Conan: When Shinjiu and Maolilan swap bodies

Then he smiled.

The smile was light, faint, even gentle.

Shouldn't I hate it?

His voice remained very soft.

Kaito Kuroba paused for a moment.

"I—" Qingze raised his hand, pointed to himself, his movements slow, as if displaying an exhibit, "a guinea pig for an organization, shouldn't I hate him?"

“My hair.” Qingze raised his hand and gently brushed away the stray hairs from his forehead, the movement as casual as if he were talking about someone else. “My eyes. Even my lost sense of taste—aren’t these things that are out in the open enough to fuel my hatred?”

Kaito Kuroba's lips moved, but no sound came out.

He knew nothing about Koniak's past.

He had no idea that the entity that Fryward and Oedton feared was actually a "guinea pig".

His deliberately concealed hair and eye color are not normal.

Aozawa placed his fingers on his heart, looking at Kaito Kuroba with an expression that was calm to the point of indifference.

"Your father controls my mind, enslaves my soul, and drives my body. Shouldn't I hate him?"

“They imprisoned me. They tamed me. They enslaved me. They tortured me. They treated me as a tool, not a person.”

He paused for a moment.

The living room was so quiet you could hear each other breathing.

The wind picked up again outside the window, and the shadows of the trees began to sway, brushing against the glass with a soft "rustling" sound.

Shouldn't I hate it?

Qingze asked.

His voice remained flat, yet it felt incredibly heavy to Kaito Kuroba.

Kaito Kuroba opened his mouth.

Even if—

Qingze's voice suddenly paused, and his tone wavered.

It was very light, very short, and flashed by.

Even if this didn't start with your father.

"But he chose to become part of this evil. To become an accomplice."

"Then why—"

"I can't hate him?"

A gust of wind suddenly swept past the window, causing the shadows of the trees to sway violently and slap against the glass with a "smack".

Kaito Kuroba's face was ashen.

Qingze rarely expresses his hatred directly.

Hatred without power is nothing but impotent rage.

For him, hatred was the driving force for survival, not an emotion to vent.

Rather than hating specific people and events, he was more concerned with resisting the absurdity of fate.

But not speaking out doesn't mean the hatred doesn't exist.

He had countless ways to kill those people.

Gin, Rum, Fiano, and even Kuroba Toichi just now—he could kill them any number of times he wanted.

But that's meaningless.

Killing just a few members of the organization without destroying its very foundation and purpose is not enough to quell the hatred.

He wanted to reduce the organization to nothing, to see those who sought immortality die at the gates of eternal life, to bury the past, and to see this absurd fate end with him...

Then, start a new life with a new identity.

Chapter 577 How can killing people vent one's anger?

Kaito Kuroba staggered to his feet and left, and the living room remained quiet for a while.

Ran Mouri sat on the sofa, motionless.

She was still clutching the teacup in her hand; the cup was already cold, and its warmth had dissipated at some point.

Her fingers tightened, and the delicate porcelain made a faint, strained sound in her hands, as if something was cracking little by little.

But she seemed not to hear.

Her gaze fell on Qingze.

He stood there, his back to her, watching the door through which Kaito Kuroba had left. The lamplight stretched his shadow long, casting it on the wall like a silent figure.

He spoke those words in such a flat tone.

It's like reading a report, like stating a fact that has nothing to do with you.

But my heart felt like it was being squeezed tightly by something, and my eyes stung.

I want to watch someone tear open a scabbed wound and show it to others.

He tore it open so calmly, as if the wound had long since stopped hurting.

How could it not hurt?

He simply didn't mention it.

He's using these as weapons, as bargaining chips, as evidence to force Kaito Kuroba to make a choice.

She gently placed the teacup on the table.

The porcelain struck the wooden tabletop with a very soft thud. The few tiny cracks were particularly noticeable under the light, like marks of something broken.

She stood up and walked to Qingze's side.

Then she reached out and took his hand.

Her fingers slipped between his, intertwined, and tightened.

Palm to palm, warm.

"Kuroba's choice," she asked softly, "does it mean anything to you in your revenge against the organization?"

Qingze looked down at her, and a smile slowly crept onto his lips.

It wasn't the usual gentle, teasing laugh he gave her.

It was an undisguised laugh, tinged with malice.

"It's meaningless. I just want to destroy Kuroba Toichi's heart."

"Killing people isn't enough to vent your anger," he said, gently stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. "It takes destroying their spirit."

He smiled, and that smile was particularly bright under the light.

It's like someone who has been starving for a long time finally seeing food.

It's like someone who has been waiting for a long time, finally finding the opportunity to make a move.

“However,” his tone softened, as if stating a fact, “if Kuroba Toichi didn’t love his son, he wouldn’t have been able to kill him.”

"After all, to fake one's death and keep it a secret from one's son for eight years—that's a ruthless person."

......

Kaito Kuroba walked out of that door.

The night wind rushed towards me, carrying the unique chill of winter, scraping my face like a knife.

He then realized he was covered in a cold sweat; the back of his shirt was soaked, and the wind made him shiver with cold.

He stood there and closed his eyes.

My mind is still a mess.

Those words, those truths, those torn pieces, swirled in his mind like fragments, making him dizzy.

He took a deep breath, trying to suppress them, to push them into a corner where he could temporarily avoid touching them.

Then he opened his eyes and took a step.

The streets were quiet.

The streetlights stood one by one, casting dim yellow halos in the night. His shadow was stretched long, sometimes in front, sometimes behind, and sometimes overlapping with other shadows, making it impossible to tell whose it was.

He walked very slowly.

It's not that I don't want to walk fast, it's just that my legs are a bit weak. Stepping on the ground feels like stepping on cotton, and every step feels unreal.

He lowered his head, watching his toes move forward step by step, his mind blank yet seemingly filled with everything.

Not far away, a black car was hidden in the shadow between two streetlights, like a gap swallowed by the night.

Kuroba Toichi sat in the driver's seat.

The car window was cracked open, and a cold draft slipped in through the crack.

Sitting in the darkness, I watched that figure emerge from the house.

The light from the streetlamp occasionally fell on that person's face, illuminating that familiar, young face.

His gaze lingered on that face, from the forehead to the eyebrows and eyes, from the eyebrows and eyes to the bridge of the nose, and finally settled on the slightly pursed corners of the mouth.

The corners of his mouth had no curve; the poker face he once taught magicians had long since disappeared, as if he could no longer smile.

He stared at it for a long time.

So long that person walked far away, so long that their silhouette grew smaller and smaller until it disappeared at the end of the street.

His eyes were hidden in the darkness, and it was impossible to see what was inside them.

"Ugh......"

He sighed, and the car slowly started, driving into the night, heading further and further away in the opposite direction from that person.

......

Yusaku Kudo returned home.

The light in the entryway was on, and the house was quiet.

He changed out of his coat, hung it on the hanger, and instead of rushing upstairs, sat down on the sofa in the living room.

The night outside the window was dark, and only a floor lamp was on in the living room, casting a dim, yellowish light that made his shadow long.

He stared at his reflection in the window for a while, then picked up his phone and dialed a number.

beep - beep - beep -

The phone rang for a long time.

Just as the call was about to automatically disconnect, the other end answered.

"...Yusaku?"

The sound came from the receiver, carrying a hint of languor from just being woken up, the background as quiet as a closed space.

"Toichi," Yusaku Kudo's voice was normal, "I didn't disturb your rest, did I?"

"What do you think?" A soft chuckle came from the other end. "It's three in the morning here."

"Sorry," Yusaku Kudo smiled, "I miscalculated the time difference."

A brief silence.

Neither of them spoke first.

"Calling so late, is something wrong?" Kuroba Toichi's voice was still lazy.

Yusaku Kudo leaned back on the sofa, his gaze fixed on a certain point on the ceiling.

"It's nothing serious," he said, speaking casually as if he were chatting about everyday things. "It's just that something interesting happened tonight, and I thought I'd share it with you."