Sonoko once again chortled at their visibly thunderstruck countenances, reveling in the sheer impact of the revelation.
Ran swiveled her head toward her, her voice a fragile thread of disbelief. "Sonoko, what are these masterpieces doing here…? D-don't tell me all of these canvases were also birthed by L-Leon-kun?" she stammered, her mind struggling to digest the preposterous notion.
Sonoko offered a slow, deliberate nod, her features radiating an incandescent pride.
"B-but they are indistinguishable from the authentic works! Y-you must be jesting, surely?!" Ran protested, her reality fracturing at the seams.
"It is not merely a resemblance—it is 99.99 percent faithful to the originals," Sonoko countered with surgical precision.
"99.99 percent?!" Ran and Conan ejaculated in unison, their voices echoing off the frigid walls.
"Indeed, every piece in this gallery maintains that staggering fidelity," Sonoko continued. "And do you grasp why there remains that solitary, missing percentage?" she challenged them.
Ran shook her head, her mind a blank slate of bewilderment.
Sonoko then lowered her gaze to Conan, whose analytical mind had already bridged the gap. "It must be the presence of Leon-kun's signature… correct?"
"Precisely," Sonoko confirmed. "Should Leon-kun omit his mark, the work becomes a one-hundred-percent mirror image of the original. I am not indulging in hyperbole—Grandfather commissioned a battery of professional appraisers to scrutinize these works. When they beheld them, they were convinced that Grandfather had surreptitiously acquired the global heritage just to furnish this room…" She then turned her affectionate gaze toward the boy in her arms. "Right, Little Leon?"
Leon offered a silent, diminutive nod in affirmation.
Conan spoke up again, his brow furrowed in thought. "Hmm… I don't see the Mona Lisa. Where is the legendary recreation you mentioned earlier?"
"Oh… that. Well, Grandfather has sequestered it. In fact, he essentially purchased it from Leon at the same valuation as the original," Sonoko revealed.
"Why did he specifically claim the Mona Lisa?" Ran inquired, her eyes wandering over the pantheon of masterpieces, wondering why that solitary piece had been exiled.
"Perhaps… because that specific Mona Lisa was an absolute duplication—one hundred percent accurate to the stroke…" Conan mused, his voice trailing off as he shared his deduction.
"Why would that be?" Ran pressed.
"Sonoko-neesan mentioned it was acquired at the same staggering cost as the original, right? That implies Leon-kun's Mona Lisa was flawlessly executed. And if it reached perfection, Leon-kun would have had no reason to mar it with his signature…" Conan explained, the logic clicking into place like a well-oiled mechanism.
"Exactly," Sonoko validated. "That was the solitary instance where Little Leon withheld his sign, and because of that perfection, Grandfather claimed it. Extraordinary, isn't it? Grandfather was positively cackling as he plotted how to boast about his 'acquisition' to his rivals…"
Ran and Conan nodded in sober understanding, their gazes gravitating back toward Leon, who remained cradled in Sonoko's embrace. He was a portrait of stillness, maintaining an unreadable, deadpan expression that belied his god-like talent.
This child, this fragile-looking boy, possessed a skill that bordered on the divine. They finally grasped the weight of Sonoko's earlier words regarding his "name." Everything they had witnessed was the undeniable evidence—the concrete proof of an impossible genius.
The argument was over; the evidence was absolute.
Their eyes then drifted, navigating the other curiosities in the room. They began to notice several compositions they had overlooked in their initial shock.
"Oh, this must be the depiction of the knights you mentioned," Ran noted, observing a canvas that mirrored the sentinel statues guarding the exterior.
"They are identical," Sonoko remarked.
"Indeed… even the intricate filigree on the blades and the sheen of the plate armor," Ran added, her eyes traversing the painting with newfound reverence.
Conan scrutinized the works with a clinical eye, noting the dizzying variety of genres and historical styles. It felt as though an entire academy of masters had contributed to the collection, yet each piece bore those same subtle, haunting ciphers—the spade, diamond, clover, and heart—tucked discreetly into the corners. The symbols were minute, yet they screamed of the boy's ownership.
The life's work of Leonardo da Vinci had been replicated as if it were child's play. Every one of his crowning achievements was arrayed along this single wall. It was an assault on the senses. It briefly tempted Conan to wonder if the world's museums had been plundered and their contents deposited here in this frozen sanctuary.
Ran and Conan stood transfixed, caught between the gravity of the world's masterpieces and Leon's own original concepts.
Ran then detected a canvas dominated by a monochrome palette. At first glance, it seemed a chaotic, distorted arrangement of ink. But as they squinted, the image coalesced. As the shapes stabilized, they realized they were staring at Mount Fuji. The deep, obsidian tones provided a brooding foundation, while the stark whites carved out contrast and dimension, imbuing the scene with a cold, vibrant life. It was a noir masterpiece—a clash of two extremes merging to form a vivid, atmospheric representation of the peak.
"Exquisite…" they both breathed.
They also discovered a family portrait. In it, the Suzuki clan was draped in somber black suits and elegant evening gowns. Mrs. and Mr. Suzuki were seated in positions of authority, while the two sisters stood as graceful sentinels beside them. Curiously, Leon was absent from the frame.
There was also a piece that functioned as a visual paradox—an optical illusion. When their eyes settled upon it, the static image seemed to convulse and writhe, as though the ink were in constant motion. They meticulously scanned every inch of the wall, and with every discovery, their sense of wonder deepened until it became a heavy, palpable weight.
If this did not define talent, then the word had no meaning. Their silent, wide-eyed observation of the gallery spoke volumes more than any praise could.
After a interval of hushed contemplation, Sonoko, who had been observing their metamorphosis from skeptics to believers, turned her head toward Leon. "Leon, have you partaken of your midday meal?"
"Not yet," Leon answered in that same ethereal, sickly cadence.
"Then we shall dine as a family," Sonoko declared.
But as they prepared to vacate the chamber, Leon's voice cracked the silence. "Nee-san… m-my coffee…!"
"Oh, of course," Sonoko replied, reaching for the obsidian mug. It remained half-submerged in liquid. She transferred it to Leon, who accepted it with a delicate, two-handed grip. He took a tentative, measured sip of the brew.
Ran and Conan, still under the spell of the gallery, followed Sonoko as she led the way, though their eyes continued to dart back toward the door—hungry for one last glimpse of the impossible.
Presently, the quartet moved toward the culinary heart of the castle—the kitchen wing situated in the eastern reach of the fortress. There, a sprawling, polished dining table awaited them. They took their designated positions, awaiting the feast being orchestrated by Chef Ramzy. Conan sat to Ran's left, while Leon occupied the seat to Sonoko's right, the two pairs facing each other across the vast expanse of wood.
Shortly thereafter, a maid emerged, bearing a tray of refreshments. She meticulously placed steaming cups of tea before Ran and Sonoko, offered a glass of bright orange juice to Conan, and set a fresh, aromatic cup of chocolate-infused coffee before Leon.
AM N. NOT.(っ－＿－)っ♤♤DRAFT♤♤