"A museum? But whatever for?" Sonoko asked, her confusion returning.
"That art gallery we are visiting tomorrow… I wish to purchase it, if it is possible," Leon replied, his voice devoid of emotion yet utterly serious.
Leon offered a subtle, contemplative nod. "Nee-san," he began, his cadence hushed and ethereal, "do you calculate that Father will be incensed if I utilize the capital Grandpa bestowed upon me?"
"Certainly not," Sonoko reassured him, lowering herself until she was eye-level with the boy. "Did Grandpa not present that to you as a formal commission for your masterpiece?"
"Then... is it permissible to acquire a museum with those funds?" Leon inquired, his voice devoid of its usual hesitation.
"A museum? Whatever would you require a museum for?" Sonoko asked, her brow furrowing in genuine bewilderment.
"Well, that art gallery we are destined to visit tomorrow... I wish to purchase it, if the opportunity arises," Leon clarified with a startlingly business-like sobriety.
"Wait, Little Leon... are you intending to exhibit your own creations in that gallery?" Sonoko asked as the realization dawned on her.
Leon's eyebrows arched with a delicate skepticism at the suggestion. "Is that truly acceptable? Did Father, Mother, and Grandpa not insist that I refrain from displaying my paintings to the public?"
"No, not those replicas you meticulously recreated," Sonoko clarified with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I am referring to the works born of your own unfettered imagination. Like that family portrait you crafted, or those strikingly lifelike animal studies. You could showcase those in the gallery."
"Nee-san... you are remarkably clever," Leon remarked after a moment of pondering her proposal.
Sonoko's cheeks flushed with a sudden warmth at the earnest praise. She let out a boastful, slightly awkward chuckle, preening under his gaze. "O-of course... that is only to be expected... huhuhu!"
"Then... must I petition Father for authorization?" Leon continued.
"No, leave the logistics to your formidable elder sister," Sonoko declared, rising to her feet with a surge of newfound vigor. Leon watched her, tapping his palms together in a rhythmic, light applause at her apparent reliability.
Meanwhile, ensconced within the plush interior of the SUV as it navigated the labyrinthine, bustling streets of Beika, Conan was busy harvesting information from the chauffeur.
"Oh... I am impressed you were cognizant of that," the driver remarked, expertly threading the vehicle through the urban flow.
"A photographic memory...?" Ran murmured to herself, absorbing the weight of the conversation.
"Precisely! Sonoko-neechan mentioned earlier how Leon-kun could replicate anything with a solitary, fleeting glance," Conan chirped, effortlessly donning his persona of innocent childhood wonder. "I figured it might be akin to those prodigies you see on television."
"Indeed... Leon-sama possesses that exact faculty. I believe I first witnessed its manifestation back in the States. Leon-sama cast a mere transitory glance at a statue of an archangel," the driver reminisced, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "When we returned to the manor, Leon-sama recreated it flawlessly. Every minute fissure on the stone surface, the exact count of feathers on the wings... everything was etched into his mind, captured with the clinical precision of a high-end camera. And you must realize... he was a mere five years old at the time."
"What... w-wow... incredible..." Ran and Conan uttered in unison, their skepticism finally dissolving into genuine awe.
"Hahaha... it truly borders on the impossible, yet we witnessed it manifest before our very eyes," the driver said, though his laughter soon ebbed into a more somber, resonant tone. "But Leon-sama's condition tethers him. Were it not for those constraints, he would be traversing the globe by now, recreating every masterpiece and vista this world has to offer."
The bitterness in his tone was palpable, vibrating through the confined space of the car. Ran and Conan exchanged a silent glance, sensing the heavy, unspoken weight behind the man's words.
"Mister, is there anything else Leon-kun excels at?" Conan asked, deftly steering the dialogue to unearth further intelligence.
"Now that you mention it," the driver replied, his eyes catching Conan's in the mirror, "did you know Leon-sama isn't just a prodigy of the brush? He is also remarkably adept at the art of self-defense."
"We used to joke that if a discipline has 'art' in the name, Leon-sama would master it. Martial arts were no exception," he continued. "You wouldn't believe how that small, fragile frame could move like a predatory serpent when he's sparring." The driver instinctively reached up, tracing a hand over his left cheek as if a phantom ache from an old strike remained.
Ran and Conan caught the involuntary gesture immediately. "Mister... did you perhaps train with Leon-kun?"
The driver broke into a genuine, albeit rueful, laugh. "Hahaha, you've caught me. Yes... occasionally he practices with the security staff. Leon-sama truly moves like a viper—coiling around your blind spots, leveraging his light weight to deliver lightning-fast strikes to an opponent's vulnerabilities."
"But when you consider he possesses the body of a child, you can imagine the sheer, grueling discipline required for that kind of kinetic force," he added. "And when we inquired where he learned to move in such a lethal fashion, do you know what his response was?"
"What did he say?" the pair asked, leaning forward in their seats.
"From those vipers Grandpa used to keep in the glass terrarium," the driver answered, dropping his voice to a raspy, chilling imitation of Leon's unique, hollow tone.
The driver's expression suddenly shifted, the levity vanishing instantly as he checked the side mirrors. "Conan... right? That is your name?"
"That's right," Conan replied, his internal alarms beginning to chime at the abrupt change in atmosphere.
"Are you, by chance, attending the same academy as Leon-sama?" the driver questioned, his tone now heavy with a sudden, localized gravity.
"Yup! Not just the same school, we're in the same classroom. We're classmates," Conan confirmed, his gaze sharpening.
"Then that is a relief. You must keep a vigilant, watchful eye on Leon-sama," the driver urged. "Mr. and Mrs. Suzuki have counseled him extensively on the necessity of self-restraint... but just in case..."
"What do you mean by that?" Conan pressed, his detective's intuition flaring.
"You've observed Leon-sama's typical stoic expression, haven't you?"
More like a perpetual, unsettling deadpan, Conan thought privately, but he and Ran both offered a quick nod.
"You haven't seen him smile even once, correct?" the driver inquired, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized them through the rearview mirror.
"Nope," Conan and Ran replied, shaking their heads in synchronized denial.
"Then that is for the best," the driver bottled his voice, his knuckles whitening as his grip tightened on the steering wheel. "Because when Leon-sama smiles, there are only three possible catalysts. It is either he has stumbled upon something truly amusing, or he was—"
The driver's explanation was severed mid-sentence as the landmark of their destination appeared.
"Looks like we've arrived," he announced, depressing the brake pedal with practiced ease. The sleek SUV glided to a halt directly in front of the Mouri Detective Agency.
As the driver reached to unbuckle his seatbelt, Ran preemptively pushed open the door. "It's quite alright, sir!" she insisted with a kind smile. Grasping Conan's hand, she guided him as they disembarked. Once they were on the sidewalk, Ran swung the door shut, and both offered a polite chorus of gratitude. The driver offered a solemn, respectful nod and a parting wave before the SUV accelerated back into the urban flow.
The duo turned toward the familiar staircase, ascending toward the second floor.
Conan, however, was mentally miles away, his thoughts ensnared by Leon's cryptic prophecy. Another homicide tomorrow... and a pen. He paced through his mental library, desperately seeking a tether between the two. His initial instinct was to view the pen as a makeshift weapon, but the imagery felt discordant, almost primitive. A 'Knight' delivering divine retribution with a mere ballpoint? The aesthetics of the predicted crime didn't align with Leon's ominous, high-flown tone.
To the world, he was a child; to himself, he was Kudo Shinichi. He viewed this looming shadow not with dread, but as a gauntlet thrown at his feet. It felt like the rising action of a high-stakes mystery novel—the kind that set his nerves on fire and ignited his competitive spirit. A predatory excitement surged through him, fueling his anticipation for the coming dawn.
"Omoshiroi..." he whispered under his breath, a sharp, cold glint surfacing in his eyes. "Let's see if tomorrow is truly nothing more than a series of unfortunate coincidences."
AM N. NOT.(っ－＿－)っ♤♤DRAFT♤♤