Conan: When Shinjiu and Maolilan swap bodies

"Those FBI hyenas have a very keen sense of smell. Especially Shuichi Akai... This silver bullet who came back from the dead is still like a ghost, hiding in the shadows."

Vermouth flicked the ash from her cigarette with her fingertips, a playful curiosity in her eyes:

What are you planning to do?

“Lure him out.” Gin’s answer was brief and direct.

He stretched his lips into a wide grin, a smile devoid of warmth, radiating only a chilling, predatory intent, like a hunter locking onto its prey.

Shuichi Akai... he will personally end this!

"Oh?" Vermouth raised an eyebrow, leaned forward slightly, and a hint of interest curved her lips. "Specifically... how do you intend to entice him?"

Gin turned his gaze to her, his eyes conveying a meaningful meaning.

"You don't need to worry about that. You should focus on preparing yourself and find a way to infiltrate the core of the cross-age recognition system's research and development. Otherwise, once the system is completed, we will be exposed to the light of day."

"I know, honestly, one mission after another, not a single breather..."

Chapter 423 Did he really only shrink for a year?

Sunlight streamed in through the window, gently falling on the sheets. Conan leaned against the headboard of the hospital bed, gazing out the window in a daze.

It snowed all night last night, but the sky cleared up this morning, and the blue was almost unreal.

He had a small notebook open beside him. These days, he had been doing one thing: writing down the cases he remembered after shrinking, one by one, trying to make up a clear timeline.

But as he wrote down more and more cases, a deep sense of bewilderment gripped him.

He shrunk... but only for a year?

How could so many things possibly be packed into just one year?

There were six or seven hundred cases, big and small, of all kinds. Even if one case was handled every day, it would still take at least two years, not to mention that there were gaps between the cases.

In his memory, as Conan Edogawa, he clearly celebrated several Valentine's Days and several Christmases.

In my memory, the snow fell heavily and then melted quietly in the sunlight, turning the world from pure white to lush green, endlessly repeating, as if stepping into a Möbius strip with no beginning or end.

He couldn't figure out whether this was a fact or if his brain injury had caused cognitive problems.

He sought confirmation from those around him. He asked Haibara, Ayumi, Mitsuhiko, Genta, and even his parents.

Everyone assured him that it was true, only a year had passed.

Those thrilling adventures are indeed crammed into these short four seasons.

But why is it that the previous case in his memory still retains the scorching heat of midsummer, while the next one is already soaked in the chill of late autumn, and only a few days have passed on the calendar?

The more you try to verify it, the more tightly and tangled that thread called "time" becomes.

Everyone else took it for granted, but he was the only one trapped in this paradox.

That sense of disorientation almost made him believe that there was something wrong with his perception.

The doctor's diagnosis was consistent and clear: the brain had been impacted by external force, resulting in memory disorder.

At this moment, looking at the densely packed case records on the notebook, almost overflowing, a cold yet clear sensation finally pierced through the long-standing fog.

He finally touched the "reality" of this world.

A "reality" that has been infinitely stretched and distorted.

A true story that made Xiaolan wait in despair for "countless years".

Time may be blurred or confused, but human feelings do not lie.

One year, two years, three years... In the long, endless wait, the heart that had been waiting passionately grew weary.

Enthusiasm cooled, and disappointment accumulated.

He had been immersed in his own Möbius strip, a world fraught with danger yet seemingly frozen in time, until her departure struck him like a thunderbolt, completely jolting him awake.

He slowly reached out his hand, trying to catch the ray of sunlight that slanted in.

The light spots fell on my palm, providing only visual brightness; the warmth that should have been there was blocked out by the thick glass window, not a single ray could penetrate.

He threw back the covers, struggled to get out of bed, and walked unsteadily to the window. On the windowsill, the snow was melting, forming glistening droplets.

One drop, two drops.

Melt, flow, and finally fall.

Like some things, once dissolved, they can never be reconstituted in their original form.

The door was pushed open, and Yukiko Kudo walked in carrying a food box. Her heart jumped into her throat as soon as she saw her son standing by the window.

"Xiaoxin! Why did you get out of bed? You're not fully recovered yet, you should stay in bed."

Conan turned his head and looked at his mother's eyes, which, despite her disguise, couldn't hide her concern, and smiled gently.

"Mom, it's nothing. I've just been lying down for too long, and my body feels stiff. I want to move around a bit."

Yukiko paused slightly as she looked at his smile.

That smile was too faint, too serene, like the surface of a lake in late autumn, having calmed all ripples.

The once sharp and fearless young man was blurred in this smile, replaced by an almost serene calm, concealing a desolation beyond his years that tugged at her heartstrings.

Her child has experienced so much this year.

She suppressed the lump in her throat, forced a smile that was no different from usual, walked to the table, and set out the food.

"If you want to get some exercise, then come and eat first to replenish your energy."

Conan slowly moved to the table and silently picked up his chopsticks.

"Ayumi and the others said they're coming to visit you this afternoon." Yukiko tried to lighten the mood with a casual tone, hoping to dispel the heavy atmosphere in the ward.

"Hmm," Conan responded, then subconsciously asked, "They haven't run into any trouble lately, have they?"

Those daily moments spent with the Junior Detective League were filled with too many unusual crises, which almost became a conditioned reflex of worry.

"No, no, everything's been peaceful lately," Yukiko quickly replied, then hopefully suggested, "The semester's almost over, how about we go out and relax during winter break?"

Conan gave a very faint smile, his face lacking his usual signature crescent-shaped, sarcastic expression.

"Let's talk about it when the injury is fully healed."

At this rate of recovery, he will most likely spend his winter vacation in the hospital.

"The doctor said your physical injuries are healing well, but the brain damage is..." Yukiko said, a worried look returning to her brow.

The problems of memory loss and disordered time are like an invisible thorn stuck in her heart.

“It’s alright,” Conan reassured her in a calm tone. “The doctor said it’s only temporary.”

After finishing his meal, he lay back down on the hospital bed, his fingers unconsciously swiping across his phone screen.

Sonoko Suzuki just updated her photo album on LINE.

The moment the nine-grid preview image loaded, his breath hitched slightly.

Click on it, and you'll find Sonoko's radiant selfies, photos of her with Sera, a group photo of the four of them with Hondo Eisuke, and of course, photos with Ran.

In the center of the nine-square grid is a snowman, wearing glasses and a scarf, looking adorable.

The last picture is a cartoon version of Xiaolan drawn on the hood of a car, with simple yet vivid lines.

His finger hovered for a moment before clicking on the one with Xiaolan in it.

In the photo, Xiaolan's smile is exceptionally bright, a genuine expression of relaxation and joy in the present moment.

There was no anxiety of waiting, no hidden worries, no shadow cast by him.

She is heading towards a future without "Shinichi Kudo" or "Conan Edogawa".

He watched quietly for a long time, then moved his thumb and turned off the screen.

Those everyday moments that were once within reach, that ordinary life that he thought would wait for him there, are now as distant as if separated by a whole frozen sea.

It was he himself who, through a long period of "disappearance" and meticulous "deception," buried his right to stand beside her in the distorted flow of time.

Chapter 424 If... Koniak really is him...

He looked out the window; the blue sky was so vast it was breathtaking, and the unmelted snow reflected a blinding, cold light.

The light was so bright that it made his eyelids feel heavy.

He closed his eyes, and a wave of weariness washed over him, instantly engulfing him.

My consciousness swayed, fragmented images and sharp sounds forced their way into my mind—

The subway car shook violently, people thronged in panic, and cries and shouts mingled into the indistinct background noise.

Then he saw it.

Fragments of memory finally broke through the dam of obstruction, returning with a cold, real feeling.

He saw Xiaolan.

He watched as Xiaolan calmly and composedly directed passengers to search for the bomb in the subway car.

Watching her carry the bomb she found to the last carriage, watching her calmly cut the fuses one by one.

Without crying, without panicking, without telling him that she was also on the subway, and without asking him for help, she calmly and composedly completed everything.

In the final minute of her death countdown, she answered his call.

Those words were like a thunderclap, jolting him awake from his resolute decision.

In the last two seconds, he used all his strength to lunge away from the core...

boom--

Conan suddenly opened his eyes, his chest heaving violently, and a fine layer of cold sweat seeping from his forehead.

Before me lay the pale ceiling of the hospital, and the echoes of the deafening roar seemed to linger in my ears.

It's not a dream, but a memory puzzle that has finally been put back in its place.

When the fragmented scenes are pieced together, they fit seamlessly with snippets of information from the news and video clips circulating online, revealing the complete truth that he had overlooked:

As he charged toward the purgatory in the sky with a death wish, she was also waging another solitary and courageous rescue within the metal cage rushing beneath her feet.

She saved the people in the carriage.

It also saved him, who was determined to die.

This realization was so clear, so sharp, like an icicle piercing through all the self-righteous shells.

He realized with absolute clarity:

Ran Mouri is no longer the girl who needed him to shield her.

Conversely, the person who constantly needed to be protected and saved, and who repeatedly dragged her into danger because of his own choices—

It was him.

......

The ward door was gently pushed open, and Ai Haibara, Ayumi, Genta, and Mitsuhiko filed in.

Almost instantly, the once quiet ward was filled with the noisy chatter of children, like a beam of light suddenly shining into a silent corner.

"Conan, we brought you the latest mystery novel!" Mitsuhiko was the first to hold up the book in his hand.

Ai Haibara didn't say anything. She walked to the window, took out the somewhat wilted bouquet from the vase, and replaced it with a bunch of fresh and vibrant flowers.

Ayumi took out some carefully packaged snacks, while Genta chattered on about his recent interesting experiences.

The children's energy, like a warm wave, tried to wash away the lingering chill in the ward.

Conan straightened up, smiled, and took the book from Mitsuhiko's hand.

"Thank you."

"Conan, you need to get better soon!"

"That's right! Our Junior Detective League can't do without you!"

Yukiko Kudo stood to the side, watching these innocent and enthusiastic children, a gentle light shimmering in her eyes.

The more you experience the world, the more you cherish such pure joy.