The Valentine's Day homicide had been untangled by Conan Edogawa—or rather, by the proxy of a slumbering Kogoro Mouri—with effortless efficiency. Yet, in the wake of the resolution, a far more phenomenal enigma persisted—an occurrence so singular it bordered on the supernatural, involving what could only be characterized as a futuristic echelon of deduction.
The assembly involved in the toxicological crisis had already undergone their clinical evaluations. Each was administered precautionary pharmaceuticals, and fortunately, the medical staff declared everyone to be in stable, robust health. The survivors of the tennis squadron elected to remain at the Minagawa estate, standing vigil over the orphaned Susumu.
The simian-like titan, Wakamatsu, finally summoned the fortitude to offer a romantic confession to Ran Mouri. With a pathetic, hopeful anticipation, he queried whether she had crafted any confections for him, professing he would joyfully consume them upon the spot. However, instead of a sugary tribute, he was greeted by a frigid repudiation—and a soccer ball propelled with such velocity into his visage that it rendered the unfortunate brute instantaneously insensate upon the floorboards.
Once the chaos had subsided, Kogoro Mouri, Inspector Megure, and the remaining constabulary—having sequestered the requisite evidence—finally withdrew. Kogoro departed in their company, though not before offering a curt farewell to Ran and mandating that his daughter prepare the evening's repast.
Sonoko Suzuki, Ran Mouri, and Conan Edogawa were presently sequestered within a taxi. Ran and Conan had originally intended to repatriate immediately, but without prior notice, Sonoko extended an invitation to her palatial residence for a light luncheon. She spoke with a vibrant eagerness of showing them something—something she deemed truly worthy of her habitual boasting.
Conan and Ran consented without a moment's hesitation. The hour was still early, and their schedules were devoid of further obligations. More than anything, their morbid fascination regarding Leon had only intensified. Sonoko's proposal provided the ideal theater for further observation, and so they yielded to her whims.
The taxi navigated the streets of the Beika Ward toward the Suzuki estate. Within the cabin, Ran and Conan occupied the rear seat in tandem, while Sonoko took her place in the front passenger chair.
"I still find it difficult to reconcile… the prophecies Leon-kun uttered yesterday manifested with such precision today," Ran murmured, her voice saturated with a lingering sense of awe.
Sonoko intercepted the comment. Pivoting her head slightly over the upholstery, she offered a firm, emphatic nod. "I am telling you, little Leon is a verified prodigy when it pertains to forecasts—no, perhaps even beyond such mundane definitions." Her cadence was a volatile blend of sororal pride, bewilderment, and genuine astonishment.
Ran nodded in somber agreement. "Indeed… when one reflects upon it, Leon-kun's assertions were not merely erratic coincidences. It is as if he possessed a literal window into the timeline. That caliber of analytical prowess is staggering."
Conan, who had been a silent auditor to their discourse, shook his head. Resting his chin upon his palm, his gaze sharpened into a clinical focus. "It transcends mere deduction…" he whispered.
It is akin to genuine precognition. Leon-kun merely vocalizes fragments—syllables that resonate like cryptic omens, like a divine revelation pointing toward the inevitable. He specified murder… orchestrated by poison… and today, those exact portents coalesced into reality.
Katsuhiko-san was liquidated… and it was Mrs. Minagawa who utilized the toxin.
This is no serendipity. It is no educated guess. If it is not a prediction—if it is not a legitimate manifestation of future-sight—then I am at a loss for a rational label… Conan continued his internal monologue.
This was an entirely alien variable—something that defied the Newtonian physics of his reality. It felt as though he were attempting to dissect a phantom. And yet, even as he descended into the labyrinth of his own skepticism, the corners of his lips quirked upward into a clandestine smile.
He was, after all, a detective. It was his quintessential purpose to unravel the mechanics of the impossible.
Because in the final accounting—there is always only one truth.
"Omoshiroi…" he hissed softly.
Conan's attention was then recaptured by Sonoko's persistent rambling.
"I am asserting that it is a consequence of his names… those monikers… they are exerting a profound influence over my little Leon," Sonoko declared.
"Names? We are returning to that theory… Sherlock is Leon-kun's primary name, correct? Derived from Sherlock Holmes. He is a work of fiction, a literary detective, not some oracle of the occult," Ran countered, attempting to decode Sonoko's insistence that his nomenclature dictated his destiny.
"It is… far more expansive than that… Little Leon is even a virtuoso of the canvas, possessing the spirit of Leonardo da Vinci… And when I describe him as skilled, I mean it in an almost terrifying sense—he is a peer to the masters," Sonoko continued, her gaze narrowing as she pinned them with her intensity. "Little Leon can reconstruct the Mona Lisa in its entirety with but a single, fleeting glance…"
The duo could not fathom the gravity of her claim—reconstructing the Mona Lisa from memory…
Inwardly, they suppressed quiet chuckles at her dramatic phrasing, at the way she embellished every detail with her characteristic fervor. In their estimations, Leon-kun's faculties were likely just extraordinarily advanced for his developmental stage, and Sonoko was merely magnifying them through her habitual lens of hyperbole.
Even so, they offered polite nods, listening as she persisted.
"And yesterday, during the confectionary session… h-how could he transfigure the chocolate into such masterpieces? It was his inaugural encounter with the medium, yet he mastered it instantly…" Sonoko erupted, venting her frustration at how effortlessly Leon absorbed the complexities of the world. Her sororal pride was under siege. She was meant to be the mentor, the one to facilitate his growth—but the moment he assimilated the fundamentals, he immediately ascended into a realm of refinement that left her in the dust.
Ran and Conan observed the outburst, her voice escalating as she continued her tirade. Even the taxi chauffeur found himself surreptitiously shielding his right ear from the sonic barrage of Sonoko's exasperation.
After an interval, the vehicle came to a standstill before a massive, gargantuan gateway. Once the transaction was concluded, the trio dismounted in unison. The engine emitted a final rumble before the taxi began its departure.
But just before it vanished from sight, the driver cast one last, lingering look at the architectural marvel beyond the iron bars.
It loomed there, vast and imperious, a medieval citadel of royalty rising from the heart of a sprawling, manicured estate. Elegant and formidable, it dominated the landscape, flanked by symmetrical rows of flourishing sakura trees. Their delicate, pale petals drifted through the air like a snowfall, framing the scene in a dreamlike, ethereal aesthetic.
The mere sight of the residence was sufficient to instill the conviction that whoever dwelt within those stone walls belonged to a lineage of high nobility—nothing less than the aristocracy of Japan.
AM N. NOT.(っ－＿－)っ♤♤DRAFT♤♤