'It's really dangerous now'?
Under the double debuff of heavy cold and high fever, Conan even needed to breathe hard to draw in warm air, when he opened his eyes, not only his eyelids were heavy, even the things he saw in his field of vision had their own special effects of vertigo and blurring shadows.
It took a few beats for his dizzy brain to process the first half of what he had heard and tense up: yes, it was not safe, there was a murderer inside the villa, Ran was in danger!
He sat up, subconsciously grabbed Ichijō Mirai's wrist, and spoke urgently, "Ran...!"
Only then did the rusty gears in his brain finish the second half of the sentence, crushing the name 'Shinichi' between the splashes of rust.
Conan froze.
His blurred vision suddenly cleared, and he winced as if he'd been thrown headlong into a tub of cold water, in a feverish state of mind, but with the illusion of falling into a blizzard, and the coldness spreading up his spine.
Ichijō Mirai looked down at his wrist, and in a smooth motion, grabbed Conan's chin with his other hand, and with natural force, broke his mouth open with his thumb, and glanced inside, "Toddler teeth, rows of them, normal number,"
The white teeth sunk into the red mouth were obvious, and with only a cursory glance, Ichijō Mirai could tell that Conan's teeth were normal, normal enough to look like any six or seven year old human toddler, even with a few pointy little tiger teeth.
Human teeth are a marvelous thing, and you can tell a person's approximate age and standard of living just by looking at them.
There are many ways to disguise facial features, but not teeth.
Like his body, Conan's teeth are not those of a high school student.
So, Ichijō Mirai was like, "Wow."
He let go.
From start to finish, his thumb never touched the teeth, and when he let go of Conan, it was clean, not a bit of wetness, and not a bit of time to take a bite.
Conan didn't react well.
It took about three or four seconds for him to realize that he'd just had his teeth examined like a cat by Ichijō Mirai, and for him to realize what he'd said.
His blood ran cold: under what circumstances would a detective examine a child's teeth?
Also, the name 'Shinichi'...
"No, Mr. Mirai, you."
Ichijō Mirai moved his hand to break away from the small hand that was unconsciously gripping his wrist, "Mhm, I'm, I'm here."
He responded with a gentle, almost smiling demeanor, "What's wrong, Shinichi?"
As he spoke, his hand was not idle, the hand that had just squeezed Conan slipped down a bit, and went to squeeze the shoulder, and squeezed the bone that was rounded and firm without any cracks or crevices, and sighed even more, "Wow, that's amazing."
Then he went to touch Conan's skull, with a kindly tone in his mouth, "You're running a high fever, your head hurts, right?"
Conan: "..."
He had the subtle illusion that he had not become a smaller cat after being given the medicine, but a stray cat, and was being examined by a kindly vet.
It was just an illusion.
"Mr. Mirai," Conan barely managed to block out the illusion, his body stiffening, not quite daring to resist as Ichijō Mirai gently pinched his temples inquisitively, "What are you, what are you talking about?"
Trying to pretend he didn't understand, he carefully put his hand on Ichijō Mirai's wrist and gave a dry smile, his tone as lively as possible for a child, "I don't understand."
Ichijō Mirai smiled back at Conan, "Don't be a baby."
He breaks away from Conan's hand again, a bit puzzled, "You're running a high fever right now, is it really a cold and a high fever, or is it the aftermath of this childish behavior?"
"It's really childlike, the teeth, the bones, it's childlike, it's amazing, where are the veins?"
Blood vessels are in the human body, but it doesn't matter, through the neck or wrist, it is possible to observe part of the blood vessels, Ichijō Mirai held Conan's wrist and examined it for a few seconds, and sighed in amazement, "It's also a child's blood vessels, yes, if it's a grown-up's blood vessels, I'm afraid it's a bit crowded."
He raised his eyes and smiled at Conan, who had frozen, "Why are you so pale now, when you were just red-faced with fever? Fever doesn't change like that, does it?"
Conan: "..."
No, obviously, it's shock.
"You," He paled, and was about to continue his resistance, but then paused, "uh,"
I don't know what came over him, but in the next second some blood came back to his pale cheeks, and his eyes, which had been wondering, calmed down.
In the next second, Conan actually withdrew from the state of being caught off guard against the enemy, and the whole person seemed to come back to life, breathing heavily, as if he had regained his life, and his tone of voice was no longer so terrified, "How did you guess it?"
He even had the presence of mind to inquire into Ichijō Mirai for a moment or two, his manner still a little cautious, but with a tentative prying look in his eyes.
And he admitted it.
He admitted that he had changed from an adult to a child, and didn't struggle any longer.
Ichijō Mirai, who was in the middle of something, and was quite excited about it, paused, "?"
There was something wrong with his reaction.
Shouldn't it be negative emotions such as fear, anxiety, resistance and defiance? Shouldn't they have gritted their teeth, and in a moment of surprise, with so little information and in such a critical situation, they had to hastily respond to him as an enemy?
It's really not the right reaction.
He wore a thoughtful expression, and after a few seconds of pause because he didn't quite understand Conan's reaction, he tentatively continued his previous words, "Excuse me, how can I help you?"
"You've been living like this for quite some time now, I'm sure you're used to it, it wouldn't be the first time you've encountered such a situation, so you should know how to alleviate the suffering in this matter, you can tell me, I'll help you alleviate it, after all."
Conan gazed at Ichijō Mirai.
Without realizing it, his hand took hold of Ichijō Mirai's wrist again, and his body subconsciously leaned forward, making the gesture of listening to a non-enemy's words with the intention of hearing them more clearly, and listening to what was said underneath.
It was a gesture of trust.
Ichijō Mirai paused, slightly tilted her head sideways, the tips of her ears twitched, and after a few moments she smiled again, breaking away from Conan's hand, "Ah, Ms. Mouri's still at dinner, and won't be coming up here anytime soon."
"After all," He picked up with a smile, his tone kindly, not sounding the least bit threatening, "Ms. Mouri is still downstairs."
"I'm not sure your aftereffects will attract some, well... you didn't volunteer, did you? I'm not sure that the changes in your body won't lead to some kind of forced pursuit, like, uh."
A minor high school student has become a six or seven year old child, ten years younger, and has taken on a new identity, living in the home of childhood sweetheart.
It seems that this childhood sweetheart doesn't know about it.
The reasons behind this are obviously complicated and involve a lot of people.
But...
Adults, children, children...
And in Tokyo...
Ichijō Mirai shifted his crimson pupils and smiled, "A silver-haired, black-robed, pursuer belonging to an illegal organization."
He watched Conan, noting that when he bit out the first keyword without hesitation, the other's pupils dilated a bit, and subconsciously raised his hand to his wrist, and by the time he reached the last keyword, the other already had an anxious look on his face.
So, his smile also deepened.
Because it was right.
Conan was in a hurry, "You Know?!"
"You know that guy?! Wait, wait!"
"You're a police cadet and you didn't become a police officer," He said, his voice rushed and breaking, "to track down the Black Organization too?!"
'too'.
Uh-huh? -Wait a minute.
Ichijō Mirai thought for a few seconds: 'You're a police cadet'.
...
Wait, how did Conan know he was a police cadet?
Ichijō Mirai lowered his eyes to Conan, and smoothly broke the hand on his wrist, finding a backstabber, and silently sent out a greeting: No way, no way, a certain blonde classmate who was having a good time wouldn't be so lame as to not pay attention to a kid while checking him out, and instead of a grown-up, he was being talked to by a kid, right?!
Geez.
No wonder this guy was so scared and full of feedback just now, but in a flash he looked like he remembered something, he wasn't so scared anymore, he didn't even react to the threatening words, and he looked like he was really listening to the kind words of a good person.
It's not funny.
"Oh," He said perfunctorily, his interest plummeting at the lack of feedback, "right."
When his hand was wrenched away one after another, Conan didn't offer a hand when he spoke again, only leaned forward again and pressed his hand to the side of the bed, his tone anxious, "What did you find out?"
Then he changed his tone, "No, I, uh..."
He was keenly aware that Ichijō Mirai seemed to be less than happy, less cooperative all of a sudden, so he carefully looked at his face and surmised, "Did the police know about the existence of the Black Clothed Organization?"
Conan thought the police didn't know.
"Well, then, medicine."
So, did the police also know that the Organization possessed a miracle drug?
Judging by the fact that Ichijō Mirai had guessed his identity, Conan thought so.
So the question is: "Do the police have the antidote?!"
Conan didn't put his hand on the bed again, but Ichijō Mirai put his hand on the bed and pressed it downward, making a sunken curve in the bed, "Antidote? No."
The amusement turned into a 100,000 questions answered scene, and he was so disinterested that he kind of wanted to turn his head to wring his blonde classmate's hands and complain, "It's not like it's poison."
Adding, "Oh, and if you're as small as I think you are, taking that drug that supposedly reverses the flood of time, there's probably no antidote."
Ichijō Mirai didn't know there was an antidote, anyway.
His arm just pressed on the side of Conan's hand, Conan's hand was brought down a bit, so he subconsciously raised his hand again to press down on his wrist, and was shocked, "There is no antidote?!"
"How can there be!"
"I've never heard of an antidote," Ichijō Mirai immediately wrenched Conan's hand away and placed his wrist in his hand again, "How did you take that drug? As I recall, it's classified by the organization."
His interest plummeted, and the result of his lack of energy was that even the questions were tepid with a lack of interest, and the tone of his voice sounded completely casual, as if he had heard someone ask 'did you take it' and then casually returned the question as a courtesy.
But for Conan, this somewhat perfunctory question was anything but perfunctory; it was a very serious question.
Only one thing was less serious: Conan looked down at the arm that was pressed against his hand as if nothing had happened.
He looked up at the calm expression on Ichijō Mirai's face, whose smile was rapidly dwindling to the point where it was somewhat lacking, and tentatively raised his hand, resting his wrist once more, "I accidentally stumbled upon the organization making a deal with someone and tried to notify the police, but the silver-haired man in black found me, knocked me unconscious from behind, and fed me a drug to try to silence me." he said.
"But when I woke up again, I wasn't dead, I was a child..."
Ichijō Mirai immediately broke away from Conan's hand, and naturally put his hand over it, and was a bit shocked when he said, "Silence?"
Wait!
Gin wanted to silence Kudō Shinichi, so he fed him drugs, and Conan appeared.
So the question is, by that logic...
What does the Organization mean by feeding him drugs? To kill him?
That's too much!
He's bled for the organization! He sweated for the organization! He's willing to ruin his reputation as a ruthless killer to tell the world about the organization!
What a loyal member of the organization, even without a salary, without a labor contract, without the organization's insurance, without drinking the northwest wind every day to serve the organization!
The organization tried to kill him!
Sad, Ichijō Mirai was very sad.
He moved his arm in sadness and urged Conan, "It's really Gin."
If you find out that the organization has been compromised, you can just shoot the person who found out, and as long as the person who found out can't talk anymore, the organization hasn't been compromised.
But instead of shooting Kudō Shinichi, Gin fed him medicine, giving him a chance to live.
Ichijō Mirai had only one thing to say about him: he was kind.
The Gin he remembered was really kind.
Conan: "..."
"Ah, yes," His response was a bit slow, his hand dutifully resting on Ichijō Mirai's wrist, which was immediately wrenched away, paused for a few seconds, and then rested on the same wrist again, "...Mr. Mirai... you..."
'Are you mistaking me for a cat...?'
These words, Conan hesitated for half a day, but in the end, he didn't say them, instead, he picked up on Ichijō Mirai's words, "Only he, would be that cold and heartless..."
Ichijō Mirai broke away from Conan's hand, "No."
He corrects, "Only he would be that kind."
Conan: "..."
After just a minute or two of what seemed like a lot of speechlessness in a variety of emotions, Conan was still speechless when he heard that, and he stared open-mouthed for a moment, "Gin, kind?"
Huh?
Are these two words that can be related?
There's only one way they can be related: in a negative sentence.
Gin himself can't even say that he's kind, can he?!
Ichijō Mirai's arm moved, and Conan looked down, ignoring the cat's pawing motion that came to mind, and raised his hand to put it on again while inquiring blankly, "Why?"
"Wait, Mr. Mirai, that, we're having a serious conversation, and I'm not actually a cat..."
"There are many ways to want someone dead," Ichijō Mirai replied, "There are many ways."
"Gin carries a gun, he could just shoot you, and even if he didn't want to disturb the crowd, there are many ways to kill you silently, like strangling you, smothering you, slitting your throat with a knife or stabbing you in the heart."
"Or worse, even gag you, put you in some small, airless place, and let you experience the sensation of dying little by little, the agony of trying to save yourself and being unable to do so, and having an absolutely terrible death,"
But Gin didn't.
So: "He's kind."