Conan: When Shinjiu and Maolilan swap bodies

"It's nothing. Just a heads-up—you've been discovered."

Qingze's voice was low, carrying a thin layer of chill in the silent room. But that chill was insignificant compared to the next sentence he was about to speak.

"It's not just you. Shinichi Kudo has also been discovered."

Ai Haibara's pupils suddenly contracted to pinpoints.

The chill that crept up her spine once again gripped her; she clenched the corner of the blanket tightly and held her phone with unusual force.

how come?

Shinichi Kudo's funeral has already been held.

The coffin, the portrait, the eulogy—all the evidence that could be presented pointed to the "death" of that seventeen-year-old boy. Even though he had no apparent connection to the Karasuma family, what right did the organization have—

Qingze didn't give her time to process this shock. His tone remained light and casual, as if he were just sharing a slightly interesting piece of gossip.

"The organization is currently conducting large-scale drug trials. There have already been instances of [rejuvenation]."

He paused, as if savoring the weight of those three words.

"—It's just that no one survived."

Drug testing.

Almost reflexively, Ai Haibara superimposed the word on her parents' voices on the cassette tape in her mind.

Drug A only affects the three bloodline systems. The Miyano lineage is dwindling, and she herself is a living example; the members of the Sera lineage are barely aware of their organization.

So, what can be used for large-scale drug trials—

Only Wuhuan.

Only that "gentleman's" own bloodline.

There was no wind outside. The double-glazed windows, tightly closed in winter, were enough to keep out all the cold. But she still felt cold.

The cold seeped from the depths of her bones, creeping along her veins and soaking her body inch by inch, enveloping her tightly wrapped body.

Qingze didn't pay attention to her silence.

He even chuckled, a lazy laugh, like someone sitting in the front row of the audience, waiting for the show to begin.

"It's kind of funny. Shinichi Kudo is actually the great-great-great-great-grandson of Renya Karasuma—what is this, a family feud? If you didn't know better, you'd think you were watching a science fiction movie."

Ai Haibara suddenly realized something.

The distance in that soft laugh. The almost deliberate, undisguised unfamiliarity in the phrase "Karasuma Renya".

Not "sir". Not "that person".

They address people by their first names, not even bothering to offer a perfunctory show of respect.

She frowned, her voice tinged with a defiant, mocking tone:

"Karasuma Renya? Shouldn't you address him as 'Sir'?"

Rumor has it that Koniak is one of the organization's most loyal followers.

Chapter 557 We need to come up with a solution quickly!

A soft "Ah!" came from the other end of the phone, as if the speaker had just realized their rudeness. Then, the languid voice nodded in agreement, readily correcting the mistake:

"Ah, yes, sir."

He paused, then continued:

"The master's grandson. That's quite an impressive identity—I wonder if he'll become our 'little master'? I'm actually looking forward to it."

This time, his smile was more genuine, even tinged with excitement, as if he were describing an extremely ingenious prank:

"If Gin knew that the person he personally poisoned and almost sent to hell had become a minor boss in the organization, I'd really like to see his face~"

Ai Haibara couldn't take it anymore.

This detached, indifferent attitude, this pretentious way of treating the daily grind like a serialized drama, is infuriating.

She clenched her fist tightly, her nails digging into her palm.

Young Master? Shinichi Kudo?

Regardless of whether that person is willing or suitable, the organization would never allow it.

A successful lab rat. Once recognized, what awaits him is not a throne, but a more sophisticated operating table and a longer period of slide study.

That man paved his way with the suffering of his descendants, never caring how many bones he trampled.

She was too lazy to beat around the bush anymore. In the almost numb calm brought on by the approaching immense danger, her voice deepened, like a tempered blade:

"Koniak. What exactly do you want?"

"It's nothing," Qingze said, his tone even sounding somewhat innocent. "I just wanted to remind you."

"You would be so kind?"

“Of course,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m a kind person.”

"Oh."

It's unbelievable that he could say such a thing.

She suppressed her surging disgust and posed the next question:

When did you plant the bugging device?

On the other end of the phone, the smile deepened noticeably.

"you guess."

Ai Haibara didn't respond. She heard the faint clicking sound of her knuckles clenching.

She changed direction:

"You discovered me a long time ago. Why didn't you report it? What was your purpose?"

A brief pause. Then the voice drifted over slowly, as if stating a simple truth:

"Isn't this interesting?"

"……interesting?"

“Yes.” Qingze’s voice revealed a pure, unadulterated joy, like a collector who had finally found a rare toy. “Look at our aloof Shirley, acting like a child so earnestly, it’s really so interesting.”

He paused, a hint of genuine regret rising in his voice:

"I really want to give Gin one too. I really want to see him play a child."

Ai Haibara's face flushed red instantly.

His fists were clenched so tightly they ached, and four crescent-shaped bloody marks were imprinted on his palms.

She finally understood why Gin's expression was always so complicated whenever he mentioned Koniak.

This person is so damn annoying.

"We need to come up with a solution quickly."

Koniak's voice still carried that nonchalant, rising tone, as if urging a friend to catch an unimportant movie.

"Otherwise, what awaits you is the same fate as me... becoming guinea pigs."

At this point, his flippant tone finally revealed a hint of resentment that had been brewing for years, a resentment that had become ingrained in his very being, almost a calm resentment.

The busy tone of the phone call ending was like a soaked blanket, suddenly pressing down on her clenched fists, on her stopped breathing, and on her still-wet tear tracks.

She suddenly understood many things.

I understand why he addressed Karasuma Renya by his given name, why he knew but didn't report it, and why he suddenly reminded him...

That was not a betrayal by a loyalist.

That was the hatred of the sacrificed.

The rain outside the window had subsided at some point, turning into a dense, sticky, and endless cold rain, clinging to the glass in strands like glue that wouldn't dissolve.

Ai Haibara sat listlessly on the bed.

The bedside lamp was still on, its small circle of warm light only enough to illuminate a palm-sized area around her knees, leaving the rest of the room in shadow.

The tape recorder stood silently with its hatch open. The tape "18" had been taken out and lay quietly in her outstretched palm, its edges digging into the soft flesh of her hand.

She lowered her eyes and didn't cry.

Just sitting.

Rain streaks slid down the windowpane silently, tearing the halo of streetlights outside into countless thin, broken threads.

After a while, she moved.

Her movements were light and steady. She put the cassette back into the box labeled "18", then "17", "16"... one roll after another, as if performing a ritual that could not be wrong.

The moment the box closed, she looked up. There were no tears in her pupils, only something deep and heavy, settled to the bottom.

She got up, quickly packed her personal belongings, and cleaned up any traces of her living quarters, like a silent film being fast-forwarded.

She packed everything into several large bags, went downstairs, and pushed open the basement door.

She personally entered and organized every piece of experimental data—originals, backups, handwritten notes—and stored them all in a fireproof box, secured with a combination lock.

She counted the semi-finished antidote, closed the medicine box, and put it in her pocket.

Her fingers were steady as she removed them from the lid of the box.

When I returned to the living room, Dr. Agasa had just sat up from the sofa, his reading glasses had slipped down to the middle of his nose, and he was still clutching the science newspaper he hadn't finished reading.

"Ai? What are you busy with so late at night?"

He blinked, staring blankly at the duffel bag she was carrying, then at her retreating figure as she walked towards the ground pole, completely bewildered. "Did something happen? Do you need my help...?"

"It's alright, Doctor."

Her voice was soft, but not weak, like still water covered with a thin layer of ice.

"Go to sleep first."

Professor Agasa opened his mouth, his Adam's apple bobbed, but in the end he only pushed his slipping glasses back into place, mumbled "Oh, oh" twice, but didn't move his feet.

He just stood there clutching the newspaper, watching that small, overly straight back, and suddenly felt that the warm light in the living room couldn't warm anything anymore.

Ai Haibara squatted down in front of the ground.

The panel, which had been opened and closed countless times, flicked open effortlessly under her fingertips.

She spoke softly, her voice flat and even, to the hidden, silent listening device, as if delivering a pre-written verdict:

"Akai Shuichi."

He paused for a moment.

"We need to talk."

In the dimly lit study of the villa next door.

The pupils belonging to Shuichi Akai beneath Subaru Okiya's disguised face suddenly contracted.

The girl's cold voice still echoed in my headphones, each word like a precise bullet fired through a long curtain of rain.

He walked straight to the window and lifted a corner of the curtain.

The rain poured down like a waterfall, and the night swallowed everything into a thick black.

The mansion next door, which he had guarded for countless days and nights, was now lit with a warm, quiet light.

The front door, the back door, the courtyard, the living room—everything was as usual.

But that's not right.

There is something he doesn't know that has already happened and ended.

He lowered the curtains, turned around, and his steps were swift and silent. He knocked on the door at the end of the corridor.

"mom."

A deep, resonant sound penetrated the door panel.

"problem occurs."