Chapter 63: Forty Years
The sterile scent of rubbing alcohol hung heavy in the Teitan High School infirmary. Cointreau had zero interest in playing along with Vermouth's little theatrical games. With a single, piercing sentence, he completely dismantled the facade of the mild-mannered 'Dr. Araide' standing before him.
The doctor's hands, which had been neatly organizing medical supplies, froze mid-air. A heavy silence stretched across the room. When the figure finally moved again, the gentle, unassuming posture melted away, replaced by a languid, predatory grace.
"Oh my," Vermouth's voice shifted, the masculine pitch dropping into her natural, velvet-smooth cadence. "No matter how many times this happens, I still find it absolutely fascinating. My disguise is flawless. How on earth do you manage to see through it every single time?"
Cointreau's golden eyes remained flat, entirely unimpressed by her shifting demeanor. Usually, he wouldn't even bother acknowledging such a trivial question. But today, he had a schedule to keep.
"I just see it," he replied. His tone was clipped, devoid of any inflection. He didn't care in the slightest whether she believed him or not; it was simply the truth.
Vermouth let out a soft, mocking scoff. "If you want to keep your little secrets, fine. But there's no need to brush me off with such a lazy excuse."
She pushed off the edge of the medical desk, her heels clicking softly against the linoleum floor as she closed the distance between them. The playful amusement in her eyes sharpened into something far more calculating. "Still... it certainly was a surprise today. Running into a girl who looks so remarkably like you."
She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial, dangerous whisper. "Who is she, Cointreau? Could she be... that elusive phantom you've been desperately hunting for the past forty years?"
Not a single muscle twitched in Cointreau's face. The sudden exposure of his deepest, most guarded secret didn't even cause his breathing to hitch. He met Vermouth's probing gaze with absolute, chilling indifference.
"And if she is?" he countered, his voice smooth as glass. "Are you planning to run and tell the Boss?"
Vermouth's lips curled into a predatory smile. "You don't seem particularly worried about that prospect. But you should be. You know as well as I do that despite your... unique standing... that gentleman ultimately views all of us—you, me, Gin—as nothing more than useful tools. You just happen to be a slightly sharper blade."
She circled him slowly, her eyes tracking his every micro-expression. "The only reason the Boss never interfered with your little crusade—even tossing you resources when you asked—was because he was absolutely certain you would never actually find her. A wild goose chase keeps a hound busy, after all. But now?" She paused, letting the silence stretch. "If he found out that your phantom has finally materialized in the flesh? That this girl might just hold more weight in your heart than the Organization itself? Do you honestly think he would be happy for you?"
She waited for a crack in his armor. A flicker of anxiety, a tightening of the jaw, anything.
To her immense disappointment, Cointreau remained as unreadable as a stone statue. He didn't defend himself. He didn't threaten her. He merely tilted his head slightly and repeated his earlier question, his tone dripping with quiet challenge.
"So, I ask again. Are you going to tell him?"
Realizing she wasn't going to get a rise out of him, Vermouth sighed, the sultry tension bleeding out of her posture. She leaned back against the stark white wall of the infirmary, feigning a look of utter boredom. She inspected her fingernails. "Well... whether I decide to share this little revelation or keep it to myself entirely depends on what you can offer me in return."
"Mouri Ran. And Kudo Shinichi."
Cointreau let the two names drop into the quiet room like lead weights.
Vermouth's hand, resting casually at her side, spasmed. Her fingers dug violently into her palm for a fraction of a second before she forced her muscles to relax. It was a microscopic break in character, but in their world, it was as loud as a gunshot.
"Why bring them up out of the blue?" she asked, her voice a fraction tighter than before. She forced a dismissive laugh. "Does that have anything to do with our current negotiation? We were discussing your mysterious little girl, Cointreau. Not two completely irrelevant teenagers."
"Irrelevant to me, certainly." For the first time since stepping into the infirmary, the ghost of a smile touched Cointreau's lips. It was a cold, knowing expression that didn't reach his golden eyes. "But are they truly irrelevant to you, Vermouth? I have always known the real reason you scurried back to Japan."
Vermouth opened her mouth to deflect, but Cointreau raised a single, gloved hand, cutting her off instantly.
"You crossed paths with those two children in New York, didn't you?" His voice took on a rhythmic, methodical cadence, laying out the facts like a prosecutor cornering a suspect. "A year ago. They saved your life, completely disregarding their own safety. Ever since that night, you have been keeping a very close, very quiet eye on them. Then, Kudo Shinichi suddenly vanishes. You dig into the files and find Gin's fingerprints all over the incident. The Organization's official report lists the boy as deceased."
Cointreau took a slow step forward, pinning her with his gaze. "But there was no corpse. None of his friends or family acted like they were grieving. So, you deduced that the brilliant high school detective might have survived. Unable to sleep at night with that loose end dangling, you abandoned your comfortable life in the States and returned to Tokyo to personally verify his status. Tell me, Vermouth... am I missing any details?"
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Vermouth raised her hands, offering three slow, deliberate claps. The sharp sound echoed off the medical cabinets.
"Brilliant. Truly, as expected of Cointreau," she purred, though her eyes were sharp as shattered glass. "If I weren't absolutely certain the alley was empty that night, I would have sworn you were standing right there watching the whole tragedy unfold. So? What is this? Mutually assured destruction? Are we holding each other's precious little weaknesses hostage?"
"If you don't mind me casually mentioning to the Boss that Kudo Shinichi survived taking APTX4869..." Cointreau adjusted his cuffs, his tone utterly conversational. "...then by all means, feel free to gossip about her."
Vermouth stared into Cointreau's unyielding eyes for a long, heavy moment. The air between them crackled with lethal intent, but eventually, she let out a soft breath, conceding the match.
"Fine. A truce. We take each other's secrets to the grave," she agreed, though her tone carried a genuine note of warning. "However, you need to be careful. That girl looks far too much like you. Anyone with half a brain who sees the two of you in the same room will instantly know you share blood. It was fine when you were operating overseas—hardly anyone in the Tokyo branch knows your face. But now that you're here? If the other executives catch wind of this, they won't be nearly as accommodating as I am."
"That is not your concern," Cointreau replied coldly. Recognizing that the negotiation had concluded, he turned on his heel, his dark coat sweeping behind him as he headed for the door.
"Wait. One last question. Just to satisfy my own burning curiosity."
Cointreau paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob.
Vermouth tilted her head, voicing the paradox that had been gnawing at her mind since the festival. "That little girl... judging by her bone structure, her skin, her entire demeanor, she absolutely cannot be older than twenty-five. Which means she isn't suffering from the same condition as you and I. So tell me, Cointreau. How on earth did you know of her existence forty years ago? How have you been searching for someone who hadn't even been born yet?"
Cointreau didn't even look back.
"No comment."
He pulled the door open and stepped out into the hallway, the heavy wooden door clicking shut behind him with absolute finality.
Left alone in the sterile quiet of the infirmary, Vermouth clicked her tongue in deep irritation. "Tsk. Stubborn bastard. In the end, he didn't give me a single useful crumb."
Naturally, the tense, high-stakes standoff that had just unfolded in the Teitan High School infirmary had absolutely zero impact on Natsume's peaceful daily life.
The morning after the chaotic school festival, the sun was shining, the breeze was crisp, and Natsume was simply enjoying her walk. That was until she spotted a very familiar trio up ahead.
It was Kudo Shinichi, back in his original teenage body, walking alongside Mouri Ran. Trailing slightly behind them was the stoic little figure of "Conan"—who Natsume was fully aware was actually Haibara Ai operating under a heavy layer of disguise.
As the distance between them closed, Shinichi spotted her. Before his brain could catch up with his mouth, muscle memory from months of playing a first-grader took over.
"Good morning, Big Sister Natsume!" Shinichi chirped brightly, waving his hand.
Natsume stopped dead in her tracks. She stared at the tall, high-school-aged detective with an incredibly complicated expression.
A heavy, awkward silence descended upon the sidewalk.
Technically speaking, Natsume had only met 'Kudo Shinichi' once before, way back at the Tropical Land Amusement Park. Their second official meeting had been just yesterday during the school festival play, and thanks to the sudden murder case, they had barely exchanged two words.
So, for this supposedly arrogant, brilliant teenage detective to suddenly wave at her and call her 'Big Sister' with such practiced, childlike innocence... it was a deeply jarring experience.
Shinichi froze, his hand still raised in the air. The sheer horror of what he had just done washed over his face. The little "Conan" standing next to Ran subtly rolled her eyes, letting out a quiet, disdainful huff.
"Ah... haha!" Shinichi let out a painfully stiff, hollow laugh, desperately trying to salvage his dignity in front of Ran. He rubbed the back of his head, sweating bullets. "I mean—I heard you're a bit older than us, Natsume-san! And, uh, Ran mentioned that you've been helping her out a lot while I was away on... difficult cases! I just wanted to call you 'Big Sister' to express my deep gratitude and utmost respect! Yeah! Heh heh..."
Watching the great Detective of the East scramble to patch up his own blunder was highly entertaining, but Natsume decided to show him a sliver of mercy. She didn't press the issue.
Instead, she smiled—a pleasant, sharp little smile that instantly made the hair on the back of Shinichi's neck stand up.
"I see. How polite of you," Natsume said smoothly. "By the way, Kudo-kun... how long exactly do you plan on staying around this time? You aren't going to suddenly vanish in a few days to investigate yet another top-secret case, are you?"
Shinichi choked on his own saliva. "Th-this..."
He could practically feel Ran's intense, hopeful gaze boring into the back of his skull, waiting with bated breath for his answer. He stuttered, his mind racing at a million miles an hour, completely unable to formulate a safe response.
He should have known. Running into Natsume was never a simple affair. The woman had a terrifying knack for asking the exact question that completely dismantled a person's defenses. It was incredibly impressive when she was interrogating cornered murder suspects, but being on the receiving end of that piercing logic was absolute torture. For the first time in his life, Shinichi felt a deep sense of empathy for the criminals Natsume regularly left speechless.
The silence stretched awkwardly. Shinichi genuinely had no idea how to answer her. The temporary antidote Haibara had synthesized was a ticking time bomb, and he had no clue how much longer his teenage body would hold out before violently shrinking back into a child.
Deciding that a tactical retreat was the only viable option for survival, Shinichi panicked.
"Look at the time! We're going to be late for homeroom!" he blurted out. Without waiting for a response, he grabbed Ran by the wrist, shouted a hasty goodbye over his shoulder, and bolted down the street, dragging a very confused Ran and a deeply unamused "Conan" along with him.
Natsume stood on the sidewalk, blinking in mild astonishment as she watched the trio sprint away as if they were being chased by wild dogs.
She let out a soft sigh, feeling utterly speechless. Was that dramatic exit really necessary? She had only asked a casual, neighborly question. Why did he have to react like she had just pulled a gun on him?
Shaking her head, Natsume reached into her tote bag, her fingers brushing against a neat stack of glossy exhibition tickets.
It was a shame, really. She had specifically hoped to bump into them this morning so she could hand off the tickets to Ran and little "Conan." They were meant to be distributed to Sonoko, Mr. Mouri, and the energetic kids of the Detective Boys.
"Well," Natsume murmured to herself, zipping her bag shut as she resumed her walk. "Looks like I'll just have to play the delivery girl myself."
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