy records room, looking through paperwork.

The remainder of their hike through the mountains had been peaceful and entirely uneventful. With both of them being well rested, fed and dried, they left the cabin, plowed through the snow, and headed down the mountain to Kurama.

Kaito had gotten very used to hauling Conan like a potato sack whenever he looked like he was keeling over. Likewise, Conan had gotten used to being hauled like a potato sack and gave up trying to fight against it.

The inspector had started welcoming the breaks from walking and even dozed off with his face tucked into the crook of Kaito's neck.

When they had arrived in Kurama, clothes all muddied and stuck with leaves, the streets welcomed them with a lively bustle. Some friendly town folk greeted them at the gates and ushered them along to a tavern to rest after the long journey.

Conan was adamant about walking through the inn door first and before Kaito could ask why, Conan was politely requesting a room for two and handing over silvers. Kaito figured the inspector was probably frazzled about his brotherly stunt in Toutou and didn’t want the events to repeat.

Kaito just shrugged and carried on.

Room acquired, Kaito honestly expected Conan to toss his bag aside and run off, boldly stomping towards the deduced hideouts.

But the hour passed slowly and they leisurely freshened up at the communal bath before having an actual bite to eat at the tavern.

The inspector didn’t hide his utter joy when he received the bowl of stewed rabbit. Kaito thoughtfully chewed his food, noting that the meat was boiled numb and concluded— rather than taste, it was texture that Conan minded.

For their next forest jaunt, Kaito should bring a small iron pot to boil the hell out of the wild meat. Maybe then, Conan wouldn’t fuss as much.

After all the bowls were cleaned and polished, Conan marched to the city hall with a letter from one notable Royal Inspector, Kudou Shinichi.

As Kaito ambled behind him and took in the sights of the streets, he tore off a Help Wanted poster, if only for the funnily drawn caricature of some old noble.

At the city hall with marble pillars stretching high above them, the receptionist received the letter. He nodded and then led them down to the annex where the records were.

Once there, some other official looking commoner went to fetch the documents that the Royal Inspector inquired about.

Whatever instructions were in the paper Conan handed to them, the guy wasted no time with carting thick books into the private room.

The man piled the stacks of books along the oak table, not stopping to think or wonder about how the pile of books started to loom over the tiny kid.

Indeed, for all the civil worker could assume, Kaito was the inspector's messenger and Conan was his apprentice.

How ironic that once the door was shut, leaving them alone, Conan was the one to plop onto the chair and crack open the bound records. The books creaked under his hand’s pressure.

And so here they were.

Some hours later.

Shut in a dusty study with the beautiful sunshine filtering through the foggy window.

Out of the woods and nose first into books.

All right. So, Kaito did read Conan's planned itinerary (written in shorthand) way back in the carriage. He really should have expected this. It wasn't like looking at merchant logs was such a big surprise.

But he thought Conan would glance over them quickly and then spring into action, zooming off north, west, east, or whichever way back into the woods.

But of course, the inspector was more than content to hunker down and read.

Where was the sense of urgency? The adventure? Catching the ring of no good criminals?

Kaito dragged his hands over his face and sighed.

Though he had to say, Conan looked much more lively than when he was out bearing through the cold. The inspector’s gaze had sharpened into intense focus and concentration.

Kaito's eyes felt strained just watching him scan over numbers and dates.

While Conan was hard at work, there wasn't anything for Kaito to do, but walk around the study room, staring at the small ornaments they put on the barren bookshelves for some semblance of cheer.

He dug through his pockets for his deck of cards and instead found the poster that he swiped earlier.

There was an upcoming spring ball hosted by Count Whoever, and the house was furiously trying to hire extra hands to get the banquet prepared. Kaito studied the paper, taking in the proffered wages and the expected duties.

It was definitely a noble-like thing to plan a banquet but scramble helplessly for staff the week prior. Nobles really thought money could solve all their poor time management problems.

Kaito folded the paper away into his tunic and glanced out the window. He watched a donkey cart rattling quickly towards the large manor peeking over the store buildings.

Apparently the call of help attracted swarms of people on the streets. And Kaito would usually take the opportunity if it meant he could perform for a crowd.

But unfortunately, they didn't have time to frolic. Conan was too busy poring over his books in focused silence. And even though the inspector had dismissed him, it didn't sit right with Kaito to leave him where he was.

At the oak desk and buried in work.

What's there to guard me against? Books? Conan had scoffed.

Indeed, the next perilous danger that could most threaten the inspector's life was being crushed to death by the stacks of records.

Kaito should enjoy the calm while it lasted. He had kept the inspector from dying in the cold forest, and now that they were in the safety of the records hall, Kaito should revel in a job well done.

But now he was stuck waiting.

And waiting— was so dreadfully boring.

"You know, I said you could go outside," Conan spoke as he turned a page. The inspector wasn't even looking up.

Despite Kaito making sure to keep his footsteps silent, his pacing must've been obvious.

"That's boring."

"Then stop looking so miserable."

As if Kaito could help it.

He pressed his lips together and crossed, then uncrossed his arms.

With nothing else to do, Kaito meandered close to the large oak table.

Bound books have been flattened and pressed with the corners from other books.

Conan had spread his map across what little space there was. He'd draw imaginary lines with his charcoal pen, shake his head, and then start over from Kurama.

Kaito wasn't sure what Conan was seeing in those merchant logs. There were just names of peddlers that wheeled through the town during what date and time. How those related to the map was beyond Kaito's understanding.

But there was a gleam in Conan's eyes that sparkled as he chewed on his lip, gears in his mind whirring about. He was like that for a long while, brows furrowing when he hit an obvious dead end, or brightening up when he grasped onto a thought.

All the while, Kaito decided to count, toe to boot, how wide the study was. Every so often, he looked up to check on Conan, ever unmoving.

Then finally, something changed.

With a light that crossed his eyes, Conan reached an epiphany, and a confident grin spread on his lips.

"Found them," Conan said triumphantly, and Kaito stood a little straighter against the wall he had been leaning on. He took several steps closer to peer over at the map.

There were two circles drawn— or, had been. Conan darkened one over the other and Kaito could only assume that was the place.

"How'd you figure?" Kaito didn't usually ask questions— he didn't care to— but his boredom got the better of him.

Conan reoriented the books in Kaito's directions, rows of names and other painstakingly penned information.

"There are a few merchants that I found suspicious a few months ago. They established themselves as a branch from a guild that had long gone bankrupt, though it went unnoticed until I found the discrepancy in their records. Their declaration of goods didn't match the submitted income, and the quantity declared isn't consistent with the amount of wagons they use."

Kaito nodded slowly, as Conan flattened a folded paper he took from his notebook. It was a transcription of a taxsheet taken from the capital's accounting firm.

Or so he figured by the seal stamped on the top.

The paper was pushed into Kaito's hands. He just squinted his eyes at it. Numbers made his head hurt, the short hand even more so. It didn't matter that it was written neatly, just that it was written was enough to make his head throb.

Conan continued rattling on, grabbing bound books and pointing his finger at some section Kaito glanced over.

In one ear, out the other.

It wasn't like Kaito wasn't listening — he was! He just wasn't making a lot of sense with it. There were too many tax-related laws and words that Conan referenced. Genius as Kaito liked to think he was, the crown prince never had him study finance.

Kaito just pretended to understand, nodding along as Conan bubbled over with grand gestures and a voice of authority.

"Six months ago, a general good's store had been bought and turned into a storehouse, where these merchants load their cargo—"

He looked like a sparrow, bouncing around in his seat with his entire body, preening about his deduction. The crumpled parchment in Kaito's hand was taken and put back on the table. And Kaito was given the map next.

"It's an ideal location, outskirts of the town and big enough to smuggle weapons between bolts of fabric," Conan said, nodding at himself in approval. He crossed his arms, leaning back against the chair. "Though we're far from pulling Cobra by its roots, just taking down one of their storehouses would deal detrimental damage in their plans."

Go figure.

Kaito placed the map down back onto the table.

He felt like he had just gotten a rare glimpse into the mind of the Royal Inspector. Except, Kaito was utterly lost about where heads began and where tails ended.

Something in Kaito's mind suggested that he should clap— so he did.

He had thought Conan would roll his eyes at the gesture, but the inspector soaked in the nonverbal praise with a huff and smirk. Much like Clove when he mastered the timing of a trick, fluffing his feathers and looking pleased with himself.

"So… are you gonna storm them tonight?"

Conan started gathering up all his books again, neatly stacking them on the desk. For the large mess he had made, he started resetting things back to the way they used to be.

He folded the map in half and in half and then into another half— back into a small square that he slipped it into his cloak pocket.

"Storm? No. But going there? Yes."

Conan pulled out a roll of parchment from his rucksack, and frowned at the slight wrinkles. "I'll write an update to the squad leader stationed here. Once we confirm the location of the warehouse, we'll send a signal. Clove's a messenger bird, right?"

We?

Conan had been including Kaito in his plan since the beginning. It was obvious, since Kaito had to guard the shrunken inspector.

But it was still jarring to hear it come out so naturally from his mouth.

As partners working together, rather than some lackey to order around (though Kaito wouldn't let himself be pushed around that way.)

Kaito blinked, noticed that Conan was waiting for an answer, and said, "Well, he is but he'll have to know who the squad leader is first— and it can't be too heavy else he can't carry it."

"That's fine. Just a scrawl would be good enough."

The letter was signed and pressed with the Royal Inspector's seal.

Which— Kaito couldn't also believe Conan carried all the way from his study in the capital.

They walked to the barracks where the knights were stationed and talked to the most idle looking one.

The knight, dressed quite simply compared to the official uniforms required in the capital, couldn't exactly focus on the conversation because Clove was nesting happily on the top of Conan's hair.

Kaito could only hear bits and pieces from the wall he was hiding behind. He could've accompanied Conan, but knights always made his skin crawl.

I have a message for sir knight commander! I'm a steward apprentice of the Royal Inspector, urgent letter to be read, the inspector is currently working on the case in a tavern!

Kaito had nearly given himself away from a near laughing fit when Conan's voice cracked in the middle of his explanation.

Still, Kaito had to hand it to him— the guy had enough acting skills to look and sound like a child. (Okay, he looked like one, but his stuffy mannerisms and eloquent speech all too resembled an adult's.)

Then Conan bowed with more clumsiness and less finesse than when he was in front of the prince. The knight turned tail to deliver the message and Conan swiftly headed to the building corner where Kaito was peeking from.

"Compelling performance, really convinced the guy. I didn't know the Royal Inspector could act."

Conan laughed at his clapping, something wry. "How else do you think I get to all the places I need to be?"

"Huh," Kaito said and thought. He remembered when he had perused the newspaper summaries of the Inspector's cases. Impressive as they were, there were moments when Kaito stopped to wonder how the inspector got his hands on some damning evidence.

Scouring official papers and local gossip could only give so much information. And it's not like criminals would hand over incriminating envelopes. Then, did the inspector act his way into—

"We'll stay at the clock tower library until the evening," Conan interrupted, grabbing Kaito's wrist bandages and tugging him to the left. "Their next cargo shipment will be arriving then."

Kaito couldn't help but stumble a little over his feet. Conan let go shortly afterwards, but only to point at some tall building.

"It has a vantage point, so we can keep an eye on the wagons going in and out."

“Is that them?”

“That’s them.”

They were crouching in the bushes near the large inn with wagons parked about the side. The evening sun was setting and there was a bright orange glow glancing off the slope of the roof.

For a trade house, it looked modestly normal.

Except the people coming in and out were far from normal.

Gruff looking men with threadbare clothes. Swords sheathed on their belts. Nasty looking scars on their arms and faces.

"Mercenaries?" Kaito whispered.

Conan shook his head.

"They're the green mountain bandits. You can tell by the tattoo on their arms. They're on the bottom rung in Cobra, but they're the prime suspects in a large-scale heist last year. Swords that were sent en route to the capital for the knights' tournament never made it there."

Kaito nodded, remembering the uproar. Specially crafted weapons made of mythril ore were swiped. The merchant group that was assigned to deliver the goods had ghosted, as if they were never there to begin with.

"I'm guessing those swords started appearing around?"

"Not quite. That'd be too obvious. Likely, they melted the weapons to scavenge the ore." Conan shook his head in disapproval. "How bold of them to melt the highness' commissioned swords."

Kaito studied the raggedy tag group of bandits. It was deja vu— especially with the talk of swords and being surrounded by thirty of them.

"So, what's your plan? Gonna break in and check the cargo?"

"No, it's fine," Conan answered, voice subdued in a hush. "The knights are stationed near here. I just need to send Clove to them. Just seeing the bandits is enough evidence. Even if the knights get in and can't find traces of the weapons, the fake merchant group here will still be held accountable for tax evasion. I'm not letting them go that easily."

"Ouch. How many years would that be in jail?"

"Hm, it's more about the whole storehouse being confiscated than being jailed. Whatever the results, I'll turn the case over to the tax office to pursue.”

Kaito didn’t care to know too much about tax penalties or bureaucracy, but Conan’s decision surprised him. "I thought you'd see the case to the end."

"There's not much here to do aside from seizing the storehouse," Conan gave a half shrug. “Otherwise, it's not my area of…"

He trailed off. Conan’s eyes widened just the slightest as he stared off at the building. Kaito followed his gaze— mountain bandits with tattoos, covered wagons, some people with cloaks over their entire figures. There wasn’t anything much different from when they arrived.

"Did you see something— eh, wha—" Kaito blinked as Conan shuffled forward from their spot, weaving through the underbrush to waddle closer.

Conan held out a hand, effectively shushing him.

And that’s when Kaito heard it, bits and pieces of a conversation. “— arrange a transfer of thirty gold for a deposit, until the contract has been signed. Then the price per cargo can be renegotiated—”

Suspicious— especially coming from suspicious people with cloaks hooding their heads. When involved in a smuggling operation, anyone would be wise enough to cloak up. But that wasn’t anything odd to note—

“That’s a noble,” Conan mouthed at him, eyes flickering at Kaito for a second, before he continued eavesdropping on the conversation.

Kaito studied the figure Conan had singled out.

His eyes narrowed against the bright glow of the setting sun. The cloak covered most of whatever defining features there were— hair, face, build, clothes. There was nothing about the “noble” that separated him from any other common merchant.

They watched the hooded figure disappear behind the other side of the house, no doubt to leave the way they had come.

“Are you gonna follow them?” Kaito asked but the clip-clop of horse hooves against the stony ground answered him.

Conan brought a hand to cradle his chin, thinking.

“Of course, a noble would be involved in this. It’s a large-scale operation, after all…”

It didn’t take long for his head to snap up and a smirk to cross over his lips.

Oho, seems like Tantei-kun’s got an idea. Kaito sat on his haunches, curious as to what the inspector would do next. Maybe Conan was going to bolt upright and run after the horses.

Kaito figured he couldn't get tired of that sharp edge in Conan's eyes.

“Before the arrest, we have some more work for us to do.”

Clack.

Kaito dragged his finger down the old spines of the books, trying to find the proper place to wedge them in.

So this is what Conan meant by work.

Kaito slipped the seventh book back into its place in the record shelves. There was a brass trolley next to him, piled high with books that Conan had sent him to return.

He sighed, something long and suffering, as he pushed the trolley further down the aisles, looking for the next set of letters and numbers— KC401.2

Kaito couldn’t blame anyone else but himself for this.

When Conan announced they had to work to figure out the noble that’s involved in the smuggling, Kaito was gearing up, ready for something entertaining to behold, but Conan just marched straight back to the city hall and spent the rest of the evening holed up in the study.

Because plans had changed, Kaito would have to wait to see the battalion of knights clip-clopping on their horses up to the storehouse to confiscate the cargo. The only indication that there would be an arrest made came in the form of Clove trying to peck a hole through the study window.

Understood. Will dispatch during the banquet.

How dull.

And when the clock struck nine, Conan set the books aside, told the clerk they’ll be back the next day, went to the tavern with Kaito tagging behind him, and got ready to sleep.

Of course, not without lecturing Kaito’s ears off about proper sleep and rest, because Conan expected Kaito to sleep in the room this time too.

The next morning, they ate a modest breakfast of soup and bread and went back to the records hall at eight.

Conan settled in the plush study chair with the books surrounding him like a fortress, opening dusty books and scanning them with an overwhelming amount of dedication.

Kaito had been antsy.

Three hours of flipping through every magic trick he knew until he was doing nothing but twirling paper flags on thin sticks. Kaito was bored out of his mind.

Conan told him to frolic in the town square, but that'd just be boring.

After rolling his head against the wall, Kaito was so bored out of his wits that he asked Conan if there was anything he could do.

Conan had glanced up, blinking with those large blue eyes, completely clueless to the plight Kaito was facing.

Oh, I guess you could put those back. The registrar will tell you how the ordering works.

And he had pointed to the ever growing piles of records that were spilling onto the floor.

Sighing again, Kaito walked the rattling trolley to the next section.

Some time during their walk back to the hall, Kaito had asked Conan what it was that gave the noble away. The inspector just replied— his boots. It was obvious.

Kaito had been so focused on remembering the man’s voice that the kind of shoes he wore never crossed his mind.

The books that Conan had requested the registrar— and now Kaito— to fetch also didn’t clue him in to what Conan was doing. The record materials ranged from newspaper tabloids dating some years back, property papers, and blueprints of buildings submitted by the town’s architect.

There were many more books that Kaito didn’t bother to rifle through, but he was sure Conan flipped through them, front and back, gleaning for whatever information he was looking for.

Books all shelved away, Kaito pulled out the slip of paper the registrar had given him.

More letters and numbers.

At least this was much better than just sitting cooped up in the study, only listening to the rustling of pages turning.

“Delivery,” Kaito called out as he pushed open the door for what would be the fifth time he had come in with a new cart of documents.

"Welcome back," came the unexpected reply because Kaito thought Conan would have his nose glued to the pages, too engrossed to bother acknowledging him.

Instead, the inspector had his shackles spread above the book he had been reading. His tools were organized next to his charcoal pencil.

With Conan surrounded neck deep in books, Kaito was surprised he even bothered to remember about lock picking.

"You're still tryna open it, huh."

Conan's eyes were kept lowered as he picked the shackles up. "It's a nice break from all the reading."

Kaito watched for a moment before he parked the cart next to the wall. "So, where do you want these books now?"

"Anywhere on the desk is fine."

But anywhere was an awfully vague place when the entire study table was filled with sprawling books. Kaito heaved the books up and risked placing them at some unoccupied corner.

"Are you done with these?" Kaito motioned at some scattered papers. The table was such a mess.

Conan hummed as the clinking and clanking continued.

Kaito took that as a yes.

It was when Kaito was nudging the maps aside with the third tower of books that he heard a click.

Conan let a whoosh of air out from his lips. "And done."

Kaito glanced over. True to his word, both handcuffs were undone and Conan was stretching his arms.

He looked proud— smug even.

Somehow Kaito had thought the inspector couldn't pull it off— but he did. Kaito glanced at his watch, it hadn't been ten minutes since he stepped into the room.

His tenacity sure was something.

Kaito whistled, "Congratulations, I guess I owe you a favor now."

Conan's brow lifted at that. It looked like he had entirely forgotten about it until Kaito brought it up.

"Oh, right, the favor."

"How rude," Kaito clicked his tongue. "You know, it's as good as gold."

Kaito spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in a wooden chair. He drifted in a light doze, his arms crossed over his chest and head nodding all sorts of ways against the window.

There were no more books to retrieve. Which was both a relief and a disappointment.

Conan had made use of his notebook, writing things down in shorthand. He must've written at least thirty some pages, transcribing something down from the musty parchments.

At some point, Conan had even stood atop his chair so he could get a better look at the large blueprint of some manor.

He was busy at work— doing what, Kaito had no idea.

Then suddenly —

A thud.

Kaito nearly fell out of his chair.

"All right, here's the plan," Conan declared, pushing the chair back and standing up, as if he didn't just slam the book shut and shook the sleep from Kaito's eyes.

"I narrowed down the suspects to a few, but we need to get into the banquet to be sure."

Kaito stared at him for a long while; his mind was busy trying to connect dots. "Banquet…?"

"There's a banquet this weekend," Conan said bluntly, and Kaito knew that, but. How did this and that— "Undoubtedly, the noble will be at the banquet."

Right. If there was one thing nobles loved to do, it was having chit-chats in banquet halls.

"And Cobra?"

"I have alerted the knights to be prepared for an arrest during the event; the suspect won't see it coming."

"So the issue is how to get in," Kaito summarized. He dug out the crumpled paper he had nabbed some days earlier. "Here's a help poster."

Conan took a glance at it and shook his head. "That won't do. I did that once. The kitchen head charged me with dishes. I can’t focus on my investigation if I'm washing plates."

Kaito stared at him, conjuring an image of the inspector— little as he was, struggling to balance porcelain bowls over the wash basin.

"Dishes? The Royal Inspector washed dishes? You?"

Conan waved him aside, ignoring the incredulity in Kaito's voice. "That was long ago when I didn't know any better. Now a days, I usually attend banquets under a pseudonym."

Kaito clapped once. "Well, problem solved then."

While Conan did his noble-y thing and chatted other people up, Kaito could just dip and hide in the nooks and crannies of the manor columns until he was done.

Conan gave him the blandest stare, motioned at himself, his blatantly non-inspector sized self.

"Obviously, I can't."

Kaito nodded slowly. "Huh, that is a problem—"

"But you can."

Kaito opened his mouth.

No words came out but a puff of air. Kaito's plan of hanging back in the shadows, unbothered, went up in smoke.

"What? Me? You want me to do your dirty work?"

"No— but, I mean. It's the only way for us to get in there without being ladened with chores," Conan continued, slightly desperate. "And you won't be alone, I'll enter alongside you as a steward in training—"

Kaito frowned, already feeling the choke of buttoned collars and stiff lined suits.

"No way."

"It's just a banquet, surely you've been to some of them in the capital, like for his highness' birthday?"

"Yeah, and I hated them, so what?"

Conan sighed, exasperated. He weaved his fingers into his hair and held his head. "Fine, then we can break in—"

"I'm not going anywhere near those nobles."

Kaito knew he was being petulant for petulance sake, but seriously, when Kaito wanted action, he meant swords and fighting— not dressing up like a twat and frolicking with wine glasses.

Conan sighed, deep and heavy. He sounded defeated. "There's no other way in. If there was, I wouldn't ask you to do this. Really."

Kaito pressed his lips together, "Look, you'll need the prince's word to get me to move."

"Come on, please? I really need your help this time."

And Conan bowed his head, cowlick drooping sadly. Kaito couldn't lie that he didn't feel a twinge of guilt for seeing the prideful Inspector go so far as bowing his head when Kaito was just being— well, Kaito.

All right.

Whatever, so Kaito was kicking up a fuss. He knew it was dumb, especially when the inspector was being this earnest!— putting down his pride enough to ask.

But the pish-posh nobles talking about suffocating politics and other flowery horse sh*t.

They were all so bothersome.

Kaito took a deep breath, and resisted groaning.

Bothersome or not, Kaito also had enough sense in him to know that if he didn't do this, it'd hinder the entire investiga—

"You said you'd do me a favor when I got that lock open."

There was a surprisingly low and dark voice coming from somewhere near his elbow.

Conan's glasses gleamed. Kaito choked on his spit.

"What the hell? You're coercing me now?"

Conan clicked his tongue accusingly. "So much for a favor as good as gold."

"What?! You forgot about it until I brought it up, jeez!"

"So keep your word then! Or were you just planning to swindle me again?"

"No, but—! I didn't mean it like this!" Kaito babbled on air as Conan grabbed his sleeve, fingers curling into the fabric.

"What was it that you said? Anytime, anywhere, no questions asked?"

Kaito knew he could fling Conan off of him, but his words were so damning Kaito felt backed into a corner.

God damn it.

"Argh, I know what I said! But you're never gonna put me in a suit—"

Kaito was put in a suit.

To be exact, it was a three piece suit that was picked off the racks from a readymade clothing store.

Dark blue with white accents. The amount of golden embellishments and its shine were stabbing Kaito's eyeballs.

Kaito was fine with it being a rented suit, but Conan insisted that no, to be convincing, you need to have the suit tailored. Nobles will know you're a commoner if the sleeves are ill fitted.

And Kaito stood still for the whole hour after, getting his measurements marked down and suit immediately tailored.

Conan had stared at him, chin in hand, brow raised, mumbled something about Kaito looking incredibly bland, and then tacked a shiny medal onto his breast pocket.

What's this for?

Hmm, decoration. It gives you a more sophisticated look.

And that was that.

"Have you seriously never used a brush before?"

Kaito felt his head tug to the right as the bristles caught his hair.

Conan's fingers had been gripping his hair at its roots, else Kaito kicked up a fuss again and accused Conan of trying to rip him bald.

The comb gallantly fought against all the knots. "Why would I do that if my hands are good enough for it."

Kaito sat stiffly in a chair as Conan kneeled atop the tavern bed, trying to smooth down his wild spikes of hair.

It was already late into the afternoon. Kaito couldn't believe he was forced to get ready for the banquet for the entire day.

Kaito had been stripped down and stuffed into the suit.

He was only allowed to keep one (1) dagger on him, strapped behind his waistcoat but no more than that. His trusty boots were replaced with slim fit black leather boots that made squeaking sounds when he walked.

Kaito felt the coarse brush against his ear and braced for the eventual tug—

"Ow—" Kaito said even when Conan stopped shy of yanking his whole ear off.

"Your earring," Conan sighed. Kaito felt cool fingers slide against his earlobe as he detangled the charm from the brush. "Can you take this off? It's not befitting of a noble to have this on."

Oh no, Tantei-kun was not gonna take anything else off him. Kaito held steadfast. "That's cus I'm not a noble!"

"You're pretending to be one!" Kaito didn't need to see the inspector to know he was rolling his eyes all over the place.

"But it's a fashion statement! Leave me alone, jeez."

"Gah, whatever. We don't have time to argue about this."

Conan's hands went back to patting Kaito's hair down, trying to smooth it one way with some ointment of some kind. It smelled piney.

Ugh, now Kaito looked like a greasy haired noble too.

"I give up, this is as good as it'll be," Conan seceded, drawing his hands back and giving Kaito's back a solid pat.

So after a gruesome war of attrition, Kaito's hair outlasted the inspector's tenacity.

Kaito felt too much like a training dummy— being dressed up and battered at— to laugh at that thought.

The bed creaked as Conan jumped off. He rounded the chair Kaito was sitting on and— shook his head.

"Tsk, Kaito."

He stepped forward into the gap between Kaito's legs, quickly closing the distance between them.

Kaito's eyes twitched wide in alarm; his back tensed in anticipation.

That look in Conan's eyes wasn't good. That tone even more so.

"Why is everything crooked again?"

Conan reached up and hooked his fingers into the silk tie to fix it back into place. Kaito could feel the small puff of breath against his neck as Conan leaned over to redo his shirt buttons.

"It's choking me."

Conan's eyes flitted lower to the black ribbon tied around Kaito's neck. The high collar of his shirt just barely covered it. "And that isn't?"

Kaito raised his chin, tilting his head away from needing to face the judgmental stare the inspector was pinning on him.

"Fashion statement."

Conan rolled his eyes.

"Whatever you say."

"Give my greetings to your Lord," said the fifth person while grasping Kaito's hand in an over familiar gesture.

"Ahaha, yes, I'll give him your greetings," Kaito replied jovially, smiling, because Conan had jabbed him in the leg far too many times when his lips started to twist into a scowl.

With a shiny badge, Kaito was able to get through the front gates with Conan trailing behind him, dressed in the most modest banquet-appropriate attire that could fit a child. As such, most people merely glanced over Conan and focused on Kaito.

Kaito, who— upon being announced as an emissary of a Count of Someplace— was swarmed the moment he stepped foot into the halls.

This man's palm was sweaty. He was flushed, red in the cheeks and obviously merry and drunk.

He wasn't letting go of Kaito's hand.

He was shaking it for the last two minutes and a half.

Tantei-kun was just hovering right behind Kaito, brain whirring about that Kaito could see the smoke coming from his ears.

Egh.

"That man, what a clever man! He's never lost a game of cards. If not for his gift, I'd rather—"

Kaito managed to shake his hand off and slunk it back to his side, wiping his sweaty palm solidly against his pants. He had to continue listening to this gentleman prattle away.

It was barely the second hour of the banquet and this guy had an apple for a face.

It wasn't the first time someone came up to Kaito, asked him for his name (Katsuki Doito), and proceeded to ask him to send greetings or regards to his Lord.

Lord Shiroku Hirai, whomst Kaito had learned after being flocked, was a man of many talents.

He was a connoisseur of all alcoholic drinks and gave the best recommendations. (The Royal Inspector drank? Kaito wouldn't believe it.)

A crack shot at archery— never missed, and ran out of arrows after striking the center point with all of them. (This one was somewhat believable; the inspector said he was bad at hunting, not archery.)

And now—

"Next time, tell him he's more than welcome to a game of cards as long as he brings a drink heavy enough for me to forget that he drained my pockets of all the silvers I carried!"

Gambling.

The little inspector that was standing at Kaito's side didn't even flinch.

Oi, oi, don't say this one is true too.

"Erm, of course, yes, sir," Kaito fumbled, hoping and wishing that the man would just go away and spit all over some other noble.

It was after some more minutes of unpleasant pleasantries that the noble stalked away to refill his glass.

Kaito didn't miss the chance.

"You gamble? The uptight Royal Insp—"

Conan jabbed an elbow into his side. It wasn't so smarting as it was surprising.

"I'm busy," came his curt reply. Kaito sighed, eyes roving around the place, blinking against the blinding chandelier and scanning the crowd.

He'll ask Conan about it some time later, but for now— Kaito should remember to not bet cards with him.

"Did you figure anything out yet?"

"Almost," Conan started but never finished, as he sank back into thought.

Kaito had a simple job to do, and that was to be a huge decoy dummy, waltzing along the perimeters of the banquet hall, while Conan confirmed his suspicions of who the involved noble was.

The manor's dining hall was large. It couldn't be compared to the Palace Grand Halls, but it made do with glittering candles hanging from a dozen diamond chandeliers.

Amongst the chatter of nobles and arranged tables of food, there was a soft string melody floating from the orchestra situated on the floor of the hall.

It was a lively atmosphere, filled with fake laughter and clinking glass.

Conan had told him that Kaito could grab himself a platter of food, but the buffet table had a lot of important looking people loitering about. Just the thought of being swarmed by another one of them had Kaito's stomach doing backflips.

He contented himself with swishing about a glass of wine, too queasy to even drink it. Kaito preferred drinking beer from steins than wine in fragile glass, anyways.

Kaito chanced a sip, and then scrunched his face.

Yuck, parties. Eugh, socializing.

And gods no, that drunkard was ambling about, looking for another poor soul to victimize with his wine-driven soliloquy.

Kaito slowly stalked along the walls, keeping his back to it until he slid up to the ceiling-high windows, hoping that he could blend into the blue midnight curtains.

Conan didn't seem to mind Kaito's wandering. He had been following behind his coat tails the whole time.

That was until Kaito felt his sleeve tug.

"This way."

Conan let go, confidently walking towards the western doors of the hall, left open to allow for the servants to bustle food in and out.

Kaito perked up and bounced on the soles of his feet— finally.

He caught himself a second later, glanced around to make sure no one was making a beeline for him, and quickly followed, steps ever lighter and energetic.

He didn't forget to leave the champagne glass on a butler's tray on his way out.

Kaito let out a huge breath the moment they petered to a stop, just behind a large pillar that obscured them from view.

The darkness cloaked him like a friend, and Kaito instinctively went to jerk at the tie around his neck.

Here, they were far away from the stream of servants carting away dishes toward the kitchen, and definitely farther away from the hall where Kaito could only hear the faintest hum of people's voices.

Conan turned, the moonlight lighting up the small sliver of metal buttons on his suit. He crossed his arms and cradled his chin with a hand.

"It's Ekiyama Shun," Conan announced with his eyes full of clarity and resolve.

Kaito returned his stare.

"Am...I supposed to know who that is?"

Conan blinked, eyebrows scrunching slightly before he shook his head, clearing away whatever thought that had been forming.

"It's the Count's financial advisor. The one that you pointed out that had an ill-fitting wig."

"Oh, the fat man whose hair looked like it'd jump off his head."

Conan let out a sigh that sounded vaguely like a laugh.

"No, that's the count. I was talking about the man beside him. Tall and thin?"

So, there were two men with ill-fitting wigs? Kaito was too occupied by the jolly old man with a dead raccoon for hair to even notice.

"So that's the financial advisor," Kaito hummed, conjuring the memory of the weasel-like man with squinting eyes. His mouth opened.

"Wait, if the advisor was there, wouldn't that mean the Count's a part of this too? That'd blow up in the tabloids."

"That was a possibility, but I ruled it out," Conan answered. "See, the Count's most profitable storehouse near the sea had been seized some years ago, probably by Cobra. Since then, his business has been in decline. If he truly was working with them, the Count wouldn't have needed to desperately search for temporary hires just to make this banquet possible."

"… he should've had a fully staffed kitchen and enough hands to begin with," Kaito murmured.

"Exactly." Conan nodded and gestured toward the looming glass windows. "Gilded as his banquet hall may be, the rest of the manor is poorly maintained."

Kaito followed Conan's finger out the window. Weeds had burst through the garden tiles, and the rose hedges had grown wild in all directions.

"And so he tried holding a banquet to find new business partners. What a pitiful guy," Kaito commented, shaking his head. Just some days ago, Kaito had thought the Count was frivolously throwing money around to expedite a poorly planned banquet.

Kaito shrugged, not all too bothered by his wrong assumption. "Who knew his advisor was gutting him like this."

"And that's probably where the money's going. Being a trusted advisor, I'm sure the man is also skimming expenses off the top."

Kaito hummed, and cast a cursory glance around the empty halls.

"Great deduction, but that's not gonna stand in the Royal Court."

"I know that." Conan's lips tilted into a smile, something scheming and determined. Kaito froze slightly.

His gut feeling was telling him that whatever the inspector was planning—

"So that's why you're going to stay here. Make sure the advisor doesn't leave the hall."

Conan had the gall to smile at him, bright and assuring.

Kaito blinked a long blink, failing to follow the leap in logic, if there was one in the first place.

Smart as Kaito liked to think he was, there was an obvious gap here, and Kaito grabbed Conan by the arm before he could dash off without explanation.

"Wait, hold on— where are you going?"

"The advisor's office. He probably keeps correspondence with Cobra in there."

"How do you even know—" Kaito remembered the blueprints that had been spread out on the top of the oak desk. "Never mind that— you're not thinking of leaving me behind."

Here with the noble lot?

"It's not like you'd know where the office is anyways. It's better if you keep an eye on the man in case he decides to leave for his office to retrieve something."

Conan meticulously pried off Kaito's fingers, to no avail, because Kaito kept grasping, like how he was grasping for any excuse to get out.

Kaito dropped to his knees. "But I need to do my job; I have to guard you—"

"No one's gonna slaughter some servant child. If anything I'll cry my way out of it."

Cry? Kaito couldn't even imagine the stuffy, prideful inspector breaking out into a sob.

"But they're gonna talk to me again; you didn't exactly prep me with extensive history on this supposed Lord of mine."

Kaito was on his knees pleading, god damn it.

Conan turned his gaze down at him, the sharp glow in his blue eyes receding into something almost sympathetic.

"You'll be fine."

A small palm cupped the side of Kaito's head, smoothing back a stray wisp of hair that had come undone over the course of the banquet. "Keep an eye out on the advisor and just do what you've been doing so far."

Conan finished tucking Kaito's hair behind his ear and solidly patted his stiff shoulders. "Hide behind the curtains like some housefly. They'll be none the wiser."

"That's not assuring at all if you're telling me to act like a bug," Kaito mumbled woefully.

"You'll be fine," Conan repeated, this time, more resolute than soothing. It sounded like a promise, and Kaito knew better than to trust pretty words.

Empty words. Even though the Royal Inspector sounded so damn convincing saying them.

Kaito frowned.

Whatever could go wrong, would.

A clatter echoed in the shadowy halls, and they both jumped, stilling their breaths and waiting for the patter of footsteps— probably from a lost temporary hire— to fade toward the sliver of light peeking from the dance hall.

Kaito let out a breath as a stillness fell around them once again.

"I'll be back," Conan murmured, his hand sliding off Kaito's shoulders.

But right as Conan turned, Kaito caught his wrist. "Wait, one more thing—"

"What now?"

The exasperation was clearly etched in his brows, and Kaito was sure he was one step away from being coined petulant.

Kaito was quick to let go, and even quicker to reach up to his ear, fiddling with the clasp of his earring.

"Take this."

And Kaito pinned it onto the lapel of Conan's gray suit.

Conan’s blue eyes roved to Kaito's hands, scrutinizing and confused. "What?"

Kaito tucked the end of the chain— the pendant — into Conan's breast pocket. With this, he could breathe slightly easier.

"It's a lucky charm," Kaito explained, standing from his haunches. He prodded Conan in the chest— or actually, the pendant. "Just keep it on you, okay?"

Conan opened his mouth, for a rebuttal of sorts, but he huffed instead. Time was of the essence.

"All right. I've got to go."

Chapter 11: "Is the Royal Inspector being— considerate? Of me?"

Chapter Text

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11. "Is the Royal Inspector being— considerate? Of me?"

---

Kaito's mission thus assigned: keep his eye on the weasel-like man so that the Royal Inspector could leisurely snoop around the office for damning evidence.

It seemed simple enough.

Kaito had planned to blend himself with the curtain upon entering the banquet hall again. The closest one to the adjacent window seemed like a good spot— void of people, empty, quiet. The curtains were also the right shade of navy blue as he was.

The financial advisor was across the hall, sticking out in attention with his hideously silken yellow suit.

He was debating about socio economic problems.

Didn't seem like he'd be going anywhere anytime soon. So that was great.

Kaito's eyes flickered back to that quiet corner.

Deep breath in— deep breath out. Time to roll his shoulders back, straighten up into that posh manner nobles loved to strut in, and walk purposefully so he could then become like a cicada clinging to the walls.

With every step on the marble tiles, with every damned squeak of the pristine leather boots, Kaito was a step closer—

And so was a guy, Kaito's height, who had a glint of recognition sparkling in his eyes, and hurtling his way.

A thread of panic needled through Kaito's veins. He surreptitiously glanced behind him, hoping that surely that guy couldn't be grinning at him, stretching his hand out for a friendly greeting—

"A knight with the Saint's Cross, blue and silver ribbon—" A strong hand clasped over Kaito's, calloused and dominating.

He was intercepted and blocked.

The corner that Kaito had set his eyes on was quickly replaced with a whirl of black hair and an obnoxious face.

"What a surprise meeting someone who had also attained the highest honor from the Academy," the man continued, mouth splitting into a smile. Kaito's eyes flitted to the man's lapels, adorned with glimmering chains and useless accessories. And there it was the aforementioned medal.

"Pray tell your alma mater?"

Kaito felt the blood slowly receding from his brain as he remembered the identical medal pinned on his breast pocket.

Hmm, decoration. It gives you a more sophisticated look.

Gives a more sophisticated look, his ass! It just gave him more trouble! With a noble knight, no less.

Kaito returned his grasp, equally hard, resisting the urge to actually break the man's fingers. "You speak too highly of me, for I'm from Wolfsridge—"

"Wolfsridge, you say? I'm quite familiar with the Southern Peaks; I took my squad there to volunteer after the terrible snowstorm some time ago. Dreadfully small and gray place, isn't it— no offense."

"None taken," Kaito blandly replied. He wasn't even from the place.

"I graduated from the Capital, but that’s years ago. I'm currently serving a baron around these parts, though I have exchanged correspondence with a friend in the Royal Palace, hoping for a good word to be put in—"

Kaito's eyes glazed over as the man continued rambling about his affiliations and ambitions to climb in his ranks to serve in the Royal Palace. It was only after a few sentences that the man interrupted himself with a sensible chuckle and a shake of his head.

"Oh, where are my manners—" Nonexistent, apparently. "I haven't given my name. Fujisawa Ikuo, pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Katsuki Doito," Kaito replied, shifting to the balls of his feet, eyes darting back across the hall to check whether or not the weasel-advisor had moved.

Still there. Still talking. That was a relief—

"Fujisawa! I've been looking for you; have you tried the new wine they've just brought out? It's a vintage Zeronia with grapes from the South—" the new man paused, wine glass in hand, and cast a glance at Kaito. His brows arched slightly before a smile stretched across half his face. "A new face! I'm Shimizu Iwai, a graduate from the Rosen Cross branch. Seems that you also have been honored with a medal of valor!"

"Katsuki Doito from Wolfsridge," Kaito supplied with an acknowledging nod.

"Oh, that small run down place! What a surprise meeting a Wolfsridge knight! I thought they preferred staying in their dens than venturing out!"

Then, he elbowed the other guy to laugh at the joke with him.

Kaito could barely lift one corner of his mouth. A crawling tingle traveled up his arms.

So lame.

"I didn't know a Wolfsridge knight could receive that medal!" Shimizu continued as he beamed. Blissfully ignorant to his own words— or pretending to be.

"It must mean that their curriculum has changed for the better!"

"Quite," Kaito only commented, a polite grin plastered firmly while he projected his mind elsewhere.

Now, Kaito wasn't a graduate of the small knights academy off in the boonies, nor did he care to correct them.

That'd just invite more trouble than it was worth. Annoying as they were, these knights were inconsequential people that Kaito would never need to see ever again.

"Actually, do you recall that old man —the demonic Megure who taught geography? I heard he relocated to some small branch off in the countryside. Maybe that was Wolfsridge Academy," Fujisawa supplied, seamlessly inserting himself back into the conversation.

"Goodness, really? God knew they needed someone like him! That place had been going lax, being run by commoner instructors," exclamation-mouthed Shimizu, exclaimed.

Kaito pressed his lips thin together and hummed in agreement. It seemed like eternity had passed, and all Kaito was allowed to say was his name.

Why on earth was he suddenly held hostage in a conversation where he couldn't get a word in?

Right. The medal.

The damned medal Tantei-kun pinned on his lapels.

Kaito gazed longingly at the corner, thinking how he could excuse himself from this. Maybe he could pretend to spot a familiar face, or run to the bathroom.

Escaping to the bathroom seemed to be the best idea.

"It indeed is a blessing for Wolfsridge to gain a noble instructor, I suppose. But if you were to ask me, Megure wasn’t cut out to be a teacher. Everyone knew his geography lectures were a joke but he still insisted on making his tests notoriously convoluted. And worst of all, he was so anal about the damned uniforms.”

Stop looking at me, please. Kaito sighed, quiet and suffering. Fujisawa, for how much he liked to talk, made sure Kaito was still there to listen.

“Oh yeah, I remember that! A single boot lace out of place, and the entire class got struck down with infractions. And his punishment for late assignments was so cruel, too— I swear to god I polished all of the training swords in the Academy five times by the time I graduated."

There was a pause— the slightest lull in conversation when both noble knights sighed and shook their heads. Kaito pounced on the chance to leave, "Well, gentlemen, it was a great chat—"

Shimizu sighed loudly, "That demon only liked Kudou. It made sense, though—they both have sticks up their asses."

Oh, wait.

What's this?

Kaito slowly shut his mouth, interest piqued.

"Kudou?" Kaito coughed, trying to sound clueless. "That sounds vaguely familiar. Could you perhaps be talking about the Royal Inspector Kudou?"

Kaito watched as Fujisawa's smile dropped; his fingers tightened ever slightly on the wine glass Shimizu passed onto him.

It seemed as if Kaito struck a nerve.

Wasn’t that interesting.

Kaito amped up his oblivious smile— time to go fishing~

He tilted his head as he mused aloud, "I don’t know him personally, but his reputation precedes him in the countryside—isn’t he called the Captain of the Capital East Division, Prodigious Detective of the Century, Savior of the—”

Shimizu waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, that guy , we know. Back in the academy, he was known more as the royal pain the ass.”

Then proceeded to laugh at his joke until he snorted.

"Ha, that so?" Kaito laughed, quirking his lips.

Shimizu continued, “God, he was so uptight and annoying, you wouldn’t believe . He was the guy who’d remind the instructor to collect the assignment they forgot to ask for, you know those types? And why so many damn questions? Always near the end of class when everyone wanted to leave, and trapped the whole class with him to listen to old man Megure prattling on about roads and other useless things— a royal pain in the ass.”

Sounds about right.

Kaito could already imagine a Conan-sized inspector scuttling about the academic halls. Generally being a nuisance of a classmate.

Just the thought was enough to make Kaito laugh, and so he did, “That’s funny, I suppose everyone has their faults, even the respectable Royal Inspector.”

There was a slight pause as Shimizu's smile froze; his eyes glanced to the side.

“Well, too bad his reputation far exceeds his actual character," Fujisawa spat coldly.

Fujisawa downed the last drops of his wine before he turned and set it away atop a servant's tray. He grabbed himself another one, proffering a glass to Kaito too.

Kaito raised his eyebrows as he took his kind gesture. It seemed like there was more here.

Might as well sit and enjoy the show.

Fujisawa let out a dry scoff that barely reached his eyes. "Take it from an old classmate of his— Kudou is nowhere near as righteous and honorable as he makes himself out to be.”

Kaito nodded slowly, clearly curious. "Really? Everyone speaks so highly of him, this is the first I've heard otherwise."

“Understandably. You'd only know about his true character if you personally knew him. I’m sure he's deluded himself into thinking he's righteous and all, but he’s the most self serving man I’ve ever met," Fujisawa declared, raising his chin a little.

Oh, wow.

Kaito knew that nobles were savages, but damn , the Royal Inspector must have made a lot of enemies back in his day. They sure had no qualms about tearing apart a guy who wasn't here to hear it.

Fujisawa continued on, "He has nothing to his name so he wags his tail like a lap dog at the crown prince for a crumb of power.”

From beside him, Shimizu let out a boisterous snort. There was a scathing edge to it. "What else would you expect from a fallen noble? He's got no inheritance or title to himself, so of course he has to make do. Too bad his parents died before they could teach him any class."

Kaito paused, the glass of his cup stilling on his lips. Wine seeped slowly on to his tongue.

It was bitter.

Shimizu continued after a hearty drink from his own glass. His cheeks were dusted red. "I can't imagine how much ass kissing he had done to receive the title of Royal Inspector. Ugh, it's an open secret that everyone disapproves of the crown prince keeping a leech like him around."

Fujisawa shrugged airily as he rolled his eyes towards the side. "Well, you can't deny that he’s the perfect lap dog. If his Royal Highness tells him to bark, he'll bark. Roll over, and he'll do it. But once his highness turns around, he acts like he's the one next in authority, drunk on what little illusion of prestige he gained from being a dog."

Kaito bit his lip, tightening his hold on the delicate stem of the glass.

Shimizu barked out a laugh, "He really has the Crown Prince fooled, doesn't he?"

"Excuse me, gentleman," Kaito said before he realized.

The knights jumped back at his curt tone, startled, completely having forgotten Kaito was there the whole time.

Kaito took a small breath and bowed, "I'll excuse myself for now. It was a pleasure having this chat."

He turned away sharply on his heels.

Squeak, squeak, squeak—

The god damned boots squeaked with his quick footsteps.

He wasn't sure where he was going.

The corner? Out of the question, not with those two standing near.

The bathroom? He didn't even know where that was.

All Kaito knew was that his legs carried him briskly along the perimeter of the grand hall, and there was a cold emptiness in the pit of his stomach.

Self-serving? Drunk on power? Ass-kissing?

You'd only know about his true character if you personally knew him.

And they were right, because everything they said was bullsh*t .

Kudou Shinichi had integrity— Kaito had learned that much over the course of their travels.

Try as Kaito might to make fun of him, Conan clearly didn't enjoy the glory and power that came with the title of Royal Inspector. Instead, Conan had been embarrassed, burrowing his face into his arms as the drunken man back in the tavern sang praises to the high heavens of his deeds.

The inspector was fair— intending to pay his due in silvers to the tavern instead of using his name for free board like all the other nobles Kaito had guarded.

He was an uptight and awkward kind of guy who wallowed in guilt after Kaito swindled the kindly old lady at the inn. It took Kaito a bit of willful convincing to even ease the inspector's conscience.

And if Conan couldn't lie his way to save a few silvers, he definitely wasn't capable nor daring enough to swindle the prince for anything.

Past achievements, accolades, and awards? Not once did Conan brag about any of those— aside from the time he woefully lamented his inability to hold an adult sized sword.

Anything that Kaito knew about the Royal Inspector's prestige was gleaned from newspaper tabloids and gossip from the common folk.

Everything else— Kaito saw it first hand.

Solving crimes and murders—it's nothing to glorify when people's lives and safety are endangered.

The noble knights were dead between their eyes.

Pride?

Honor?

Their honor stagnated in their academy days. They put so much emphasis on a piece of metal and dragged around their jealousy like a rotting corpse.

If anything, the real dog was Kaito instead— the uncouth guy who dragged his muddy boots all over the Royal Palace, giving grief to the stationed knights and any servant who had seen him. He "borrowed" weapons without asking and never returned them; he invited himself to and fro the crown prince's study.

Kaito was rude to the Crown Prince, and rightfully, got a letter knife thrown at him.

There was nothing Kaito deserved to have— not silvers, not even his job at the Royal palace — but he demanded anyways and received them.

And Kaito could do all that because he was the self-serving one.

A half-baked knight.

Hell, he wasn't even a knight to begin with. Not an official one from an academy , anyways, but he could fight and that was all that mattered.

But Kaito would rather defect if he had to mingle with noble knights.

So, why did Kaito have to stand there and endure a load of horsesh*t poured down his ears?

Oh right.

The medal .

The stupid decorative medal Conan gave him because he looked bland.

All of this could have been avoided if Kaito didn't have it to begin with. He could've made do without anything on his lapels. To hell with being fancy, weren't the gleaming buttons on his coat enough?

Oh, but of course, Conan would've rolled his eyes, crossed his arms, and said something along the lines of— You wouldn't be convincing as a noble.

As if Kaito could even pretend to be one in the first place. Not if they were rotten to the core with their inflated egos and their condescending, inconsequential pride—

Kaito knocked his elbow into something hard, resulting in a sharp clink of glass.

The servant's startled cry shook Kaito from his thoughts.

"Excuse me, I was careless," Kaito blurted, steadying his hand on the servant's shoulder.

Kaito nearly overturned a tray of wine glass at a turn.

"All is fine, sir," the servant breathed, frazzled. He looked like a temporary hire, judging by the logo on his buttons.

"Shall I get you a new drink, sir?"

Kaito glanced at his glass of wine that had gone undrank and forgotten.

The red wine had spilled over the rim and started dripping to his hand.

"Oh, um, I'm fine—" Kaito mumbled as he looked up and caught the sight of something hideously yellow making its way out to the door Conan had led Kaito out of.

Ah sh*t.

"Excuse me," Kaito hurriedly said, dodging around the servant before he took off with long strides.

Squeak, squeak, squeak.

The red wine rocked with every haphazard step.

f*ck, what was the advisor's name again?

Kaito wove around a few clusters of nobles, leaving a trail of curious bystanders looking after him as he picked up his pace.

The man was just about to reach the door.

"Sir Ekiyama!" Kaito exclaimed. "If I may have a moment!"

So that Kaito could keep him stuck in the banquet hall talking about— whatever .

Think, think, what do nobles like to yap about? Some lucrative business of the textile industry? Maybe something else—

Kaito's eyes flickered down at the deep red hue of his wine.

It sloshed with every momentum, every sway.

Kaito's gaze lifted up to meet the advisor's judgemental gaze.

Wait.

He had a better idea.

" Agh! What are you doing?!"

There weren't many candles nor visitors in the many hallways of the manor.

And for the few straying banquet guests who whimsically decided to take a tour, the marble statues were enough to lend Conan much needed cover.

Conan was glad that the sightseeing tourists didn’t care to marvel at these statues and instead, looked up at the vast collection of paintings.

Well, some guests were much too interested in each other to pay anything any mind.

Conan couldn't care less about how they frolicked away to an empty room to fraternize.

Crouched behind a pillar, Conan slipped out his watch to check at its ticking face.

Twenty minutes had passed.

Conan didn’t intend for it to take this long to reach the corridor where the office probably was.

From the blueprints, Conan had already deduced three possible rooms that could belong to the advisor.

What he didn't take into account was how short his legs were and how big the manor can be for his stubby legs.

After all these days of trekking upward in the woods, one would think he had learned his lesson plenty.

But now he was realizing that he needed to give himself a more than generous estimate of how fast he could actually move, or have a deeper understanding of how much bigger everything became when he became smaller.

Especially since the first office Conan came across was a dud. He needed to make haste and run to the next two possibilities.

Twenty minutes was a long time to be away.

By how desperately Kaito was trying to cling to him earlier— he was fine, right?

Even though Conan was the one doing the assuring, he didn't feel all too assured.

He abandoned Kaito to stand guard (against his will,) much like a kicked dog.

Certainly, the image of a whining dog didn’t do well with easing Conan’s guilt, and it only compounded with every passing minute.

Conan did coerce Kaito into a suit and ordered him to stand around and make nice with all these nobles that Kaito openly hated. And while it looked like Kaito was doing fairly well with all the smiles and pleasantries—

Conan had his doubts that Kaito could actually keep a watch on the advisor— not with so many nobles that prowled about wanting to establish connections.

He didn’t know much about Kaito's (ill-fated?) history with nobles, but it was clear that Kaito was out of his element.

A creeping worry started to eat at Conan.

If this mission failed—

—No.

Conan needed to have more faith in him.

Kaito was capable; he proved to be so.

For however much doubt Conan had, Kaito would do his part— in whatever way he had to.

Taking a deep, grounding breath, Conan slowed to a stop in front of a large door. It was wooden and ornate with carvings.

He narrowed his eyes on the golden placard.

Ekiyama Shun, Financial Advisor.

At last, it was the second office of the three.

Conan was relieved he didn't need to dash his way upstairs and across the massive library.

Time was crucial, and Conan couldn't waste any of it.

He dug into his back pocket and felt for the scrap leather he had wrapped his lockpicks in.

The metal was slightly cool in his fingertips.

Conan took purposeful breaths as he arranged his hands into position. Ever mindful of his rapid heartbeats, he inserted the tools into the keyhole.

Imagine a row of pins, you have to keep a light pressure with the wrench, while using the pick to push the pins up inside.

Conan roamed his tools around, carefully raking the pick across the binding pins and feeling for the tension.

First pin: 4

Even though Conan had been practicing and picking the handcuffs open, every lock had a different combination.

He needed to focus to get this opened, else he'll have to think of another way in.

Second pin: 1

But what if Conan took too long? What if Kaito wasn't able to keep the advisor distracted?

Conan swallowed thickly as he patiently prodded and held his breath.

Bottom lip under his teeth, Conan felt his heart thud loudly in his ears.

Third pin: 5—

Tap, tap —

Conan jumped and with him, the constant pressure he had on the rod let loose.

Someone was coming.

He shoved the picks up his sleeves and quickly glanced around for cover.

There was nothing but large paintings hanging on the walls, and the next corner was too far away for him to dash to—

Conan glanced around in panic.

Footsteps were rushing down the adjacent corridor, along with the unmistakable squeak of pristine leather shoes. A jingle— from all the ornaments the advisor had worn— accompanied each brisk step.

The advisor was coming for his office— he must have realized something was wrong.

And there was nowhere for Conan to hide.

sh*t.

Conan had no choice but to do that.

He knew he'd have to resort to this eventually one day, but he didn't think that day would be now.

Gah— no time to think.

He needed to survive this.

Conan immediately dropped to his haunches, and covered his face with his arms.

Hot shame burst up his neck as he let out a particularly sharp hiccup.

To hell with pride.

Conan pathetically coughed his way through the mountains. He grabbed sand and slung it without hesitation. He swindled the lady with his Eastern accent. He clung to a tree like a bug, trying to sneak into the palace.

And last of all— he jumped and clung to Kaito like a monkey .

There was no pride left for him to salvage after all this.

Footsteps squeaked closer—

Steeling himself, Conan breathed heavily, off rhythm. Air scathed his throat noisily and puffed warmly into his cushioned face.

He sniffed loudly and whined, trying to recall the moment when a lost child clung to his leg "looking for Mama."

That was years ago, when Shinichi was in charge of ushering the crowd during the Winter festivities.

It took a candied apple, a toy sword, and a better half of the hour to calm the sobbing child.

While it was just another deed to be done at the time, it sure served as a valuable reference that Conan could lean on at this moment.

The footsteps slowed down, stopping short of where Conan had balled into a shivering, sobbing mess.

"Hic, hic—"

Though, if whomever found him was to ask him to stand, Conan couldn't have them fooled with just the red splotches of shame on his cheeks.

Tears.

Right. He needed tears .

Conan reached into the crevices of his mind, conjuring a thought, any memory that could trigger a weighted sink in his throat and bring about a well of tears—

Nothing.

Nothing came to mind.

In a panic, Conan waited for the worst.

A rough grab of his collared shirt, a soothing voice, or even a sharp rebuke.

But—nothing happened.

If it was the financial advisor, he'd demand to know why Conan was there.

If it was any other servant, they'd immediately start asking if he was lost, separated from his master, or hurt.

Why was it so quiet?

Conan shifted his head, only enough to peek over the fabric of his sleeves.

And his gaze was met by shiny boots—

Familiar, shiny leather boots.

A shiver lanced down his spine; his skin went cold .

A hiccupped whine stopped dead in his throat.

Conan stared at those boots and wished they weren't the same ones that he picked out at the store the day prior—

"Oh my god, you weren't kidding about crying."

Conan snapped his eyes up to the shadow-cloaked figure— making out the navy blue suit, white accents, the decorated tie and accessories and smoothed back hair.

Kaito had a hand covering his open mouth and was looking— stunned. For a lack of better words.

He saw him.

Kaito saw Conan brutally and thoroughly grinding his dignity into smithereens.

"What— What the hell! Why do you keep jumping out of nowhere, god damn it! Stop doing that!" Conan jumped to his feet. His face felt hotter than a flame.

"Why didn't you say anything earlier!" Conan squeaked hysterically.

Clack, clack, clack— Conan redirected his embarrassment at Kaito's boot.

"That's cus I couldn't even believe it was you!" Kaito moved his feet away, stepping back and dodging the rest of Conan's kicks. "I didn't think you'd seriously be crying like that—"

"I had no choice! There isn't exactly anywhere for me to hide!"

"Sorry?" Kaito offered, looking caught between exasperation and amusem*nt.

Conan buried his face into his hands and groaned, "I can't believe I had to do that."

"Well, I have to hand it to you, that was a pretty solid impersonation. Had me fooled, to be honest."

Conan glared at Kaito for a long second before his attention swiveled back to the lock that he had been working on.

He shoved the embarrassment aside.

"Where's the financial advisor?" Conan fed the lock picks into the keyhole again.

"Oh." Kaito's voice was clipped."Right. So I think he's gonna come up here soon. Give or take, ten minutes?"

Conan gritted his teeth as he felt for the third pin. "He's probably coming to fetch a document regarding today's trade."

Fourth pin now.

Kaito's boots squeaked as he knelt down to peek at the lock. "Huh, I thought you'd be angry at me for letting him loose."

Conan kept his grip steady, focused.

Fifth pin.

"Why would I be angry? The advisor had his own agenda. All that matters is that you stalled him for that long."

It's me that's too slow. Conan frowned as he fiddled.

Kaito hummed quietly. Then, "Need help?"

Sixth pin.

"I'm almost done," Conan mumbled as he pressed around for the final one. The tool raked gently along the pins in a delicate balance.

Click.

"Ah," Conan breathed, a rush of triumph flooded through him as he sighed out of relief. He smirked up at Kaito, eyes glinting. "I got it."

Kaito looked impressed, as he should be.

Conan unlocked it on the first try after all.

Kaito hummed approvingly, "So you did."

Conan wrapped his fingers around the door knob and twisted. It was a fluid turn without resistance. He pushed the door open enough for him to slip in.

"You should stand watch outside," Conan whispered over his shoulder. He pulled the door after him, effectively stopping Kaito from wedging more than one leg through.

Kaito's eyes slanted into a deadpan. Even in the shadows, Conan could see that he was clearly pouting. "And miss all the fun?"

"What fun? It's just paperwork— unless you want to help me by reading through letters?"

But with the way Kaito had turned his nose up at all the books and records back in the city hall— Conan doubted the guard would generously help with that.

Kaito made a displeased sound, pressing his lips together. He relented and slid his leg back out.

"Fine."

Tick, tick, tick.

Kaito's watch sounded unbearably loud in the quiet hallways. The trees outside rustled noisily; branches scraped against the glass windows.

He resisted pacing about because his damned squeaky shoes would drown out whatever else he should be listening for.

From inside the study, Kaito heard the brusque slide of wooden drawers and shelves. Rustling of paper. Books being stacked here and there.

Soft thuds and light footsteps against marble tiles.

Kaito wasn't sure exactly what letter Conan was looking for, but whatever it was, it'd lead to an arrest.

Which would be fun.

It'd be the first time Kaito got to see a noble be arrested.

Still, it was rather a bore to be shut outside from all the action and being made to wait and watch , like he was some kind of guard dog.

There was nothing to do, nothing to see.

Kaito tapped his finger against his sleeve, eyes glancing down the long hallway. The marbled tiles were bright with the moonlight glancing off them. And along the wall, the paintings immortalized nobles standing around in gardens at their parties.

Kaito peered up at the closest painting, craning his neck to get a better look. The paintings displayed lush gardens and trimmed rose bushes that wildly contrast the overgrown garden outside.

Hitomi Nanako, an acclaimed artist. Judging by the rough brush strokes, it was likely one of her earlier works.

[Reprise] so it was named.

Kaito guarded a few nobles who would offer this Woefully Poor Count a whole new manor just for these kinds of early-work paintings. Which made it kind of sad, now that Kaito thought about it.

The Count’s manor was close to falling apart but he still held onto his paintings. Nobles and their obsession with the arts were weird .

The door creaked open.

"I'm done here."

Conan stepped out, his hand in his jacket lapels, tucking something into it. In his other hand, a piece of scrap paper.

"I took a few letters that he won't miss," Conan explained as he shut the door and firmly tested the lock. "For all the courts know, a concerned servant could have submitted this while organizing his study."

"Breaking and entering, I didn't know that's how the Royal Inspector gathers his evidence."

Kaito uncrossed his arms, leaning over to get a look at the paper. The paper was a torn piece of a map, annotated with penmarks. Kaito recognized the circle around the store house.

Conan rolled his eyes, waving his hand. "In normal circ*mstances, I would show my badge and command a search. But I can't do that as I am, now can I?"

And so the Royal Inspector resorted to this— not bad, not bad.

"So all that's left is to get the man arrested, yeah?"

"The knights will escort him to a holding cell temporarily. I have gathered enough evidence for the case, but it’ll be a matter of time that the man gets what's due."

"So, in other words— arrested."

Conan let out an amused snort and shrugged. The flimsy piece of paper flapped about his hand. "Sure, arrested. Though, it's best to send the message to knights before he decides to escape—"

Tap , tap.

The resounding echoes were heavy footed and rushed.

Conan jumped, eyes widening; panic etched over his features as their eyes met.

Oh, time’s up.

Kaito roughly pushed him behind his coat tails, immediately turning in one fell swoop.

"Uh— Sir Ekiyama, I've been searching all over for you!"

Kaito clambered a few steps, intercepting the man before he could see Conan shoving the remaining paper into his suit.

Cold sweat started beading on Kaito's forehead.

The advisor’s face immediately soured as Kaito caught his hand in a clammy grasp. "Once again, I'm terribly apologetic for ruining your suit. If there’s any way I could make it up to you—"

"You—" the man hissed, slapping Kaito’s hand off him. "I thought I made myself very clear to never appear in front of me again. Yet here you are, intent on angering me."

"Ah, well," Kaito fumbled, reaching for any excuse he could give for loitering outside his office. Half an hour ago, Kaito narrowly escaped after a barrage of insults at him and the (non-existent) Lord he was representing. Now he was back here again in the crossfire. “See—”

"Forgive my intrusion, however my senior truly desires to compensate your Lordship. Pray tell if ten silvers is enough to forgive his transgressions."

Conan’s elbow nudged Kaito’s hip as he stepped forward, the jingle of coins evident.

Whew, nice save!

Ekiyama raised a brow at Conan, appraising him with an unimpressed eye. At length, his gaze landed on the heavy coin pouch in his palm.

"How insolent that a mere apprentice assumes ten silvers is enough to make up for the shame I had to endure."

What shame?

Kaito was doing him a favor. Ekiyama’s current burgundy suit was a huge improvement to his hideous yellow suit.

Conan’s hand knocked into the back of his leg and Kaito contorted his grimace back into an apologetic, downcast look.

"Understandably ten silvers is much too little to ask for your forgiveness," Conan said, bowing his head and withdrawing the pouch. "Rather, if it pleases you, our Lord has connections with the Houghton Company— we will request that our Lord arrange a new suit to be ordered and tailored as a result of our blunder."

"Don’t bother," the advisor replied, though there was an upward tick in his frown. Despite his words, it was obvious that what Conan said made him immensely pleased. “When the night is over, I will write to Lord Shiroku Hirai about what transpired tonight. I will personally see to it that his servant is dishonorably discharged.”

Kaito scoffed— until a small fist knocked into his side.

Ouch. Kaito took the cue and bowed his head low. “I express my utmost deepest apologies, sir.”

“Ridiculous,” Ekiyama tsked, turning his nose up at them. “Your junior’s mannerisms far exceed yours. What an embarrassment. I suggest you remove the medal upon your coat and feed it into the fire; it’s of no use to you.”

Definitely. Much agreed and much obliged. Absolutely useless piece of sh*t the medal was.

Kaito pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. He kept his head bowed, even as the advisor brushed past and fished out a long chain of keys.

“Now get away from my office.”

Kaito muttered an obligatory: “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Have a pleasant evening.”

The door unlocked with a click, creaked open, and then slammed.

A pregnant pause filled the air.

Kaito took a breath.

They turned tail, blazing down the hallways to get the hell out of there.

Hurried taps seemed to fill the entire space of the corridors.

“What did you do to him?”

Squeak, squeak, squeak—

“He was gonna leave so I just splashed some wine on him. Yelled at me for an extra ten minutes before he changed out of his ugly suit," Kaito grumbled. He bitterly remembered how everyone else looked at him with judging eyes during the advisor’s tirade. "Look, I did everyone a service: it was piss colored."

Conan glanced up at him, scandalized— though there was an unmistakable laugh that slipped past his lips. “Oi, watch what you say, someone can hear you.”

Squeak, squeak, squeak—

They turned a corner, three halls away from the office, and burst out the wooden doors leading out to the courtyard.

Their half-run turned leisurely as they scampered onto the open lanai.

The night air was cool, as was the smell of vegetation. Fresh, green, not stuffy.

Squeak, squeak, squeak—

Kaito wanted to hurl his boots into the tangled garden.

Conan took a few steps further down the path, stopping in the beam of moonlight. While Kaito slipped comfortably into the shadows behind the decorative columns.

He was back in the shadows where he was most comfortable. He slumped against the hard surface of the column for support, feeling all the wound up tension fall off his shoulders.

Having the advisor spit verbal abuse all over his face was harrowing and Kaito was all too relieved that he was done with all the bullsh*t.

After tearing apart his tie and loosening his collar, Kaito settled on watching Conan rummage his hand through his blazer.

Conan pulled out stacks of letters and rested them on top of the lanai rails. He finally produced a small wrapped note and a thread of twine, no doubt to send Clove to the knights on standby.

Understanding his cue, Kaito reached into his coat pocket for his bell. But before he could pull it out, a flutter of wings sounded near the bushes.

“There you are,” Conan sighed with relief.

Clove , unmistakable with the red ribbon around his leg, landed on the banister in front of the inspector. Kaito’s mouth slowly opened in shock as Conan dropped a fistful of bread crumbs as an offering.

The bird all too happily ate up.

What the hell, Clove? Traitor??

Kaito glared at his “pet.” It took so long for Kaito to even get the bird to come at his call, but look how easily he was goaded in with food.

Kaito would grill his bird later— metaphorically. With questions.

For now, Kaito had better things he was itching to ask.

Such as: “So, am I going to be dishonorably discharged from serving your lordship?"

Conan raised a brow, though was too focused on attaching the paper securely to Clove’s leg, to even look up. He seemed— amused.

"Well, his Lordship is magnanimously benevolent. You needn't worry about those things, Sir Katsuki. If anything, he would commend you on a job well done."

Kaito let out a laugh, "Ew, gross, stop talking like that."

But he had to admit, it was nice being acknowledged for doing something well . (Even though the extent of his “job well done” was splashing wine all over the advisor.)

"Take this to the captain," Conan murmured, voice soft and warm, fingertips brushing Clove's feathers. The bird shuffled into his hand, clearly enjoying the warmth.

Feh, the bird was definitely being spoiled rotten.

Once the note was tied, Clove took off with a quick flutter, heading towards town. Kaito would estimate that it’d probably take half an hour for the knights to storm the manor, armors clinking and swords clashing.

And what a sight it would be, Kaito snickered. He would then revel in satisfaction while watching the advisor get dragged out kicking and screaming.

If that was the outcome, Kaito wouldn’t mind having been shredded apart for the better half of the evening.

"Since we're done here, let's get something to eat," Conan declared, patting himself down, smoothing away stray strands of string and wrinkles.

"Heaven knows I'm starving." Kaito grinned, stretching his arms behind his back.

It was much easier going back inside, when he was following after Conan's confident strides.

"Well, that was boring," Kaito booed.

He hunched down over his crossed legs, resting his elbow on his knee. Kaito spun the heavy silver fork around in circles before he jabbed it into a smaller slab of beef.

Under the fork’s pressure, dark sauce oozed from the meat and all over the once pristine white platter. Kaito raised his forked beef and stuffed it into his mouth.

The spring air was nippy now that it was this late into the night. And the cold winds chilled down the mountainous lump of stewed meat generously piled atop the platter by none other than the Royal Inspector.

Kaito had been hungry, and the idea of food was nice and all. But once Kaito's squeaky boots toed the tiles where the chandelier light hit, he remembered Gah, I hate it here , and refused to take another step.

So the Royal Inspector went in alone to hunt for food, while Kaito sneakily scaled to a balcony to perch on the banister.

And apparently, the hunt was plentiful.

Conan carried over another plate and slid it next to Kaito's knee. The Royal Inspector seemed to be juggling plenty of porcelain plates in his arms. Kaito swallowed his food before he glanced down at what the inspector brought this time: leafy vegetables and rolling cherry tomatoes.

"What? Did you expect the knights to march in with fanfare and drag Ekiyama out?" Conan dryly remarked.

Somehow, Kaito was surrounded with multiple plates— of sliced fruits, boiled root vegetables, and meat. Lots of meat.

For the last ten minutes, the inspector had scurried to and fro the curtained balcony with full plates in each hand, until he was satisfied (?) with his collection.

"You are aware that if they did that in front of all the nobles in attendance, there'd be wild speculation spread before the official statement," Conan continued matter of factly. After hoarding nearly five plates, Conan looked like he was ready to chow down into the platter of beef—

Or not.

The inspector positioned his knife carefully in his hand and continued sawing a large piece of beef into smaller pieces.

"A quiet detainment was the best outcome that could've happened," Conan finalized, nodding to himself.

Still, Kaito had expectations in regards to the arrest. Where was the satisfaction? The gloating?

He started to wonder if he should slink off later to pay a visit to the advisor. The asshat could have some salt rubbed in his face.

Kaito hummed around his fork as Conan's cutlery clinked, hard at work. It was such an interesting sight to see: a child that looked like he was born with table etiquette, sawing his way through a thick slab of rib— albeit with difficulty because of the heavy weight of the utensils in his child-sized hands.

Kaito reached for another piece and then belatedly realized that he had already speared all the existing small pieces and that Conan was cutting up more for him.

Conan slid the pieces over into a generous pile before he worked on another slab of roast.

"I… know how to use the knife, you know," Kaito mentioned, scoffing at the idea that, once again, Conan assumed Kaito was ignorant to etiquette.

The inspector blinked before looking up with clear eyes. "I don't doubt that you do."

And as if ending that conversation, Conan popped a very, tiny and thin piece into his mouth and started chewing.

"So, what's with all this?" Kaito waved his fork at the daintily sliced meats, and then all the plates afterwards.

Conan continued chewing in silence, unhurried in answering Kaito’s question.

Ah, right.

How could Kaito forget? The Royal Inspector didn't talk while he was chewing.

Then, Conan swallowed and spoke, "I thought you ate this much?"

"You literally brought a whole cow here."

"Well," Conan said; there was a smudge of sauce on the corner of his mouth. Despite that, he went back to breaking apart food with his elegant posture. "You barely ate anything all day and I doubt you helped yourself at the banquet earlier."

Kaito watched him, feeling quite odd upon his realization that the Royal Inspector was feeding him.

"Is the Royal Inspector being— considerate? Of me?"

Kaito couldn't hide his incredulity. He had first excused Conan's insistence that Kaito slept in a bed as a whimsy— empty, pretty words that a Noble Knight (the Captain of the East Division, to be exact) would say just to feel self-important and authoritative.

But it was only occurring to him now that this was different .

"Of course?" Conan's eyebrows raised. His voice was nonchalant as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"It's my responsibility to take care of my knights. As I've said before, a good night's rest and a full stomach are essential for your well-being. In the same manner, a reward is due after a successful mission. So, eat."

Kaito stared at him for a long time, slowly feeling his face heat up.

My knight, huh.

Conan carefully pulled apart a piece of meat on his fork, eyebrow dipping back down in concentration as he speared it.

So, uhm.

Kaito shifted his gaze away and coughed dryly. "It’s weird that you aren’t lecturing me about those manners you love to preach about."

Because everything was crude about the way Kaito was sitting (cross-legged on the veranda banister) and eating (stabbing his food and hefting it into his mouth like a barbarian.)

And all Conan did was look at him without frowning or tsking.

"The curtains are drawn. People would have to be brazen to come here."

Kaito's eyes flickered behind him, to the thick trees that filled the space between each balcony, lending people much needed privacy for whatever secret reasons.

But privacy for Kaito was a chance to breathe and break out of the noble character Conan had stuffed him into.

"In other words, you'd lecture me if there was a chance someone could see me."

"If there was a chance, then yes." Conan wiped away the smudge on the corner of his mouth. Shame— it looked funny. Then, he passed over a napkin, dropping it onto Kaito's lap. "You should wipe your shirt before it stains. Nobles have a penchant for nitpicking those things."

At that, Kaito glanced down at his (undone) white shirt, and grimaced at the small flecks of brown decorating his collar.

"No need to tell me," Kaito dramatically sighed as he blotted away the sauce.

He was already tired of listening to the talk about nobility, honors, achievement and class. His eyes had already dried up after blankly staring during their soliloquies.

After being assaulted by flowery bullsh*t, strung up and whipped verbally for spilling wine, Kaito decisively declared, "I never want to deal with that lot ever again."

Nobles were disgusting.

Noble Knights even more so, obsessed with pride and honor. And their sh*tty titles to boot—

What else would you expect from a fallen noble? He's got no inheritance or title to himself, so of course he has to make do. Too bad his parents died before they could teach him any class.

Kaito paused, turning his eyes down at the Royal Inspector, who was valiantly trying to pin down a leafy green to no avail. It kept unfurling under his fork, but his tenacity was unmatched.

At last, the inspector subdued the leaf and hefted it into his mouth. It was the biggest bite Kaito had seen yet. Conan's cheek puffed up like a squirrel.

"Well, okay, except for you. You're one of the good ones."

And with that, Kaito gave Conan a hearty clap on the shoulder.

"Mmph?"

Conan gave him a questioning glance, but otherwise was too preoccupied with chewing to voice any questions.

Taking the chance, Kaito grabbed one of the platters of meat and scraped half of it onto the modestly empty plate that Conan was working on.

"Mm??"

" You brought all this, so it's only fair you eat your share."

Fortunately, Conan's mouth was too stuffed to protest.

"I can’t eat anymore, I'm done."

Conan slumped over on himself, arms bracing both sides of the porcelain plate. His hand grasped the fork and knife in a white knuckled grip.

Kaito’s laugh rumbled above him. When Conan weakly lifted his eyes, he saw Kaito’s fork nudging a rolling cherry tomato on his plate. “Come on, you reap what you sow. You missed a spot.”

“This is ridiculous,” Conan lamented miserably as he tried to straighten himself up. His stomach was on the cusp of bursting past his suit’s buttons. The sight of his plate and all its leftovers made him all the more devastated. “It’s too much.”

“It’s great that we’re on the same page.”

Conan's sigh rattled out. He arranged his cutlery on his dish like a white flag. “All right. I concede. I apologize. I’ll remember to keep moderation in mind next time.”

Kaito hummed in approval and then dropped his own plate, empty, onto the sizable stack near his side. “Not that I don't appreciate it, but really. Were you planning on rolling me back to the tavern after this?”

Conan gave him a dead stare. " You seem fine though."

"Hm," Kaito hummed, shrugging.

For all the complaining about the amount of food, Kaito seemed to have no trouble with grabbing the next platter.

As Conan suspected, Kaito had an abyss for a stomach and only whined for whining’s sake.

With food in his mouth, Kaito spoke up, "Huh, I wonder if the advisor's ever gonna figure out that we're the ones responsible for his arrest. Since, he did see us in front of his door."

Conan rested his cheek on his hand, leaning over the balcony to stare into the dense woods. The sound of the string orchestra within the main banquet halls seemed so far away. "I doubt it. He wouldn't ever think a child could pillage his office."

Which really worked out in his favor, unexpectedly.

Conan had bluffed, many days ago, in the prince's study, saying that being a child would be more convenient for his line of work.

He didn't necessarily believe that, of course. It was just a desperate attempt to keep working on his case, instead of being confined within the Royal Palace "for his safety."

Up until now, being in a child's body gave Conan no advantages, only problems.

Yet after the advisor's detainment, Conan could now see that his current condition could be useful.

Kaito laughed in response, short and light. "What kind of child would talk like that, though? Even the advisor was impressed that my junior had more mannerisms than me."

Conan snorted. Well, looking like a child was one part, but he had much to improve on acting like one— well, aside from his pretty convincing (?) act of a crying child.

He shut his eyes to forget the embarrassment of being caught trying to cry. Thankfully, Kaito seemed genuinely more amazed by it than amused to bring it up again.

Conan shrugged, "Well, as impressed as Ekiyama was, it wasn't enough to get him off your back. I even had to bring up Houghton."

Houghton was a clothing brand that had wait lists that stretched on for months. The shop gained fame when the Crown Prince personally commissioned them for a suit for his eighteenth birthday. Since then, wearing anything from Houghton was a testament to a noble's wealth.

Of course, the advisor would be pleased with it.

"So, are you actually gonna get him a new suit?"

Conan blinked; he looked up at Kaito to make sure he heard right.

Kaito was in the middle of eating his leafy vegetables; his fork swept them up into a pile. He returned Conan’s gaze with an innocuous raise of his brow.

He looked so genuinely curious that Conan couldn't help but laugh aloud.

“Pft, no. As if he could enjoy a suit from jail.”

The guard balked, almost dropping the leaf that was hanging out of his mouth.

"So you were lying?"

Conan's laugh eased as he rubbed his eye with his hand. "Is that so surprising?"

Kaito's reaction was hilarious to behold. His flailing even more so, "Well— no, but, as the Royal Inspector, aren't you the Embodiment of Righteousness? Harbinger of Justice? Beacon of Honesty—"

"Stop that—" Conan knocked his fist loosely into Kaito's knee as he laughed again, bowing his head as he did so. What was with all those inflated titles? They were worse than the flyers in Toutou. "Don't make me out to be saintly like a holy priest, I’m just an inspector."

Kaito leaned forward, setting down his plate to the side. There was a mischievous, almost approving sparkle in his eyes. "Speaking of which, what a wild life the Royal Inspector has. You gambled and drank with those drunkards? Wow, I'd never imagined it."

Conan quirked a wry smile. "I don't, not usually. It's just easier gathering information from loose lips. Once you feed them a glass of wine, they’re all too ready to share every secret."

"Ha, you got a point there," Kaito laughed and reached for his glass of water.

For the following moments, they shared a silence.

Both gazing at the faraway mountains, watching it dip into shadow and then into moonlight from the rolling clouds overhead.

It was hard pressed for Conan to believe now, that at the beginning of all this, Kaito had blocked him, pace to pace, boot to boot.

Look, Tantei-kun, we're kind of at odds here.

And they were! Mismatched in every possible way. Conan had dreaded needing to travel with a man who seemed to do just enough to save his own skin. A man who was rude, ill-mannered, and unreliable.

But who knew they'd end up here, on the veranda and picking through dinner plates after a mission completed.

Insufferable as Kaito was— well, maybe he wasn't so insufferable; different , but not annoyingly so— he proved himself to be a worthy, reliable knight.

—even though Conan had his prejudices and called him a half-baked knight with questionable origins.

"Honestly, this case wouldn't have been solved without your help," Conan announced. "Your expertise in the forest expedited our trip here and your cooperation was key in getting us into the banquet. Not to mention, your quick thinking stalled the advisor long enough for me to retrieve the letters."

Conan reached up to pat Kaito's shoulder like how he usually did with his knights at the end of their mission— and fumbled, because his arm wasn't long enough.

He settled on patting Kaito's knee, albeit awkwardly. "You did exemplary work. Good job."

"You—" Kaito started and then sighed, loudly. It vaguely sounded like a laugh. “Did you memorize that from some kind of textbook?"

Conan pressed his lips together, feeling slightly insulted. "Can't you take a compliment for once."

"Okay, fine. Fine." Kaito replied with a roll of his eyes. He cleared his voice a moment and bowed his head, eyes serenely sliding shut. "You give me far too much credit, for I am simply doing my job as assigned by his royal highness— ow!"

"Not like that." Conan's hand had just lightly grazed the top of his head. The guard really was being dramatic for theatrics’ sake.

"Boo, stuffy pants, you're no fun," Kaito crowed and Conan was about to make a quip about being called stuffy pants , when his eyes landed on Kaito's ear.

Specifically the glinting onyx stone with blue clovers on it.

"Huh? The earring—" Conan glanced down at his own lapels; his hand flew to it to his pocket. "When did you get it—?"

His fingers felt the shaped charm still tucked cozily in his pocket, and Conan pulled it out. The clovers greeted him under the lamp lights.

And here Conan thought Kaito pulled some kind of magic to fish it out of his pocket without any notice.

"Earrings come in a pair, you know. I just don't wear both, since it's a lame look," Kaito explained as he swung his legs over the veranda.

Glancing over his shoulder, Kaito grinned. "You can keep that. It saved your ass today, afterall.”

Conan squinted at him, “…How?”

“I mean, I found you before the advisor did, didn’t I?”

Ugh— Conan frowned at the memory of being found bawling. “That was pure luck.”

“That’s the charm,” Kaito replied with a shrug. “Well, just keep it on you. It’ll come in handy one day, really.”

Conan studied him as he turned his head down to focus on the laces of his boots. Kaito may appear flippant now, but Conan remembered the way the guard grabbed him in the long stretch of hallway.

Even if Conan didn't believe in things like lucky charms, Kaito seriously gave it to him. It would be rude to reject his sentiment.

"All right, fine." Conan closed his fingers around it, feeling the cool stone.

Then, "But I'm not going to wear it on my ear."

Kaito barked out a laugh and shook his head. "Oh, I see you're blind to good style . "

Conan knit his brows ."What good style ? "

"It's the latest trend in the capital," Kaito huffed, preening as his fingers fiddled with his earring. It glinted in the moonlight and Conan swore the blue clover was a little bit more vibrant.

Conan laughed mockingly, "I don't want to hear that from a homeless looking guy that wears dirty bandages."

"They're not dirty bandages, they're expensive Eastern linen!"

"Whatever you say."

The journey back to Toutou was a lot more pleasant now that they were going downhill.

The inspector had stocked up on more than enough warming elixirs to last him the two day journey without so much a cough. He was bounding down the hills with gusto that Kaito could barely recognize him from the sickly frail child that wilted in himself.

In addition to that, Conan had become near obsessed with rummaging through the forest floor and shrubbery for food — completely forgetting about the wedge of cheese and loaves of bread that was sure to be quickly molding in his rucksack.

Not like Kaito minded much.

Cheese could be kept.

The non-moldy parts of the bread could be used to bribe his sparrows back to Kaito’s side.

Which Kaito had to say, he was not salty about the amount of birds defecting day by day. It seemed like half of Kaito’s birds had taken a great liking to Conan’s bread-smelling hair.

After a day and a half, they finally stumbled into Toutou. Immediately, Conan dragged them to the public baths to wash away the bits of leaves and smudged dirt all over.

The hot water did well to restore their aching limbs and Kaito sauntered out, feeling much more steamed and cleaned than he had in days.

Outside the bathhouse, Kaito was kicking on his boots and rewrapping a new roll of linen cloth around his arms when a familiar caricature caught his eye.

Carefully, Kaito pulled off the crinkled poster nailed on the wooden board.

It was Kudou Shinichi with pupils looking in opposite directions, nose off centered, and with a prominent space for his chin.

He heard Conan's boots kicking up dust as he clambered out from the curtains at the entrance. Conan's hair was wet, looking very much like a cat doused with water.

"What are you looking at— oh, that ."

Conan's large, curious eyes immediately halved in size.

He unfurled a cotton sheet to drape over his wet hair. "They have too much free time on their hands if they're drawing those posters all the time."

Kaito’s eyes wandered back to the board. There were at least two other drawings— all uniquely… artistic in their own way.

"It's a good thing that you're well loved," Kaito said as he studied the poster in his hands— the ugliest drawing of them all. Conan scoffed from under the cotton towel on his head.

Kudou Shinichi— was not a looker, according to the artist of this poster.

The man looked so ugly that Kaito was obliged to add the poster to his current collection of noble portraits.

But who could blame the artist? In a far off town, away from trained portrait artists, the people in Toutou made do with the best they could. Even if their best looked like some five year old’s charcoal scribble.

But, surely, the Royal Inspector couldn't be that ugly, right??

Kaito glanced down at Conan— at his reddened button nose, at his cheeks that still held its baby fat, and striking blue eyes that glimmered with curiosity.

Hm.

The inspector surely looked cute as a child.

But then again, kids can change when they grow up.

Deep in thought, Kaito tried to remember what he looked like as a child— surely he’s changed a lot— but belatedly realized he never had a mirror to look at whilst growing up.

Glancing at Conan again (as he ruffled his hair dry), Kaito remembered the tavern lady mistaking them as a pair of brothers.

Ah, hold on.

Why was Kaito thinking so hard about this?

Kaito was no inspector. Why wrack his brain over with deductions when there was a better way to solve this mystery by asking the person drawn?

“Question.” Kaito held the picture up to Conan’s face, forcing him to look at it despite his crinkled nose. "Does this look like you?"

Conan took several steps back, obviously hating how his eyes were suddenly assaulted without warning. "You think I'd look like that?"

"I mean, people change over the years?"

With a defeated sigh, Conan looked away and decided to humor him. "…No, I don't look like that."

Kaito pulled the paper back, brow quirking at it. He looked back to the board where the rest of Kudou Shinichi’s ugly brethrens were immortalized.

"Then how on earth would anyone know who Kudou Shinichi is?"

"All the better for me," Conan announced. He let the rag drop around his neck as his fingers ran through his hair, messed out of sorts. “I rather not deal with people recognizing me.”

His cowlick stuck up prominently— much like the one in the poster.

Ah… that was definitely one way to identify him.

Though Kaito was sure if he mentioned it, Conan would chop it off without a second beat. And what a shame it’d be if he did. The stuffy inspector would look even more stuffy without a small touch of wild hair.

"If this is how their wanted posters look, can you imagine how many criminals get away with everything here?” Kaito started folding the poster, feeling quite tired of the ugly mug.

"You should cut them some slack, they have the general description down at the very least."

Kaito’s fingers paused at a crease of the picture, eyes flickering down to the bottom margin. As Conan mentioned, there was a string of words printed neatly.

Average height; young adult male; dark brown, neat, straight hair; blue eyes that are clear and piercing like a sunny, winter day.

It started off normal and ended in weird poetry, but—

Blue eyes clear and piercing like a sunny, winter day.

Hm.

Kaito could see some truth in that.

He tucked the poster into his tunic for safekeeping. But if even the innslady mistook them as a pair of brothers…

Kaito wove his fingers into his hair, picking at the strands. Now that it was damp from the bath, his hair was actually manageable without needing some greasy wax.

"Hey, Tantei-kun,” Kaito called out. Conan was sitting against the wooden bench, retying his boots. “What would happen if I walked into the tavern all high and mighty and asked for free lodging."

“What are you talking—” Conan lifted his eyes and immediately glowered. "Don't you dare."

Kaito pinched together the hairs on the back of his head, defining that cowlick even more. He flattened his hair down against his skull. "If not this, then I guess we’ll need to do our brotherly act again."

Conan’s boots thumped noisily as he jumped up.

"How are we going to explain that! We just came here some weeks ago! They’re going to recognize us!"

Did the tavern people even care about that? Well— all right, maybe the innslady did like the brother pair a little too much. Ah, the consequences of Kaito just being darn good at doing work. People couldn’t help but be charmed by his charisma.

Feigning a sigh, Kaito shrugged. "All right, then we have no choice. It'll have to be Kudou Shinichi and his servant boy—"

"You are not going to dress up as me and tout me around as a servant boy.”

Kaito clicked his tongue. "So what're we gonna do—” He stumbled off kilter and nearly fell backwards at the hard tug at his bandages.

"We’ll keep going,” Conan declared, finally releasing Kaito when he was assured enough that he would follow. “Another one or two nights in the woods won’t kill me.”

Kaito raised a brow, feeling mildly surprised.

He followed after him, steps plodding softly on the paved walkway. “Wouldn’t you want a warm bowl of hot soup instead of mushrooms and rabbit meat?”

“I’d rather we not take advantage of their goodwill—” Kaito opened his mouth. “ Even if the tavern prefers help, the sickly baby brother can’t exactly work his keep there.”

Meaning that, Conan felt sheepish sitting around pretending to be sickly while Kaito carried plates here and there.

“Oh…”

Conan was pointedly ignoring his gaze, continuing to trek forward in the way he does, confident strides that were very mismatched with his lanky limbs.

Kaito hummed to himself and mussed his hair back into its familiar wildness.

It only took him a few steps to match Conan’s pace.

The outskirts of Toutou were peppered with blossom trees. The wind shook the leaves with a gentle rattle, sending a whirl of pink into the sky.

“Then for tonight’s dinner, I’ll prepare a main dish that’ll elevate the forest experience.”

Kaito turned to give a friendly wave at the towns guard that was stationed with his gleaming helmet and spear.

“I’m surprised you even remembered that.”

Of course, Kaito would remember. He was really looking forward to how Conan would gawk in awe-inspiring wonder when he plopped a wolf on the ground.

"I never go back on my word," Kaito snickered. He didn't even mind how the sparrows in the trees had begun making a ruckus, jumping from branch to branch following them through the thinning forestry trail.

Conan looked at him with a brow raised, suspicious.

“Whatever you’re planning, I don’t want it,” he huffed but there was a trace of a smile— probably because Clove had just landed on his shoulder, tweeting about.

Kaito clapped Conan heartily on the back, satisfied at how the bird sputtered away in surprise.

“Aw, don’t be like that. You’ll like it.”

"Uh-huh. You know what, I'll regret saying this, but—" Conan laughed. "Go ahead and surprise me."

Kaito's land lingered on Conan's shoulder before he let it fall. "You bet I will."

The spring air tasted sweeter and Kaito was grinning.

Chapter 12: Who killed Kaito and replaced him?

Chapter Text

Wednesday night in the woods, on their way back after a mission well done.

Conan had pulled his knees up to his chest. His cloak bellowed out around him, providing him added warmth against the frosty night.

There were still two days until they arrived in the capital. And the journey back wasn’t as unpleasant as it had been before.

Somehow, Kaito had become much more tolerable to be around. Or Conan had come to tolerate him.Whatever the case, conversation flowed more easily between them now— quips and insults were more lighthearted, instead of hurtful attempts to jab at each other’s person.

Conan had to admit he (immaturely) held a lot of prejudiced contempt against Kaito, but after their successful mission, he had come to reflect about himself and the guard.

In the lull of the evening, after they finished their dinner of bread and cheese, Conan started to flip through the pages of his notebook. He began tracing their journey in the form of map transcriptions and notes scribbled down. The time between their first meeting and now was so long. So many things had happened since.

Conan stared down at a page filled with strings of numbers, a testament to his efforts when he tried to figure out the combination to his shackles. Surprisingly, Kaito taught him when Conan asked (demanded.)

It took a lot of effort, but Conan was glad he ended up mastering it, because how else would he have made it into the advisor’s office during the banquet?

Speaking of banquets, Conan laughed quietly as he remembered using Kaito’s favor against him . Conan didn't intend to use the favor when he did, but Kaito was being difficult. But as difficult and unwilling as Kaito initially was, he ended up playing his part perfectly as the emissary in a hall filled with nobles.

It wasn’t long before Conan came to a page filled to the brim about Kaito .

There indeed was a night when Conan was still puzzling over what kind of guard Kaito was, and he wrote down all his theories and thoughts. Conan had been careful to hide his book since, on the chance Kaito would swipe it up and peek.

If Kaito discovered the existence of this page, he would’ve said something along the lines of, After all we’ve been through, you still don’t trust me!

He'd huff and haw; maybe cry a few crocodile tears here and there like a conman.

When it came to trust, Conan easily trusted Kaito on the basis that he was following the crown prince’s orders. If the guard wanted him dead, he really could’ve just given him a poisonous mushroom or left him to freeze in the snow.

No, this wasn't a matter of trust, but a mystery.

Kuroba Kaito had remained some strange kind of enigma ever since Conan met him.

Since the very beginning, Kaito proved that he was unusually stealthy, slipping past the guards’ and Conan’s notice. He handled the dagger more skillfully than Conan had seen knights wield their swords.

And as the Royal Highness claimed— Kaito had an array of surprising abilities. Magic tricks aside, he was resourceful with surviving in the woods; he mimicked regional accents; he was quick witted in whatever situation (as a swindling brother or an emissary of a Lord.)

Conan had long figured that Kaito wasn’t a noble. His disdain was apparent the moment Kaito spoke of them, and he emphasized the point that he wasn’t a proper graduate from the Academy either.

With all that Conan observed, it was easily concluded that Kaito was a commoner with mercenary training.

That conclusion should’ve been more than enough to lay his curiosity to rest.

But how did someone like that become employed by his Royal Highness? And what made him so different from the other knights to be given such preferential treatment?

And then, there was one other thing. When the snow forced them to undress, Conan couldn’t help but notice.

Kaito's body was littered with jagged, faded scars, overlapping one another like a worn map.

In a time of peace, it was rare to see anyone—even bandits— covered with such old injuries.

What kind of life did Kaito have ?

Was Kaito an ex-bandit, a run-away slave from a neighboring country, or was he deeply involved in some kind of cultish town that believed in odd customs?

Quite abruptly, Conan’s notes ended there, never reaching a conclusion or promise of continuation.

Admittedly, it had been a long while since Conan entertained the theories about Kaito’s past. Conan would even say he had forgotten about his theories, despite having seen Kaito’s scars repeatedly during those times they bathed in the communal bath.

Conan glanced up from his book, watching Kaito who sat, cross-legged in front of the fire.

The guard was swinging a small blade around, balancing it over his knuckles and then flicking it back to his fingers. He was humming some kind of cheerful tune, but his eyes gazed into the flames, looking at something far away.

Kaito had a lighthearted nature and penchant for jokes, but sometimes, there was a solemn side that Conan caught in glimpses.

Underneath his lackadaisical manner, he was unexpectedly earnest and keen.

Knights that were under Shinichi’s division merely followed instructions without any particular interest in the objective. They moved according to orders without giving much thought.

But Kaito was interested in Conan's missions. He asked smart questions, arrived to correct conclusions, bounced ideas when appropriate, and knew where Conan’s expertise began and ended.

Shinichi had become all too used to relying on himself during investigations, turning deductions around in his mind with no one to talk to or work with that it was a refreshing change of pace to have someone there with him.

Sure, first impressions had Conan believe Kaito a miscreant. After all, his words were rough and lacked finesse; he had a way with words to strike at Conan's temper. But underneath the laughter and jokes, there was a certain weight in his sincerity that carried through.

Conan looked down at his wrist, where Kaito’s earring had been looped once and made into something like a bracelet. It was a ‘lucky charm’ Kaito called it, and insisted,

Just keep it on you, okay?

And Conan didn’t miss how Kaito breathed easier once the charm had been pinned on his jacket lapel. Whether Conan believed in some charm or not, it was apparent that it was important to Kaito.

So with all things said and done, Conan had to ask himself this:

Did Kaito's past even matter anymore?

Curiosity was as much a virtue as it was a vice. Shinichi was always questioning— to a fault.

What Conan had to remember was that there always remained the reality that everyone had secrets they didn't want to share.

And as much as Conan itched to observe and solve, Kaito was a mystery better left alone.

— at least until Kaito wanted to tell him.

With that, Conan pinched the edge of those pages and ripped them out from his notebook. He crumpled them into a ball under his fists, until he was able to cast it into the fire.

---

12. Who killed Kaito and replaced him?

---

The professor's lab did not see any structural improvement since the last time Shinichi visited.

The shelves were still over-crammed and top heavy with boxes of metal bolts and screws. The floor had layers of fresh oil stains and other unidentifiable spills.

A gray shaft of sunlight filtered from overhead, and Conan looked up, squinting through the particles of dust.

The ceiling had been boarded up with a makeshift slab of wood, nailed haphazardly and barely holding. It covered— or attempted to cover— a sizable hole made from a misfired portable cannon some many months ago.

Agasa had been fortunate that he only got off with a light slap on the wrist and a written warning for "alarming the cityfolk.”

If it wasn't for the professor's existing connections to multiple staff in the Royal Palace (Shinichi being one of the most prominent ones), he would have surely been hauled away to be questioned for his intentions.

Instead, Agasa continued to live as the eccentric grandpa who madly tinkered with his experiments on the outskirts of the city.

Eccentric was an apt description. Agasa leaned heavily into the stereotypical mad inventor— what with the crack in his glasses and soot stains on his mustache.

"Thanks for waiting—"

Conan swiveled his attention toward a table propped with machinery of some kind. He heard a few labored grunts, before the professor emerged from around it, dodging rods that stuck out from the sides.

“All right, here it is.”

At last, Agasa had waddled out of the narrow pathway from the storage room and approached the coffee table Conan was patiently seated in front of.

"As you commissioned, Shinichi-kun.” He dropped— onto the grainy wooden table— a clattering pair of shackles.

"Indestructible cuffs: can't break them, can't burn them. I worked with the locksmith to make a unique lock combination too that only this new key can unlock,” the old man huffed proudly, swiping at his sooty mustache.

As he rambled about his collaboration with the best locksmith in the capital, Conan picked up the new shackles, admiring the craftsmanship.

A year ago, Shinichi had given Agasa a lump of mythril, requesting for them to be made into a unique pair of shackles. Conan hadn’t heard much about its progress until he sent a letter some weeks ago, requesting for slight adjustments so that the shackles could account for varying wrist sizes.

They don't make child-sized handcuffs , Kaito had said back in the lodge and Conan agreed with him.

He didn't believe there would be a situation where he’d have to apprehend a child , but its adjustable size would become useful somehow.

"What do you think?" Agasa asked as he fell into the chair across the table. It creaked as he shifted forward, reaching for his cooled cup of tea. “It’s light and thin, but strong. Some of the best work I've finished, I'd say.”

"Not bad," Conan hummed, pushing aside his cup of watered down tea. He shut the shackles, watching the silver mythril glisten in the sparse sunlight. "It'll be easier to carry around compared to the other pair."

Click, click, click.

The handcuffs could squeeze around even the smallest of wrists.

Conan dug into his pockets for the leather skin pouch containing his lock picking tools.

"Oh, that reminds me. The inspector— Megure came by a few days ago," the professor piped up. He didn’t seem to mind that Conan pulled out his tension wrench and pick. "He was asking about you, actually. Wondered why you weren’t answering his letters— and I swore I said nothing about your current state."

“I know you wouldn’t,” Conan wryly laughed. The professor wasn't one to peep about anything. "And the inspector should know from the papers that I've been busy with the recent case. I'll pay a visit to him once I'm cured."

Hopefully, Haibara would have an antidote by then.

There were a lot of faces Shinichi had to see, and only so many times he could use the “I’m busy” excuse.

Conan turned the handcuffs around, brows knitting as he twisted his tools this way and that.

The mechanisms couldn’t be opened with the techniques Kaito had taught him. He couldn’t feel for the groves that were present in most locks despite how hard he tried. As the professor had boasted, it did have a unique lock combination.

"I forgot to mention, there were some extra mythril, so I made a couple of those shackles," Agasa continued after a moment of silence. "And since Megure dropped by, I gave him one too. You don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all," Conan said and heaved a great sigh. He let the handcuffs fall to the table with a resigned thump. "It wouldn’t be bad getting a second opinion."

If Conan couldn't pick it open, then criminals couldn't slither away once caught— not like Shinichi ever encountered anyone who tried that.

Aside from Kaito.

Agasa's new handcuffs were already leagues better than the original shackles that the guard had broken open within seconds. It was light, indestructible, and unpickable.

But… hm.

Maybe he should ask Kaito about what he thought of it.

By which Conan meant, see how long it'd take for the guard to pick it open.

Conan thoughtfully wiped away a smudge on the shiny metal.

Come to think of it, where was Kaito anyway?

The day after returning to the capital, it took Conan a whole hour to convince Kaito to take his knight’s leave.

I swear, I'm just going to stay in the palace to write reports and reorganize books. If I'm going anywhere, I'll let you know.

Conan actually expected Kaito to bolt once they stepped foot into the capital. But the guard stubbornly loitered around him, quite fired up for the next big adventure that Conan didn't have planned.

Now it was customary for knights to be rewarded a week's rest after a strenuous mission, and Kaito— half-baked or not— was a knight who deserved his mandated leave.

So Conan ordered Kaito to go away and do whatever during his days off.

It took a sharp, curt tone and a steadfast glare to get Kaito to finally (and sulkily) scamper off to god knows where.

Conan was able to enjoy the calm thereafter, finishing his rather long laundry list of to-do’s.

He finished visiting the professor, submitted his report to the crown prince, dropped by the (empty) Royal Pharmacy, and finally returned to his office to pick up the rest of his menial tasks.

Conan had finished piling up his responses to overdue correspondences and started organizing the books away on his desk when the calm settled into something eerie.

He swore he heard the phantom Ugh, so boring from somewhere in the corner.

Several times, the strange stillness crept over his shoulders and Conan had to glance back to check. After all, Kaito would be the type to crawl quietly through the window just to spook Conan with an inane comment.

However, every time Conan turned, no one was there.

Seriously— even when Conan had finally regained a sense of peace, he couldn’t be too careful around Kuroba Kaito, a man who had the mischievous humor and uncanny ability to just pop out of nowhere without warning.

Conan shifted his focus down to the towers of books scattered across his desk and began spilling onto the floor. Although he took the entire rest of the day sorting through them, the piles hardly decreased. Maybe he was a little too ambitious with his spring cleaning.

Taking a break, Conan plopped in his too big chair, scooted closer to his too big desk, palm pressed to his cheek, and idly started reading up on the latest news tabloids.

He scanned through the headlines for anything interesting.

Count's House Burned Down— although it was unfortunate, there were no causalities.

Kurama Noble Involved in Smuggling — it looked like the news hastily broke throughout the kingdom as some hot topic.

Possible Re-emergence of the Capital’s—

A firm stream of knocks interrupted him.

Blinking and readjusting his glasses, Conan immediately shoved the hefty chair back and jumped out of his seat.

He brushed down the wrinkles in his vest and made his way to the door. He didn’t forget to readjust the golden badge pinned on his lapels.

Cracking open the door, Conan peered up at a maid holding an envelope, among a stack of others. “Yes?”

“Oh, pardon me,” the maid said, eyes wide. If the maid was surprised that there was an apprentice steward in the Royal Inspector's office, she quickly smoothed her expression away once she caught sight of his badge. “I assumed Kudou-sama was in.”

“Ah, he… is.” Conan slipped halfway out, making sure the other couldn't see into his office. It looked like a storm had torn through his entire study and it would be embarrassing to have the maid witness his mess.

Conan lowered his voice into a considerate whisper.

"He’s busy at the present moment, but to whom—" Conan paused his speech, pressing his lips thin. Children don't talk like this. "Can I pass along a message?"

"Oh, why, yes. A messenger has come with a letter from his master, Megure Juuzou; he is waiting for Kudou-sama’s response at the entrance of the gates."

Conan received the letter, quite heavy and thick. If it was just any letter, the servant should have left it with the maid and gone home. But if the servant stayed, it could only mean that the retired inspector was demanding an immediate reply.

The old man seemed to have become impatient over the years.

"Thank you, I'll inform my master."

And with a polite bow, Conan shut the door.

Conan broke open the wax seal, eyes immediately flying over the pages—

[To Kudou Shinichi,

How long has it been since my student sent me a letter! Imagine my excitement when I combed through the papers and discovered that a branch of Cobra had been brought down, and who was at the heart of it all? A noble—! What an ungrateful man he was to betray his own friend and master! Although your name was not present in the papers, I recall your previous letter detailing your meticulous plan of following merchants up North. I hope you share details of your escapades—]

Conan clenched his eyes for a moment, dizzy from the eager script.

Somehow between the last letter and this one, Megure's writing had evolved into flowery prose. He must have picked up a book and gotten into the hobby of poetry.

Conan shuffled through the pages, frowning.

Words, words, more words.

Did Megure really send a servant to stand outside waiting for Conan to answer to this?

Conan skipped to the end.

[But let us save your tales for much later, when you have the time for this old man.

The purpose in which I write to you today is that yesterday evening, I escorted, into the town's jail, a man that claimed to be a royal knight of your acquaintance. His name is Kuroba Kaito.]

Conan’s mouth dropped.

What?

He should've known— the peace couldn't last, at least not this long.

Conan dropped his head into the papers and let out a sigh.

[If he is who he claims to be, please come and collect him.]

Time to get him.

During Shinichi's school days, the position of Royal Inspector was vacant.

The previous inspector, Megure Juuzou, had stepped down from the mantle and became a humble geography professor at the Knight's Academy in the Capital. He loved to ramble on about maps and stories of his missions, often droning on past the school's bell.

Many years later, upon Shinichi's promotion to a Royal Inspector, Megure had long retired to a quiet town on the outskirts of the capital. The old inspector was granted land, a manor, and a title for his contributions to the Kingdom. He and his wife spent the rest of their peaceful days reading novels and sometimes gardening.

Shinichi usually made it a routine to visit his mentor at least twice a month, but with cases increasing and stretching in longer periods of time, Shinichi simply became busy.

But now, his first meeting with his mentor— after such a long time and in this shrunken form— would be because of Kaito.

Who knew.

Megure’s messenger had arrived on horseback and brought Conan, without delay, to the sleepy town of Teitan.

Conan alighted and stared up at the looming, unfriendly brick building that was Teitan's jail.

Dungeon.

Holding cell.

Shinichi was no stranger to the sight of this kind of building— having built a long career of escorting many criminals behind bars.

But this would be the first that he had to get anyone out of it.

Upon Conan’s arrival, one of the guards at the gate quickly scurried into the quaint town to alert Count Megure.

The other guard— after being shown a (quickly scribbled) letter from Kudou Shinichi— escorted Conan into the stuffy building and down the winding steps.

No guard in his right mind would take a child into the depths of the dungeon. But Shinichi's letter strongly insisted that the steward apprentice was to promptly identify the accused without any delay.

— because Conan needed enough time to figure out what the situation was before Megure arrived.

As Conan followed the guard down the halls, there were a few criminals who clanged the bars and shouted at them, heckling Conan in an attempt to scare him. The guard showed valiant bravado in snapping back at them to shush and guided Conan further away from them.

But Conan was all but nonplussed, turning a blind eye to them.

The underground jail was damp and muggy, with dusty sunlight streaming in from the holes dug out on the side of the walls.

As they turned the corner and walked down further, it became quieter and the cells emptier.

"This way; he’s at the end of the hall," the guard said, motioning down the long pathway.

Conan continued walking past him, only stopping to give him an appreciative nod. "Thank you, I'll be fine from here."

The prison guard paused for a moment, hesitant on whether he should really let a child face a potential criminal, but Conan smiled at him, assuring.

"He's my senior."

With a nod, the guard accepted his explanation and returned from where they came. His armored boots clunked noisily behind him, and then he disappeared past the corner.

Conan's smile dropped. He hurriedly made his way to the end, past all the empty jail cells, to the end of the hall.

It was almost hilarious and sad how the guards decided to shut Kaito away at the furthest cell.

"Gh, come on— gof amn it."

Conan slowed to a pace, his boots quieting on the damp floor. He heard clinking and breathy grunts.

And chirps.

"Oh shuf uh."

The voice was familiar and muffled .

Metal clattered to the floor, ringing sharply and fading into silence. "Ugh, stop looking at me like that. I know, I know."

Another tweet answered him.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm dumbass, I know ."

A deep sigh.

"When the Royal Inspector finds out, he's probably gonna dismember me and sprinkle me everywhere in a pig pen."

"I'm going to do what now?"

In three steps, Conan came upon the jail cell, finding the guard slumped against the moss-ridden wall.

Kaito's head snapped up, face paling.

The sparrow— Clove had fit neatly within the window bars. Once it saw him, it chirped loudly in greeting and flew its way over to Conan’s shoulder.

"Oh. Ah. I can explain."

Conan gave Kaito a once over.

The guard looked the same as he always did, red scarf wrapped around his upper half, daggers out of sight and stowed away wherever they were. He looked unruffled and unharmed.

Conan let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. By the looks of it, Kaito wasn't involved in a scuffle— not like he should be scuffling about. (He should have integrity as his highness’ knight after all).

Sensing a long story, Conan crossed his arms. "All right. Explain. I’m listening.”

“Well.” Kaito started and lifted his hands. Around his wrists were an identical pair of shiny handcuffs to the ones Agasa gave Conan that very morning. "Before I say anything else— I f*cked up."

Conan raised a brow, confused at Kaito’s sudden admission of guilt (?) and the way his head dropped down in shame.

He didn’t look like he was acting. He wouldn't look like a kicked dog otherwise.

For someone like Kaito to look earnestly remorseful—

Bewildered panic bubbled out of Conan’s chest, "What did you do?"

Kaito continued with a strange sense of calm and resignation. "I get it. It was dumb of me. I don't usually make this mistake, but it's happened twice so far— with the Royal Inspectors, no less. I'm reflecting on my actions, laugh all you want—"

"Kaito," Conan snapped and the guard flinched, his shoulders jerking at his tone.

"What happened—" Conan paused and took a deep breath. There were always solutions to problems; there was no need to panic. He leveled his voice. "Did you get into a fight?"

"What! No—!! I just." Kaito's fingers flexed helplessly and his eyes darted away to the side of the holding cell. He chewed on his inner check, choosing his words carefully.

Did some mercenary pick a fight with him? Did Kaito accidentally damage a storefront during that fight—

"I… was patrolling around the food stalls when I saw a guy mucking about. I was just doing my duty as part of the kingdom's security, and…"

Conan's stare slowly became blank, as an odd sense of deja vu started to descend upon him.

"I confiscated…something."

Oh.

That was it? Conan let out a sigh of relief. Among all the things he imagined, now that wasn’t too bad.

Kaito was thrown in jail just for stealing something— wait.

That was bad .

Holding his head, Conan tried shove away the relief he felt earlier. They weren't done here. "Hold on…what exactly did you take?"

The guard looked down and then wiggled his fingers. "A fancy emerald ring."

Conan felt the blood drain from his face.

"From who?" Conan couldn't help but ask— even after he received a personal letter stating that Kaito was personally arrested by—

"A… count. Count Megure."

Oh no.

Conan was near incredulous, his voice started to crack— "Of all things you decided to steal, you stole his wedding ring? !"

Kaito reached his hands up to cover his face. "I know! I know ! I f*cked up. I thought he was a beggar — and that he stole it off a… noble."

"But he is a noble! Regardless of whether he looked like one or not, you shouldn’t be stealing from anyone !"

"I know." Kaito sighed in response, not even bothering to defend against the allegations.

Conan pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes tight.

What was he going to do with this guy? Kaito may have had good intentions, but in the eyes of the retired inspector, what Kaito did was a crime. He rightfully should be thrown in jail for a few days, if not weeks— or months for offending him.

If Conan was to defend his guard in the face of his old mentor, he needed context. Snapping his eyes open, Conan cleared his voice, "So what happened after?"

Kaito slowly blinked and lifted his wrists as if the answer wasn't already obvious.

Conan shook his head at that. "Tell me in detail: what exactly happened afterwards."

"I… gave him a warning, told him he shouldn't be walking around with that around else he'd get thrown in the dungeons and then, he was pissed."

Pissed was a poor understatement. Megure must've erupted like a volcano. He loved his wife more than life itself.

"And then?"

"He… yelled at me for a bit, showed me his badge and I gave the ring back. I told him who I was, but he wouldn't listen and dragged me here."

Conan thought deeply. Megure was a jovial man on a good day and a stubborn, inflexible man on a bad day. Years of retirement from being an inspector had mellowed him out. And during his time as a professor, Megure knew how to deal with a fair share of stupid idiots.

So if it was a matter of intent, Megure would've let Kaito go after a light slap on the wrist since it was an entirely plausible misunderstanding.

But—

I escorted, into the town's jail, a man that claimed to be a Royal knight of your acquaintance.

Conan's hand dropped from his chin. "Wait, where's your badge?"

Kaito looked miserable and clueless. "What badge?"

"You know, the badge his royal Highness should have given you—"

Conan rummaged through his own pockets, fishing out the thin silver metal with the engraving: Edogawa Conan - Steward Trainee. He held it up, would've pressed it closer to Kaito's face if there weren't bars between them.

"All personnel that go in and out of the Royal Palace should have their identification badge on them at all times. So where's yours?"

"Oh. That." Kaito became silent, his back slanting against the cell wall. "…it's in a box. In my room somewhere."

"Why is it in a box?” Conan asked, incredulous. He started to massage his temples. “All this trouble could've been avoided if you actually followed protocol and kept it on you"

Kaito turned his head away and mumbled, "…it's cus I might lose it."

But before Conan could say anything to that, Kaito heaved a long and hefty sigh. He melted into the floor, as if boneless and utterly resigned. "— Anyways , it's fine. I'll accept my due punishment. Ask the prince to find some other guy to guard you. It wouldn't do any good to have the Royal Inspector, Kudou Shinichi, associated with some half baked-knight anyways—"

"Don't be dramatic," Conan scoffed. "You seem remorseful enough. I'll talk to the inspector on your behalf. I’m sure he'll understand."

Kaito let out a weak huff and tried to cross his arms. He only got so far as bending his elbows. "So, what about these?"

The shackles jingled as Kaito limply shook his wrists. It was the longest Conan had seen Kaito with shackles on.

Conan looked at him.

Come to think of it.

"Earlier, were you trying to pick yourself out of this and escape?"

A look of shock crossed Kaito's face and his hands flew into a rapid flurry. "What?! No, no, I'd never —" Conan raised a brow. "Well, yeah , okay, I was, but only because this hurts. I was gonna just sit here and not do anything— trust me."

Conan's eyes flickered down to the shackles.

So it seemed that even Kaito couldn't pick himself out of it. Conan would have to give his compliments to the Professor.

"I was only trying to take it off; I swear I wasn't going to leave."

Without his usual playful grin on his face, Kaito looked like a sad dog.

Conan almost felt sorry for him and fished out his own set of keys. But he thought against it, because how would he explain Kaito’s jailbreak.

"Just sit tight, the inspector will be here soon—"

Heavy footsteps resounded around the wall, and Conan felt flap of the sparrow's wings as it left back out the window.

"So, Kudou-kun was much too busy and sent an errand boy instead."

The low, rough voice made Conan whirl around.

"Inspector Megure—" Conan caught himself from smiling. It had been too long since they last met, Conan almost slipped back into his old familiar ways. Instead, Conan bowed his head quickly, stiffly straightening his back. "Um, it's a pleasure to meet you, I've read about all your cases!"

"Oh? Is that so? It's been years since I've heard that title—" A solid hand patted Conan's head gently. It held a nostalgic weight. "Nowadays, I'm just a mere count."

When Conan lifted his eyes, Megure was beaming in his usual jovial way, but there was a sharp glint in his eyes, and Conan knew that he was being scrutinized.

"So, what's your name, young man?"

"Edogawa Conan, sir! Kudou-sama had affairs to settle so he was unable to come. But he would like to express his deepest apologies for whatever blunder and transgressions that this knight had committed."

Megure was taken aback, looking at Conan with startled eyes before they creased into something warm and understanding.

"No, it's fine. He did return the ring in the end, but I wanted to make sure that he wasn't just a street urchin sullying Kudou-kun's name."

"Sir, I would never sully the Royal Inspector's name with ill intentions," Kaito interjected, quite morosely.

Conan held back a dry laugh.

Ha ha, says the guy who wanted to dress up as me to get a free room in Toutou.

With a wave from the old inspector, the prison guard who had accompanied Megure fished out a ring of keys.

The jail door creaked heavily as it opened. It took a while for Kaito to fumble to his feet.

"Well, I hope you've learned your lesson," Megure continued as he, in turn, took out the individual key for the handcuffs around Kaito's wrists. "It is unwise to move into action without observing the situation firsthand. If you move according to impulse, you'll have to deal with consequences"

"I apologize, sir," Kaito mumbled as Megure undid his shackles and dismissed the prison guard. Kaito rubbed at his wrists ruefully.

"Kudou-sama will make sure to give him a stern talking to," Conan chimed in, stepping forward. "He'll properly discipline him so that this doesn't happen again."

There was a pause where Conan was sure that the retired inspector would clear his voice, cough, and launch into a long-winded nagging about the knights' moral code and ethics.

Instead, laughter tumbled out of Megure’s lips.

"Then, it is true!"

Kaito and Conan startled in confusion at the sudden outburst.

Gone was Megure’s deceptively friendly tone, and it was replaced with boisterous laughter. "Kudou-kun has finally taken a knight under his wing. What a pleasant surprise!"

Conan's eyes widened and he gave Kaito a glance— what was he saying?

Kaito was—his guard, yes— but. Under his wing?

Kaito met Conan's gaze with similar confusion before he cleared his throat, "Um, sir, with all due respect, I'm actually not the Royal— gh."

Megure clapped Kaito hard on the back. "Oh for years, I've been wondering why Kudou-kun has been working alone. After all, a Royal Inspector must have a knight around for his missions, yes? Yet he insisted on doing it all himself! He has no regard for his own safety, that boy."

Stop, why are you saying that!

Conan sputtered, "Um, Count Megure—"

"I fondly recall the times when he was in the academy," the inspector continued much to Conan's horror, because Kaito did not need to know about his school days like this, aired out like dirty laundry.

Megure wrapped an arm around Kaito's shoulders tightly.

"He was a young boy who always kept to himself during classes and avoided his peers. Even when he was placed in a group for an assignment, he'd do everything on his own. During office hours, he’d ask— Why were points taken off here when it was done perfectly? That boy never understood that it was a group assignment to begin with—”

Aaaaa— Conan's face burned red as he tried to flail and catch Megure's attention. "Wait—"

Conan didn't even want to look at what kind of expression Kaito had. There was no doubt that the guard would tease him about all this later.

"Distrustful boy he was— still is, for the most part. Also prideful too. I’m not deaf to the unsavory opinions of him, especially shared among the knights of the upper courts." With a heavy and disapproving sigh, Megure shook his head. "I've always known that his pride would be his downfall— I worried he'll end up disliked and left alone—"

"It's not like that, though?"

Kaito's voice was extremely blunt.

Conan blinked, as the guard quickly caught himself and smoothed his voice over.

"Uh, I mean— while I don’t dare to speak on behalf of the knights of the upper courts, it's quite obvious that the Royal Inspector is well respected and revered among the common people. Although he can be prideful, his actions are upstanding and righteous."

Conan's mouth dropped.

Huh?

"If you ask me, the Royal Inspector accomplishes far more than what a mere knight can do alone. I'm sure the rumors of him are misrepresented and widespread because of the nobles' own insecurities."

Who killed Kaito and replaced him?

Megure was also struck speechless for a moment. Then eyes brightened and he laughed again in that jovial manner.

"I see, I see! Yes, you are correct! Such terrible rumors were exaggerated because of jealousy! What a perspective that I'm humbled to learn."

Conan stared numbly between the two.

"Ha, ha, I see that I've completely misjudged you…! Contrary to my expectations, it seems that Kudou-kun has chosen a good knight." Megure approvingly gazed at Kaito with a thumb stroking his mustache. "Kuroba-kun, was it? Pray tell your alma mater?"

Megure's piercing gaze sharpened.

Kaito’s prim smile wilted. "Uh, well, sir…"

There were at least ten academies Kaito could claim to be from so that Megure wouldn't outright think him suspicious— but the problem was: did Kaito know which academy to mention?

"Sir, he was—" Conan tried to intervene, but Kaito spoke first.

"I was knighted upon recommendation."

Megure's smile stilted.

It was not the answer he probably wanted to hear.

Although Megure wasn't one to discriminate based on upbringing— he was strict when it came to education of the knights' chivalric code and specific knights' training.

Neither in which Kaito was familiar with.

"I can see clearly that although a little misguided with your methods, you have a good head on your shoulders."

Kaito neither smiled or frowned. He only looked like he wanted to shrink back into the cell at the fierce gaze Megure leveled on him.

"I suppose you should have a few notable accomplishments to be knighted upon recommendation, but I wonder about your qualifications as the Royal Inspector's knight. Not just anyone can keep up with the exemplary student who graduated on the top of his year—"

"Count Megure, I can assure you that Kai— my senior is very much capable of assisting the inspector in his missions.” Despite standing tall with his back straight, Conan felt quite small in the face of his old mentor. “If it wasn't for his help in Kurama, we wouldn't have resolved the case as successfully as we did. I don’t believe any other knight would have been able to accomplish that much."

"Is that so?" Megure mused, voice low, tone slightly inquisitive. His presence seemed large and intimidating—no, he was large and intimidating.

As Shinichi, there was barely much of a height difference between them. But as Conan— he remembered how terrifying Megure's presence used to be back when he was in the academy— looming and commanding.

There was an odd sense of doom in his stomach, reminiscent of days where he was awaiting for Megure's response to a question that challenged school rules and customs.

At long last, Megure let his gaze soften and he softly exhaled.

He turned his attention back to the guard, although less pointed. "If Kudou-kun has vouched for you then there is little else I can say.”

A heavy hand landed on Kaito's shoulder, and his gazed turned sharp. "However, heed my words: it'd be best if you straighten up soon, else you'd betray the rare trust Kudou-kun has placed in you."

What.

Rare trust?

Out of the fire and into a pan— just when Conan freed Kaito from interrogation, Megure was right back into spouting embarrassing things like rare trust.

Abruptly, the man changed his tune and started laughing a loud kind of chortle. He gazed up at the corner of the dungeon cells. "I recall: back in the days of the academy—"

Enough of this.

Conan couldn't endure it any longer.

"With all due respect, sir, we must leave now," Conan exclaimed, bowing courteously and quickly. "We have a prior arrangement that must be met back at the capital, and I’m afraid we will miss it."

Despite the interruption, Megure chuckled with his hand over his chin. "Oho! Don't let me keep you. Thank you for entertaining this old man's rambles. It has been a while, after all."

Conan grabbed Kaito's wrist bandages and yanked him along with him "It’s been a while indeed. But we can’t stay any longer."

And Conan kicked Kaito's boots, shaking him out of his bewilderment so that he would say something.

"Oh, uh, thanks—" Another kick and Kaito gave a somewhat apologetic bow. "Thank you, sir, for your forgiveness, I'll heed your words carefully, so I don't repeat my mistakes."

Satisfied with Kaito’s bare-bone apology, Conan hustled the guard down the muggy halls, yanking him along with a tight grasp on his wrist bandages.

Megure's voice called out after them, bouncing along the hallway. "And send my compliments to the Professor, Kudou-kun! His handcuffs are quite the revolutionary invention!"

"Yes, sir, will do!" Conan shouted in return as he and Kaito took quick, long strides out.

Just as they disappeared around the bend of the corner and up the staircase, Conan's brain slammed to a halt.

— wait .

Conan burst out of the building first with a hand over his face.

Did Megure just call him Kudou-kun?

Conan heard wrong, didn't he?

Of course, he did.

There was no way he would've been able to see through Conan’s disguise.

The once tall and proud Royal Inspector, Kudou Shinichi being reduced into a tiny little thing?— if Conan took a while to accept it, he was sure Megure wouldn't have been able to believe it either.

—and there was no way in hell that old Megure would go on and on about Shinichi's old school days in front of the person himself.

Would he?

"Ugh, the retired Royal Inspector is no joke, I felt like I was being grilled alive."

Kaito stumbled out into the bright sunlight, a hand pressed over his chest and looking haggard. He was worse for wear after the intensity of Megure’s questions, and fortunately, he didn’t seem to care much about what the old inspector had to say about Shinichi’s childhood.

If Conan had to explain any of his academy days, he'd kill the guard and then himself.

Regaining his composure, Conan shook his head. "As you rightly should be. I still can't believe you. After all this time we spent— not even a shred of righteousness has made it into your heart."

Kaito choked on air. His footsteps frantic as he clambered after Conan as they began their walkback to the capital.

"Wh— Excuse me? I have a heart of gold, thank you very much. And in my defense, I thought he was a beggar slumming on the streets. My gut is usually right about these things—"

"Except for the fact that your beloved gut landed you in jail."

"Is it my fault that the Royal Inspectors look nothing like how they should be?"

Conan scoffed, incredulous. "Why're you blaming us? You're the one who stole things from us! My badge, hello?"

"I was doing my job, okay? A scrawny beggar boy would've been tossed in jail, and Kudou Shinichi would've lost his badge forever had it not been for this golden heart mine."

"You stole it from me anyways?"

Kaito shrugged emphatically. "How was I supposed to know? How would anyone?"

And here they went on this familiar song and dance. At least it looked like Kaito had finally and solidly learned his lesson. Sighing, Conancontinued ruefully, "If anything, I feel like I'm the one who's being corrupted."

He stared down at his hands and grimaced. "I was complicit with taking his highness' dagger; I swindled the innslady; I threw sand. What have I become."

“A little less stuffy, that’s what you’ve become.” Conan felt Kaito’s palm clapping against his back sympathetically. "Oh, come on now. Doesn’t it feel good to break the rules?"

"It does not," Conan sniped back, elbowing Kaito in the hip.

Kaito dodged with a small skip in his step. His smug smile was back and his eyes sparkled. "Don't lie; you were having your own ball while picking the advisor's office open and stealing those letters."

Now that Conan couldn’t forget. It felt satisfying hearing the tell-tale click in the lock.

In previous missions, Shinichi often had to guide suspects (through hours of conversation and plenty of wine) to hand damning evidence over to him.

Stealing— no. Confiscating evidence was by far easier and less tedious.

Sure, Shinichi would have calledit immoral to stoop to such levels, but Conan couldn’t be picky, not with the disadvantages that came with his child-sized body.

If both methods yielded the same results, then the end justified the means.

Not like Conan would say that to Kaito’s face though.

It’d just inflate the guard's ego until he floated away into the sky.

"Though, I gotta say,” Kaito chimed, changing the subject. “—as terrifying as the old inspector was, I'm glad I met him."

Conan gave him a questioning glance.What he thought would be a serious reflection on Kaito’s part ended with a cheeky grin,"Cus how else would I have learned that the distrustful Royal Inspector placed his rare trust in me, huh?"

Face flushing red, Conan aimed a kick at the side of Kaito's boot.

And he, infuriatingly, dodged.

Huffing, Conan thought about kicking him again, but Kaito hastened his steps down the dusty road. From the nearby trees, Clove shot out and landed on his outstretched hand.

"Agh, I haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday. Let’s grab lunch on the way back?"

Considering the sun that was already high in the sky, it was already creeping past noon. Conan’s stomach was not immune to hunger.

"Sure, but considering all the trouble I just went through, you're paying."

For once, Kaito didn't object. “Of course, it is but a small token of appreciation for my benefactor, the ever kind and gracious Royal Inspector— ow!”

Conan huffed a breath, satisfied that his kick finally landed.

Chapter 13: Calm the hell down or I’m going to kill you two myself.

Chapter Text

---

13. Calm the hell down or I’m going to kill you two myself.

---

With Kuroba Kaito properly collected from jail and back in the palace, Conan could now be at ease.

Except.

"Ugh , so boring—" Kaito sighed as he trekked about Shinichi’s office, with his arms filled to the brim with books.

Upon being appointed as the Royal Inspector, his royal highness had given Shinichi an office with an adjacent personal library. Since Shinichi had a penchant for hoarding books of all kinds, the library was sizable and well organized.

Or at least it used to be.

Conan was now suffering the consequences of collecting too many books that far exceeded the shelves’ capacity.

"Like I said earlier, you just need to stay out of trouble; you don't have to be here.”

Kaito's boots thumped along the floor as he came in from the connecting door. He set the tower of books down in an empty space along the wall. "But it's boring out there."

And it's not here?

Conan gave up trying to understand Kaito's train of thought, and instead stepped atop a wooden stepladder to shelve back his reference books according to its catalog number.

“My god, it’s a mess here,” Kaito exclaimed for the ninth time, as he turned tail and returned to the office.

Again, you don’t have to be here. Conan thought, rolling his eyes. But regardless of the guard’s reason for sticking around, Conan was grateful that he was lending a hand with Conan’s belated spring cleaning. He was pruning books and records he didn't need anymore, and hoped that by ridding some of it, he’d have more space to… hoard even more.

Truthfully, Conan was a little embarrassed to have Kaito see the chaos that his office space devolved into. When Kaito had first visited, Conan was able to contain everything within his library, towers and piles of books dotting the floor.

His office was neat— the surface of his desk was reasonably well kept and there was space to move around in.

But his library was another story.

Despite the prince's generosity, the library couldn’t house everything Shinichi needed. So whenever he was in the midst of a case, he’d visit the palace records and pull books out— and pull books out— and pull another book out.

And he’d chase after his thoughts, too engrossed in corroborating his research to remember returning them to the Palace Library.

Admittedly, Shinichi had a terrible track record when it came to returning materials in a timely manner. But since he was pretty much the most active patron of the palace's library, the librarians decided to pardon his tardiness and lift his overdue fines.

Their leniency fed into Shinichi's bad habit.

His personal library was filled with endless piles of disorganized books that Conan now had to pick up and sort through.

“What about the books near the door?” He heard Kaito’s voice from the other room.

Conan lifted a book from the thick stack he had left on a nearby step ladder. He made a gap in the shelves with a finger and inserted the spine of the book. “Ah, leave them there. I'm returning those.”

Like this, slowly and surely, his office and library would be put to order by the next day, Conan dared to be optimistic.

Just then, sharp raps echoed from his office and jostled Conan from his thoughts.

There wasn’t enough of a pause before the wooden door to his office swung heavily with a creak and sounded distant through the walls.

There was a dull thud that Conan knew to be the books at the door falling over.

"Hey, Kudou! I heard yer back—"

A beat passed. Kaito’s voice came out flat.

“Ah. It’s you.”

Then.

"The f*ck are you doin' here?!" There was a series of loud thuds as books tumbled to the floor, followed by a rush of heavy footsteps. “I told ya I'd throw ya in jail if I see yer mug again!”

Kaito’s boots thumped in uneven paces. "What the hell are you on about? You're the one who barged in here. Look what you did.”

Panic swarmed Conan's mind, as did confusion.

Conan quickly stepped down from the ladder and made his way to the adjoining door, but there were so many books.

"Me? You're the one in Kudou's room, makin this mess!"

Were Hattori and Kaito acquainted?— no, acquainted wouldn't be the right word to explain the tone in their voices. Conan deeply regretted telling Kaito to just put his books over there or wherever. It was like a maze for Conan to reach the door.

"Oi, oi, it's not me. I'm helping the inspector—"

At last, Conan took a large step over a wall of books, and nearly collapsed near the door to assess the damage.

"Helpin', my ass! Yer obviously tryna steal something again! Get out of here!"

Hattori flung off the coat of his uniform and threw it into a crumpled heap against the wall.

“Make me,” Kaito laughed, scalding and mocking. Conan could see the steam rise out of Hattori’s ears as he shoved his sleeves up to his elbows.

“All right, you two, calm down—” Conan began as he finally stepped into his office, hands out, placating.

Hattori’s fiery eyes whipped straight at Conan and then back at Kaito, all the more accusatory. With a few strides, Hattori began shortening the distance between him and the guard.

“Now yer lettin’ some kid walk all over Kudou’s office? You think it's a playgro—”

Kaito’s eyes widened at the way Hattori’s hand reached out toward him.

“Wait—” Conan choked on his words feebly, looking on in horror as Kaito grabbed a nearby book (his collection of western maps!) and launched it with reckless abandon.

Conan watched it sail across the room with wide eyes.

His book bounced off Hattori’s head with a flutter. The thick pamphlet tumbled and landed on his boots, exploding in a mess of crinkled papers.

The short silence that followed was thick.

“Oh, yer gettin’ it now, ya bastard! ”

Hattori grabbed the hilt of his sword— his sword??! — unsheathing it with one fell swoop.

“What? You sure you want a rematch? We both know how the last duel ended.”

Kaito spun out his dagger— his dagger?! — and balanced it in his hand, fingers curling around the hilt.

The guard had always smiled with a touch of mischievous mirth, but this was the second time Conan ever felt a chill rattle down his spine.

Kaito grinned with maniacal glee.

Hattori snarled as he shifted into his signature position, “That wasn’t a duel, you dirty mutt—”

“Enough!” Conan swiped the nearest book off a nearby pile, and with a heavy sadness in his heart—

I’m so sorry, my beloved, I dearly do love you.

Steadying his resolve, Conan beamed the thick mystery book at Kaito’s head with all the strength he could muster in his arm.

It made a satisfying thwack against Kaito’s skull, but Conan didn’t stop to revel in his aim.

Instead, he wound his leg back and swung his foot at a globe lolling about on the floor. The hollow wooden sphere popped out from its metallic hinge and flew at Hattori.

Bull’s eye.

It slammed into Hattori’s side and made him stagger over his feet.

Kaito had fallen to the side, clutching his head, fingers rustling into the smarting sting beneath his hair. His eyes jumped wide once he realized Conan was there.

Conan stormed closer to them, boots toppling over towers of books, even though he had been so careful earlier. Knocking his books over was nothing compared to preventing the two knights from shredding his entire room into a state of carnage.

Conan purposefully kicked aside Hattori’s sword before he could make a grab for it. He then shot a glare at Kaito, as if daring him to do anything but sheathe his dagger away.

“Look around you! Are you two trying to ruin my study?”

Hattori cracked open an eye, thick brows knit in confusion.

“I don’t know what you two have against each other, but Hattori— you know better than to get provoked by his words. And Kaito, that was my book you were throwing—”

“Sorry—” Kaito’s lips pursed into a soft mumble, then, “But he was trying to kill me.”

“You threw the book first,” Conan snapped back. He huffed a deep, burdensome sigh. Why was it that he was the only one with a clear head around here?

“Look. If you want to fight, take it outside! Exchange strikes for all I care. But if you’re going to tear my whole study apart with your damn fight— calm the hell down or I’m going to kill you two myself.”

Hattori’s mouth fell open in shock, his hand frozen solid against his rib where the globe had smacked into.

“Kudou?! What— huh?” Now that the chief of guards was properly looking, a light of recognition had crossed his widened, emerald eyes. “How? What happened? Why’re ya a kid? Did a black mage curse ya or somethin’?”

“I’ll tell you later, it’s a long story.”

A story that couldn’t aptly be summarized in two sentences or less, and frankly, Conan was feeling quite winded from shouting earlier.

Crisis averted, Conan sighed as he forlornly went to look for his beloved mystery book. He found it in Kaito’s hands, having picked it up from the corner of his office table. The guard was smoothing back the cover and pages, looking vaguely guilty.

Well, good. Because Conan didn’t feel that sorry for smacking him upside the head.

“And why’s this thief here?” Hattori didn't seem to show any reflection for the chaos he had almost caused.

Immediately, Kaito took offense to the finger jabbed in his direction. “Like I’ve said, I was helping—”

“Bullsh*t!” Hattori whirled to face Conan. “I don’t think ya know, Kudou, but if this bastard had the gall to steal from the royal treasury, he’ll steal from you too!"

Conan was feeling an odd sense of deja vu here.

“I had permission from his royal highness,” Kaito interjected, as his lips began widening into a sh*t-eating grin. It was the very same grin that had provoked Conan’s anger beyond reason.

“Permission is what ya get before ya do it, not after!”

Kaito shrugged flippantly. “Eh, it's all the same in the end.”

“No, it ain’t!” Hattori growled; his fists balled tightly against his side. “You dare make a fool out of the palace security—”

“Now, now— the security’s better than ever now thanks to my help.” Kaito’s hand waved flippantly in the air. “The past is in the past, let’s not hold petty grudges, hm?”

“Stop it,” Conan cut through again, stepping forward enough to wedge himself between the two. Kaito smartly pressed his lips together, but not hiding the smug smile spread all over. “Hattori, his royal highness assigned Kaito as my guard so that’s why—”

Hattori balked, his incredulity was written all over his face. “A guard ? Can he even care about anyone but himself?”

Kaito gasped behind Conan, sounding loud and offended. “You take that back. I do my job fine, if not better—”

“Well, if you don't f*cking protect my best friend with yer entire life, I’ll make sure I’m the one to chop yer head off.”

“As if I need you to tell me that—”

“Well, who else are ya gonna listen to?”

And there they went again— arguing as if Conan wasn’t standing right in the middle of it all.

Mediating would be a lot more effective if Conan was twice as tall and had even an ounce of authority that the prince had.

But Conan was neither Shinichi-sized nor the crown prince.

“All right, all right! Enough !”

They had to be separated, and between the two, Kaito was easier to boot out. With a grunt of effort, Conan started pushing his guard back and away, herding him toward the open window.

“Kaito, thank you for your help earlier, but you’re dismissed now. Go and take a break.”

Kaito's smug smile fell to the floor with a crash. He braced the window frame with a hand, and looked betrayed.

“What? So cruel! After all we've been through you’re tossing me out the window?" He sniveled— none of which Conan was buying.

"I'm telling you to take a break."

"But we’re on the fifth floor—”

“You had no problem coming in this way," Conan deadpanned and pushed him harder. Kaito dug his feet into the floor like a heavy rock. "I also want to talk with Hattori for a bit, so please?”

Talking couldn’t happen if they were both in the room with tension like kingdoms on the cusp of war.

“Yeah, yeah, go away, ya scum.”

Conan didn’t even need to look behind him to know Hattori was laughing and pouring oil into the fire.

“Hattori. ”

Conan threw an exasperated look back at his friend.

After making sure he kept his mouth shut, Conan turned towards Kaito, who was frowning and looking extremely unhappy that Conan chose Hattori over him.

What else could Conan do? He couldn't toss the Chief of Guards out the window.

Softening his tone, Conan prompted, “You helped a lot, really. I’ll see you later at the dining hall. All right?”

The guard stared at him, still displeased but conceding. “… fine.”

In a swift movement, Kaito hoisted himself out the window and disappeared behind the thick scarlet curtains. Conan heard a tap of Kaito’s boot landing against the sill and then nothing else.

He left in whatever way he did.

Conan heaved a breath and shut the windows. His small hands pressed firmly against the frame.

He turned around to assess the whirlwind of mess— scattered books and splayed documents, a wooden globe that had been broken out from its hinge. All those neat piles Kaito put near the door had avalanched to the floor into a cascading mess.

In the silence that followed, Hattori bent over and picked up his sword. He returned it back into its sheath, the chains along his belt rattling as he did so.

Conan reclaimed the thrown book Kaito had left on his desk. As much as Kaito had tried to smooth it out, there were still faint creases in the bent pages, and Conan was the one that did it.

All at once, Conan felt very tired.

“Er… long time no see?” Hattori asked somewhat awkwardly. It wasn’t long before he blithely waved at Conan’s small frame, not giving Conan any time to mourn his damaged book. “So how’d that happen? Ya look like how ya did in yer school days."

Conan chose to ignore him for now as he gently pushed aside book towers with the side of his boot.

Shinichi didn’t have a sofa in his study to receive visitors— it wasn’t like he had many people coming to visit anyways. But Conan found the lone wooden chair in the corner— buried under a stack of documents— and cleared it up so he could offer it to his friend.

“Want me to call for tea?” Conan asked, motioning for Hattori to take a seat.

Hattori came over and awkwardly sat down, his legs bumping into books nearby. And only then, did he gain an awareness of the worsened state of Conan’s office.

Hattori’s sheepishness seemed to quiet him down further.

“…Nah, I’m good.”

Conan rounded his desk that was still overfilled with papers and rolling quill pens.

“Well, sit tight,” Conan sighed as he climbed onto his large wooden ornate seat, feeling dwarfed and small.

He took off his glasses to rub his eyes.

“Because it’ll be a while.”

“So, you’re not lookin’ for those bastards that did this to ya?”

Hattori hunched over in his seat, resting an elbow on his knee. Conan hummed thoughtfully. He had been shining the lenses of his glasses for a long while.

“That would be no different than asking them to actually murder me.” Conan fit his glasses back over his face.

The cloaked men who fed him the toxin had been convinced that Shinichi was just a useless village boy. A village boy that had died hours after they walked away.

It was best to leave them to that belief.

“If I put everything down and prioritized personal revenge, it’d be irresponsible, not to mention stupid. If the entirety of the underworld knew that the Royal Inspector was vulnerable and ripe for the killing— people would be coming in droves.”

Capable as Kaito was as a guard, even he had his limits.

Hattori frowned in distaste, “So that’s why the bastard’s stickin around ya. Could’ve been me.”

“You’re already working for her Royal highness,” Conan rebutted. It was nigh impossible for Hattori to toss aside his assigned duties to accompany Conan around the kingdom. Hattori had deductive prowess, Conan would give him that, but he also had squads and knights to be responsible for.

“Besides, it's not like my condition is incurable anyways. Even though I’m Edogawa Conan now, nothing of my actual duties have changed. Sure there are some inconveniences— but I can still do the same things I’ve always done. The situation isn’t so bleak.”

“Huh…” Hattori let out a breath of awe. He straightened himself up. “Yer takin’ this a lot better than I thought you would, Kudou.”

Conan dryly laughed. Ha, ha, you have no idea.

“And what have you been up to?” Conan asked in turn. Being sent traversing the kingdom rarely led them to being at the palace at the same time. “When was the last time I saw you? Five months ago?”

“Six, actually. But it’s this and that. Lately, there’s been some dark beasts from the southern forest. We’re keepin’ an eye on them since the storm shook ‘em up a few weeks ago,” Hattori said, waving his hand dismissively. “Just came back few days ago and I’m on break til the next dispatch.”

Hard at work as ever, Conan thought with an understanding hum.

From beast subjugation to escorting criminals, the Chief of Guards sure had an array of odd jobs assigned from the Queen Dowager. Though that much was expected during a time of peace.

“Still, why that bastard? He's greasy like a snake—” Hattori began to growl. Considering how Kaito alluded to Hattori’s loss in a previous duel, it looked to be a personal grudge. “Doesn't give a sh*t about anyone, so why him?”

“He's not that bad,” Conan sighed. Kaito only responded to as much jabbing done to him; it wasn't entirely one sided. “He's been useful so far, since there's little I can do while looking like this.”

“Hmm… if you say so… Ah, right,” Hattori piped up, eyes lighting up. “I forgot. I came here cus when I went to the pharmacy to get some supplies, the pharmacist mentioned there was somethin’ she wanted to talk to ya about…?”

Conan scrambled out of his seat, eyes wide. “What— why didn't you say anything earlier?! It’s about the antidote—”

Sensing his urgency, Hattori stood up as well. “I mean— I didn’t know it’d be about the antidote! It didn’t seem like it was anythin’ important!”

Conan darted to the door, grabbing the knob with a hasty jerk.

What do you mean it didn't seem important!

“Well, it was nice catching up! I’ll see you later!”

Hattori blinked, raising a hand. “Ah, see you—”

The door slammed quickly before Conan could hear his reply.

An antidote.

Conan rushed down the halls, his feet thudding loudly as he ran. He reached up to smooth back his hair and re-adjust his clothes. Glee bubbled up his chest and broke out of him in the form of a smile.

He swerved past a maid and leapt down three steps at a time down the staircase.

Finally, it’s done!

He could finally say goodbye and good riddance to this inconvenient childish form. He finally could regain his sense of normalcy and balance.

Good bye, Edogawa Conan

and

Welcome back, Kudou Shinichi!

“It’s not done, far from it.”

Conan sat obediently on the wooden stool, putting pressure on his arm where Haibara had, once again, pricked him for blood samples.

“Then what’s all that,” Conan mumbled unhappily. He spitefully glared at the tray of vials on the countertop nearby.

There were a number of them, lined up neatly, looking amber and very much like an antidote.

Haibara would never leave things out if she wasn’t working on them.

“They're the first batch,” she answered, surprisingly truthfully.

Haibara turned on her heels, carrying a smaller tray of blood samples to be put into some kind of machinery. Probably another invention from the Professor.

“I was in the midst of testing them before I ran out of supplies. But I do want to be clear: none of these are stable enough to use.”

Conan frowned and melted in his chair.

"So there's no permanent cure yet."

“You should be grateful the process has already been expedited this much. After all, his highness had placed a high priority on the antidote and has given me more than enough funds to pay for the delivery of supplies.”

So Conan literally came, bounding in joy, only to get poked in the arm for blood.

What a fool he made himself out to be.

Conan frowned at the bandage wound around his arm.

“Well, I do have this," Haibara said slowly and carefully, but Conan had already snapped his eyes up in attention.

She held a small vial, halfway filled with the amber liquid.

Haibara arched a displeased, delicate brow. Her unhappiness was more with her lack of progress than Conan’s enthusiasm.

"I've tried multiple times to replicate the results with something more conclusive, but it seemed this was all I could achieve so far. It’s far from perfect—"

"Forget perfection. Anything works at this point—"

Haibara lifted her hand higher, dodging Conan's futile swipe.

"Stop acting like an impatient child and listen ,” she sighed, distancing herself away from him. "This antidote is supposed to last twenty-four hours, but I haven't tested it yet. If you have time, I want you to try it and report its side effects. It’s far too risky to be used for anything useful such as a case, so don’t use it during a case—"

"That’s fine. I won’t," Conan exclaimed. "What can I do in twenty-four hours anyways?"

Of course, Conan lied about that.

He could achieve a myriad of things that required Shinichi in just twenty-four hours. He could pay a visit to Ran to show that he hasn't died, sit in the biweekly meeting with the squad leaders to hear the regional reports, do some long awaited errands in the capital bank.

Twenty-four hours was enough.

Haibara continued, "At the very least, you can be assured that this is stable and doesn't need any medical supervision. However, I will warn you, the antidote may take few hours for you return to your original form, and I can’t determine how much pain there’d be—"

"I said it's fine." Conan jumped to his feet, eyes glistening, and with his hand out. "I want it."

Haibara lifted an amused brow, her hand reaching up a little higher than Conan could reach.

Belatedly, Conan tacked on— "Please?"

A knock sounded to their left before the door creaked open.

“Excuse me, miss, I've returned with a letter from Tanaka’s Herbal Store.”

“Oh, yes, thank you,” she responded with a polite smile. Her tone became much gentler compared to the dry tone she had been spearing Conan with all along.

Right as she turned away, Haibara pressed the vial into Conan's hand. The pharmacist then motioned for the assistant to come inside.

“I have a list I’d like you to take with you. If I can have a moment to find it…"

And that was that.

Conversation with Haibara ended the moment she seamlessly moved to speak with her assistant. There was no room for Conan to interject his gratitude, nor did he think she wanted to hear it.

Smothering away his smile, Conan excused himself from her office and left.

The vial dyed the mess in his office a hue of deep amber.

Carefully, Conan folded his fingers over the glass and brought it down from the light.

The vial was cool in his hand and small enough to fit in his palm.

Twenty-four hours.

A whole day.

Earlier Conan was able to rattle off a never ending laundry list of tasks and errands he wanted to accomplish as Shinichi. But now that the vial was in his hand— and without much of a fight— Conan sat at a loss wondering how to plan for the precious time he was given.

Haibara had given him plenty of warnings.

But if it was that dangerous, she wouldn’t have given it to him in the first place. If there was one thing Conan was confident about Haibara’s character, it was that she was meticulously thorough with her concoctions.

Potential pain? Conan wondered if it was the same pain he suffered on that unfortunate night. A pain so terrible that Shinichi felt like he was going to die.

But he didn't.

So.

What was the worst that could happen?

Conan leaned back in his seat, his eyes flickering to the clock on his wall.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

The pendulum swung slowly underneath it.

His office was a mess and after the debacle, he lost all motivation to resume cleaning. This left the rest of his afternoon empty.

As it was the weekend, Ran would be resting today. She'd no doubt be in her quaint townhouse, baking sweets to spoil the academy students come Monday morning.

If only Conan didn’t just send a letter to her that morning with an update that he was investigating some "abnormal activity near the eastern border , " and he "couldn't say anything more about it because of security— then he could have probably dropped by to say hi and steal some scones.

As long as Ran received any sort of word from Shinichi, it was fine to postpone their meeting.

Then, perhaps Conan could keep the vial for the next meeting of the squad leaders, two weeks from now.

And although Shinichi wasn't an active participant and always stuck closely near the door— it would be beneficial for him to key into current kingdom affairs.

Then again, Conan could also just as easily peruse the minutes of meeting afterwards and single out the details instead of listening to knights bickering back and forth.

Something better.

Conan had to use it for something better.

His eyes drifted to the calendar pinned on his wall next to the grand clock.

There weren't any important holidays or royal banquets planned in the upcoming months, so there was no dire need for his appearance any time soon.

Though even without the antidote, Conan was sure Hakuba would provide an appropriate reason for why Shinichi couldn't attend.

Hm.

There was a banking errand that Shinichi had been putting off for the last half year— and could probably put off for another half year more, since it'd be such a waste if Conan used his precious time on that.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

"I'm sure you'd give me trouble if you were your original size," Kaito mused. "But you aren't, so that way of fighting isn't doing any good for you."

A prick of irritation lanced up his neck.

Sure. By now Conan had already admitted that Kaito had the skills to be his guard.

But that duel had been an unfair one to begin with— Conan was disadvantaged in a small body and Kaito didn't go easy on him (not like Conan's pride would allow that.)

Shinjitsu was stowed safely away in the closet of his bedroom— as well as the rest of his Shinichi-sized clothes.

If Conan turned back to Shinichi and somehow summoned Kaito again from god knows where, then Shinichi could challenge him to a duel and beat him down for all the humiliation the guard caused.

Or— Conan laughed dryly and shook his head.

Maybe he should do the wise thing and save it.

It’s far too risky to be used for anything useful such as a case, so don’t use it during a case , Haibara had warned him, and Conan hummed, and then wondered.

What was the worst that could happen?

Knock, knock.

Conan quickly and carefully tucked the vial into his waist pocket on his belt. Whatever the use he’d have for the antidote, he'd be a fool to leave it anywhere else that wasn’t on his person.

Conan opened the door to an elderly woman who looked straight at him rather past him and into the study.

"Edogawa Conan?"

"Yes?" Conan straightened up, meeting the maid’s unwavering gaze. He recognized her particular genteel smile and mannerism. She was his Royal highness’ governess.

"There’s a summons for you from the crown prince."

The hallway to the prince's study was oddly occupied with several maids.

The governess, now head maid, gave Conan a nod before turning to the door. She raised her fist up and brought down three quick raps against the wood.

"Your grace— the steward trainee has arrived."

An acknowledging hum answered her. The old governess took it as a sign as permission to open the door for Conan to enter.

"Thank you, and please prepare what I've asked earlier," Hakuba answered. She nodded and closed the door soundly behind Conan.

“Your Royal Highness, it’s your humble servant—” Conan paused, words tapering off. He cleared his throat noisily as he rose from his habitual bow. “I… I heard you called for me?”

Stuffy~ Kaito’s voice rang in his head and Conan bit back a frown. He tried not to be, okay? Jeez.

Conan already cut back on a large chunk of formalities— any more and he’d be drowning in guilt from treating the crown prince with disrespect.

Hakuba put down his book with a genteel smile, perfectly identical to the woman who just left. “Conan-kun, how have you been enjoying the last few days?”

“…It was rather peaceful.”

And it would be if Kaito didn’t get arrested and then turned Shinichi’s office into a battlefield. If Conan answered honestly, he’d say it was a full frontal headache. But Conan didn’t think it appropriate to complain to the prince about it.

“That’s good to hear,” Hakuba hummed. “And what of Kaito-kun? I’m surprised he hasn’t thrown the door open yet— or the window.”

Hakuba’s eyes swept from the door behind Conan and sideways to the veranda. The sunlight filtered peacefully through the glass, without so much of a shadow of the guard.

Conan waited with bated breath— it'd seem very fitting for Kaito to appear right about now.

But several beats passed and nothing happened.

"I… relieved him of his guard duties for the meantime.”

Hakuba let out a similar bated breath before he chuckled. “Well, I suppose his absence would make this conversation a lot easier.”

Straightening his back, Conan couldn't help but notice the implications behind his statement.

Perhaps the crown prince wished to talk to him privately about the previous case to clarify some details in Conan’s reports. Or maybe he wanted to ask for an honest evaluation of Kaito’s performance.

Conan didn't dare to speak first.

A knock behind him sounded like a crash in the silence.

"Anyway," Hakuba started, his tone light. "Would you care for tea?"

"Huh?"

The doors swung open and a slew of maids entered with rattling silver carts.

Hakuba gestured Conan to the dark velvet sofas toward the side of his study. The maids had already begun setting down porcelain rose teaware and a three tier tower of arranged tea snacks on the table.

The crown prince sat down, crossing his legs elegantly as Conan awkwardly shuffled to the seat on the opposite side.

When it came to being summoned by the crown prince, Shinichi was all too used to standing in front of the prince's desk, head bowed, and dutifully listening or answering his questions.

Never had the prince invited him to sit down for tea— rather, come to think of it, never had Shinichi once accepted his whimsical offer of tea.

"Thank you, that is quite enough." The prince nodded to the maids.

Conan lowered his eyes to the tea placed in front of him; it was amber colored. The steam that rose from it smelled malty sweet.

Soon, the maids took their empty carts with them and left them to a silence, filled with the mechanical ticking from the grandfather clock poised against the wall.

"I've been so engrossed with work that I haven't had a chance for a proper meal," Hakuba continued smoothly. "I hope you don't mind having this conversation over some refreshments."

Conan was polite. "Not at all."

The prince leisurely reached for his teacup. He delicately balanced it near his lips as he took a deep, serene breath.

Conan mirrored him, refraining from scrunching his nose at the steam rising to his glasses.

"Keemun," Hakuba explained as he took a sip. He rested the teacup against the saucer held up near his chest. "Luxurious notes of chocolate with a slight woody mouthfeel. Pairs excellent with dried berry treats."

Conan raised his brows— not knowing what to do aside from agreeing, "Yes, it has a nice fragrance."

But he was too tense to actually enjoy the fragrance or the taste.

Hakuba returned the tea cup and saucer to the table. As if biding his time, he wove his fingers and rested his hands atop his knees.

"I've summoned you today—" Conan sat in attention. "For an assignment."

Conan's grasp on his teacup tightened considerably.

This was different.

Most of Shinichi’s past cases were passed on to him— appeals from local knights when they encountered an unsolvable case or a serial murder. Other cases, Shinichi would merely stumble upon during his travels.

Despite Shinichi’s dutiful reports, it was very rare for the prince to assign him anything.

Hakuba’s fingers drummed on his knees. He looked ever calm and solemn.

“I need you to investigate the potential reappearance of the kingdom's most wanted criminal."

Conan's lips pressed thin as he blinked.

Most wanted criminal?

Some years ago, Shinichi led a campaign to sweep through the kingdom and track down a list of criminals that were responsible for notable crimes, yet—?

There was someone that slipped his grasp?

Hakuba subtly mirrored the confusion that Conan felt. "It's a surprise you're not aware."

Conan’s mind whirred through pages and pages of past reports he had written. If it was a notorious criminal— there was Cutthroat who made the nickname for himself because of his petty but gruesome slaughter. And there was a man who paraded as a dark creature who crept through forests to attack foragers.

Yet it couldn't have been them— Shinichi had seen and verified their identity when they were carted away.

"I… can't quite recall," Conan admitted.

"Even children sang songs about how they moved like a ghost and killed without a trace," Hakuba continued. "Most wouldn't wish such fate on their worst enemies. It was quite a topic in most conversations."

Conan scrunched his eyebrows.

"Ah," Hakuba interjected as realization crossed over his eyes. "That's right, they started gaining fame in 1132— I believe it was during the time you were stationed in Beikoku? It would make sense then that you weren’t aware."

Conan blinked, that was nearly ten years ago. "…I neglected to keep myself informed."

Hakuba looked sympathetic but unbothered. "You were performing your assigned duties, so it's understandable. It's very hard for news to travel that far."

The crown prince reached for a flat biscuit.

He picked it up and gestured towards the rest of the pile. Conan politely shook his head.

"I… don't remember hearing news of them by the time I came back," Conan probed, unable to bite back his curiosity and impatience.

"Indeed. By the time you returned, all traces of them had completely disappeared. There were a few speculations, but it was widely believed that the criminal had met an untimely demise."

Conan couldn't stop an eyebrow from raising. "Yet, there is reason to believe they've come back?"

Hakuba took his time to wash down his half-eaten biscuit with tea, as if unaware of the tension in Conan’s shoulders.

The crown prince finally answered at length, "Possibly. There is a… lord staying in Asakawa—” At Conan’s confused stare, he further clarified, “a small village in Nagano prefecture. He had sent frantic requests for capital knights to investigate the return of this assassin. Some troubling marks were left on his manor walls, and he fears that he will be the next target."

Assassin.

Shinichi had a hand in capturing a few serial killers before—but assassins were a different breed of killers.

They were void of personal involvement with the victim and thus completely divorced from the bloody act. While their contractors were easily caught— the ones who slaughtered in cold blood were seldom found.

Conan’s mind began racing with thoughts, possibilities, and a course of action—

"Thus, I'd like for you to scope out Asakawa and investigate the vandalism on the manor wall.” Hakuba continued as he helped himself to a strawberry tart.

Conan’s mind halted as the crown prince serenely nibbled on his snack.

Something was odd.

If such a high-profile and notorious assassin re-emerged, then the entire kingdom would once again be thrown into a state of panic.

To maintain peace and increase security, the kingdom’s knights should have received a notice weeks ago when the first inkling of this news came about.

Hattori, the Chief of Knights who foresaw and defended against all possible dangers to the Royal Family, should have been bustling about frantically re-arranging schedules and increasing the amount of palace guards.

But he seemed too relaxed when he sauntered into Conan’s office. Hattori had even flapped his hand about and said something about a week’s break.

So was Hattori not informed of this? Was anyone else in this castle aware?

The crown prince shouldn't be sitting across from him, leisurely eating sweets and drinking tea, especially if this could be a very possible threat to his life— or at the very least, a threat to the peace of the kingdom.

So— if not that, then it must be this: the very incident Conan was being asked to investigate must be inconsequential.

Vandalism was indeed a petty crime. Even more so, when it took place in a village that Conan hadn’t even heard of— and he pretty much memorized all— if not most— of the cities and towns in the kingdom.

If the assassin's return was mere rumors spurred by vandalism on the wall, then sending a squad of knights there for extra security should have sufficed.

It wouldn’t warrant having the Royal Inspector personally go to investigate— but he was called to do so by none other than the Crown Prince.

This incident was not important enough to alarm the palace, but not trivial enough for any lower ranking knights to address.

There was a blaring inconsistency, and Conan wanted to chew through it but ultimately— he had to dismiss it. The crown prince must have a reason for specifically assigning Conan to the task, and Conan shouldn’t be there to question him.

“Then, when would you like me to leave?”

“Excellent—” Hakuba’s smile brightened, although he quickly reigned it in, falling back into his typical mannerism. “The head librarian will gather all the case files for you by late evening— it will be reserved under your real title. Reviewing them may prove useful to you for your investigation. Once you are ready, you may head to Nagano whenever you please.”

Whenever you please…?

Conan scrunched his eyebrows.

He ignored drawing any conclusions and balled his fists against his lap.

"For a single assassin to have a folder worth of case files,” Conan mused. “How were the knights certain that this single person was responsible for all the killing? It’s not possible to pin down a profile so conclusively. "

“Naturally, that is the case, but I suppose this one was a little unique,” Hakuba mused, picking up his teacup for a sip. “Even with guards stationed every step along the hallway— a murder would happen without regard to time. They’d slip past with incredible ease.”

“And what of the guards…? Were they also taken care of?”

Hakuba calmly answered, “They were left unharmed and none the wiser that a killing had already taken place.”

Conan brought his hand to his chin.

For an assassin to openly avoid subjugating or even killing possible witnesses— was it a personal creed or evidence of their deadly efficiency?

Conan didn’t know what to make of it.

“And of course, there’s this that pushed them to further infamy.”

Hakuba's teacup clattered into the tea saucer, and he reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small shred of paper.

There was an unreadable look in his eyes. "As much as they were elusive, they were bold. They’d leave this paper next to the dead body, as if to claim ownership of the deed."

Hakuba pressed the paper into the table, and Conan leaned forward to take a look.

"Ghost. Phantom. Shadow… the tabloid gave them many nicknames. But they called themselves this."

A torn parchment that feathered with age, and on it, a simplistic charcoal scrawl—

KID

Chapter 14: Oh, fine, keep your secrets.

Chapter Text

---

14. Oh, fine, keep your secrets.

---

The dining hall was located in an annex near the servant's quarters. During the evening, it bustled loudly with butlers, maids, palace administration staff, and knights, either dressed in casuals or their prim uniforms.

Although the food served wasn't overly luxurious like dishes found at banquets, it was tastier than what most taverns could offer. It was substantial and the portions were self-served.

But if there was a complaint Shinichi had, it was that the busy atmosphere in the dining hall led to mild discomfort.

His presence had always been too large and attracted burning gazes (of either jealousy or admiration) from everyone around him. He learned early on to withdraw quietly to his study with a tray of food, and enjoy it in the company of his books.

And Conan would’ve gathered his plate and retreated immediately had it not been for the absolute state of wreckage his office was left in.

Though now that he was back here in this place, standing at the entrance to the dining area, hands filled with a tray of food, he had come to realize that Edogawa Conan was, fortunately, invisible.

Although rare, it wasn’t uncommon for children to mingle about in the mess hall— some were children of the servants, others were apprentices. No one gave him a second glance, aside from weaving around him to claim a seat.

Conan blinked himself from his stupor.

He took a breath and stalked along the perimeter of the dining hall, hoping to find a quiet corner for his thoughts. It was reaching the peak hours of the evening and people were aggressively claiming any spot they could find.

Near the large windows, there was a group of maids cleaning their trays off a table, readying to return to their shift.

Conan wasted no time making a beeline toward it.

From here, he had a vantage point of the seating area that was quickly filling up with the dinner crowd settling in. People wove in and out, like a coursing river, and Conan was sure he’d be able to spot the striking red scarf Kaito drowned himself in.

Sitting down, Conan arranged his wooden tray neatly in front of him. With his mind whirring about, he had more things to think about than to mull over his dinner selection.

He pushed a potato around with his fork, eyes flickering up to look into the crowds.

It's not like Conan needed to find Kaito— the guard did and went where he wanted.

But they had a prior agreement to meet for dinner and well— Conan felt slightly bad for shoving Kaito out the window earlier that day.

He gave one last lingering look at the crowd of people, noted the distinct lack of red, and allowed his mind to wander back to the conversation with the crown prince earlier that afternoon.

Conan thumped his fork soundlessly against his pile of food.

A lord from Asakawa, Nagano had sent frantic requests for knights to investigate the return of this assassin—

A loud clatter shook Conan from his thoughts as a tumultuous sigh tumbled over him.

"Why do you have so little?"

Conan glanced up, barely seeing the wild mess of hair behind the mountainous pile of food.

Kaito's penchant for gathering food like a starved man was still a sight to behold no matter how many times he saw it.

Conan's eye twitched. "Why do you have so much?"

"To make sure you eat."

And Kaito unceremoniously shoveled a good portion of roasted beef and more vegetables on top of Conan's plate.

Conan moved his blank gaze down, feeling a great sigh ballooning in his chest.

“There, now that looks like dinner. You preach about how ‘essential it was for a knight to have a full stomach— yet you’re here with an empty plate.”

In some ways, Conan wasn’t even surprised. This was the second time Kaito created an avalanche over his plate without any finesse.

Conan refrained from scoffing. "If this is about what happened at the banquet, you already had your revenge.”

Kaito laughed and waved his hand. “How could I ever be that petty? Especially to the ever kind Royal Inspector who saved me from the depths of the dungeons and pushed me out the window all in the same day.”

The guard was making fun of something, Conan wasn’t sure if it was him or himself.

“You were destroying my office and you knew it.”

"I’m only half at fault," Kaito said, sitting down across from him. His boots thumped noisily under the table as he rearranged his legs.

Conan watched Kaito clench his fist before summoning a napkin and then his silver utensils with small bursts of smoke. Little shows of his flashy magic.

"Anyways, the beef tastes much better than whatever glop you had on your plate. You should try it."

Conan scrunched his face, trying to remember what was on his plate. He had a foggy memory, even when he spent the last ten minutes prodding at it.

In the end, Conan conceded with an empty, "Sure," before he pulled the plate closer to him.

With some effort, Conan pulled the sauced-up fork and knife from under the pile and went to wipe the handle.

"So, how was your chat with the chief?" Kaito asked, seamlessly sliding back into conversation. He set down his fork momentarily, just to summon more napkins to place in between them.

Conan wondered if the guard could do anything normally without flicking them out of thin air.

"It was fine; we caught up," Conan answered and left the conversation there. He chased a small piece of beef around the rim of his plate, and then decided to add, “He was on his knight’s leave.”

Kaito hummed with disinterest, finally deciding to dig into his plate with a fork and knife in hand.

The guard's eyes swiveled elsewhere as Conan sank back into his mind— back to the conversation with the prince.

The more Conan thought about it, the odder it became.

Conan tried not to question it— he knew there were some things he wasn’t allowed to question— but the glaring contradiction gnawed at his mind insistently.

Between the ‘dire’ threat of the assassin's return and the crown prince's nonchalant delivery of it, Conan immediately wanted to turn everything inside out.

A man was spooked by a vandalism mark supposedly connected to an assassin long thought to be dead— this incident seemed inconsequential.

But if it was truly nothing, would the crown prince really send the Royal Inspector there?

Did the prince know something Conan didn’t—?

—ugh.

He really should stop here.

Conan scrunched his eyes tight, refusing himself to think further. He knew better than to prematurely draw conclusions from what little information he had. And if it was as simple of a matter as asking the crown prince— well, Hakuba would have told him.

Instead, Conan should shift angles and focus on the crux of the case: vandalism, Asakawa, and the assassin.

What Conan was lacking was information. Context. History.

He'll begin by learning about the assassin—

"Hello? Earth to Tantei-kun, you're burning a hole in my face."

Conan startled, dropping his fork with a roasted potato.

It fell atop his mound of food with a wet splat.

Kaito looked quite amused after having fanned his hand in front of Conan’s face. Most of Kaito’s plate had already been cleared. Some smudges of sauce decorated its rim.

"What're you thinking about so hard?"

Conan blinked, somewhat surprised that Kaito even asked— then again, of course he should.

It just occurred to Conan that Kaito would be involved in the case on the sheer fact he had to accompany him.

Without pause, Conan blurted, "There's a case for us."

Kaito's eyes brightened.

He sat up straight, almost leaning over his plate and almost dipping his silken scarf into the brown sauce. "Well, why didn't you say so earlier? What's it about? Some killer on the loose?"

A past serial killer actually.

"Well, we're to investigate a vandalism left on a manor wall. There are speculations that—" Conan's voice hushed as a group of palace guards clambered to the empty end of their table. "—um, a deadly person might be involved."

Kaito gave the newcomers an undisguised annoyed glance, and herded his plate closer to him.

The guard’s annoyance was quickly overtaken with a grin, as his voice hushed quietly to match Conan’s. "That's exciting. How deadly are we talking?"

Conan waved him away, shooing him back to an upright position.

"I'll tell you the details later." And with a tilt of the head, Conan gestured towards the palace guards.

The guards may be engaged with chatting about their daily affairs but Conan could never be too careful. If he carelessly shared the details of their case within earshot, rumors could easily spread and give rise to an ugly situation before they even began unraveling what it’s about.

And— Conan didn't miss the way the guards’ eyes swept over Kaito's form with a judging and condescending gaze.

As relaxed as the palace guards seemed to be, they were all too conscious of Kaito spinning and fidgeting with a sharp dinner knife.

"What? You're really gonna keep me waiting?" Kaito remained blissfully unaware.

"You can wait," Conan tutted, shifting his focus to his mountain of food. He pointedly ignored the other's displeased stare.

Then— Kaito rolled his eyes.

"Oh, fine, keep your secrets."

The evening quickly faded into nighttime.