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'What's going on? Is this guy doing this on purpose?'
Conan's heart raced with fear, his pulse pounding in his ears. Beads of cold sweat trickled down his forehead as he fought to keep his composure.
Ever since he had been forced to take that mysterious drug and reverted to a childlike state, Conan had lived in constant fear. Discovering the existence of a vast, shadowy network behind the organization responsible for his condition only deepened his paranoia. He feared not only for his own life but also for the lives of everyone close to him—his friends, his family. If the organization were to find out that Shinichi Kudo was still alive and hiding as a child, they might capture him and subject him to unimaginable experiments.
And what about his loved ones? Would they be ruthlessly killed because of their connection to him?
This was why Conan had gone to such great lengths to conceal his true identity.
The one silver lining was that the idea of someone shrinking into a child after consuming a drug sounded utterly absurd. It made hiding his identity easier than it might otherwise have been.
But now, here was Tōru Fujiwara—a man he'd just met—casually pointing out how much he resembled Shinichi Kudo. Whether it was an innocent observation or something more sinister, Conan couldn't tell. Either way, it sent chills down his spine.
'If Tōru can figure this out, could others do the same?'
That was Conan's greatest fear.
"Hmm? Now that you mention it, Conan does look a lot like Shinichi when he was little," Ran said, bending down to examine Conan closely. The more she looked, the more similarities she noticed.
"Uh… uh… Since I'm related to Shinichi-niichan, maybe we just look alike?" Conan stammered, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he scrambled for an excuse.
He silently thanked his lucky stars that he had confided in his parents immediately after shrinking. His mother, Yukiko, had cleverly introduced him as a distant relative, giving him a plausible cover story.
Ran nodded thoughtfully. It made sense—if Aunt Yukiko said he was a distant relative, then there must be some blood relation, however distant. Sure, it was odd that Conan bore such a striking resemblance to young Shinichi, but if the explanation fit logically, she was willing to accept it.
Seeing that Ran wasn't suspicious anymore, Conan finally allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief.
'Thank goodness. Thank goodness Ran isn't the type to dig too deeply into things. And she's never been one to focus too much on details.'
Having narrowly escaped another crisis, Conan relaxed slightly. He shot a subtle glare at Tōru Fujiwara, who was still chatting animatedly with Eri Kisaki and Ran.
Just one offhand comment from this guy almost gave me a heart attack!
But even as he glanced over, Conan noticed something unsettling.
'Wait… what's going on with his hands?!'
Though Tōru seemed to have deliberately minimized the signs through careful handling, Conan—or rather, Shinichi Kudo—had always possessed an uncanny sensitivity to detail, a trait that made him an exceptional detective. Conan spotted faint calluses on Tōru's thumb and index finger—the kind typically formed by prolonged use of firearms.
His mind raced. Despite the risks of drawing attention to himself, Conan decided to probe further. Summoning his best childlike curiosity, he asked innocently, "Tōru-niisan, you said earlier that you used to live in America?"
"Yes, that's right. Why do you ask, Conan-kun? Do you want to visit America too?" Tōru responded casually, pretending to be oblivious to Conan's true identity.
"I heard that in America, people can shoot guns?" Conan said, feigning wide-eyed admiration.
It was natural for boys to be fascinated by guns, after all.
"If you have the proper permits, yes, you can shoot guns. But America is dangerous because of how widespread firearms are. You always have to stay alert—even in schools, you never know when someone might pull out a gun and start shooting randomly."
Tōru sighed wistfully, reminiscing about his time navigating America's gun culture.
Ah, those days…
"Is America really that dangerous?" Ran gasped, covering her mouth in shock.
"It's exactly that dangerous. The proliferation of guns leads to these kinds of situations. Unfortunately, trying to regulate firearms in America is practically impossible—it's a country built on guns," Tōru shrugged.
Conan pressed on, probing carefully. "Tōru-niisan, do you often shoot guns? Are you a competitive shooter or something?"
Tōru chuckled. "No, I just play around with guns occasionally. I'm not a professional shooter—just an ordinary student."
While maintaining his casual demeanor, Tōru was inwardly impressed. This kid—Shinichi Kudo—was sharp. Extremely sharp. Despite Tōru's efforts to minimize traces of his past as a CIA operative, including using advanced technology to reduce physical markers like calluses, Kudo had still managed to pick up on something.
He truly deserved his reputation as the "Holmes of the Reiwa Era." Solving so many cases clearly wasn't just luck; this guy had real talent.
Still, Tōru wasn't worried. His public identity as a CIA agent served as perfect cover. With official backing, he was seen as a "champion of justice" by national institutions. If Conan ever learned about his ties to the CIA, he might even beg for help.
But if Conan discovered that Tōru currently had friendly relations with the Black Organization—and that the CIA Director himself was collaborating with them—he might completely lose it.
"Why are you asking, Conan-kun?" Tōru asked lightly.
"Oh, no reason! I'm just interested in guns!" Conan grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.
Once Tōru turned his attention away, Conan's smile faded instantly.
'This guy's lying. Those calluses aren't from casual target practice—they're the result of extensive firearm training. And it looks like he intentionally tried to erase them. If he hadn't done it recently, I wouldn't have noticed.'
'So who exactly is this guy? What's his purpose in getting close to Ran and Ms. Kisaki?'