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Chapter 220: The Visit
"Hey, hey, Conan!"
Ayumi leaned in with her pink backpack, her face full of worry.
"Let's go visit Little Ai together! I asked my mom to make honey lemon slices specially; I heard they're very effective for colds."
Genta rubbed his belly and swallowed. "Let's buy some eel rice to take over too; sick people get better fast when they're full!"
Mitsuhiko adjusted his glasses and corrected solemnly, "Genta, you can't eat greasy food when you have a cold; we should buy some light porridge."
The three children chattered about the visitation plan, completely failing to notice Conan's darkening face.
Visit Haibara?
Are you kidding?
If these three oblivious brats barged in and saw Haibara in that state, who knew what trouble they'd cause.
"No."
Conan's voice was exceptionally abrupt in the noisy classroom, carrying an unquestionable hardness.
Ayumi was startled, and the insulated bag full of lemon slices in her hand shook. "Why, Conan? Little Ai is sick; as partners of the Detective Boys, shouldn't we go visit her?"
Genta mumbled unhappily, stuffing the crumpled newspaper back into his desk. "Exactly. I wanted to ask her about Lord Kid last night too. The Professor's cooking must be terrible; if we bring some eel rice, maybe she'll be happy and get better."
Mitsuhiko adjusted his glasses, refuting seriously, "Genta, I said sick people can't eat eel rice. But Conan, isn't your reaction a bit too big? It's just a visit."
Conan looked at the three innocent faces in front of him, cold sweat soaking his shirt.
A visit?
If they went to the Professor's house now and saw Haibara shivering under the covers, daring not even to open the curtains, these brats would definitely cause huge trouble due to excessive curiosity.
That man named Blake, that monster even Gin bowed to, might be watching somewhere right now. He absolutely couldn't drag these children into this.
Conan took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the anxiety in his heart, trying to make his expression look as much like a child as possible.
"It's not that I won't let you go; the Professor specifically emailed to warn us just now."
He held up his phone, shaking it pretentiously.
"What Haibara caught isn't a normal cold, it's... it's a new type of viral flu that's popular recently! Highly contagious!"
"Eh?!"
The three children took a step back simultaneously.
Conan struck while the iron was hot, lowering his voice and threatening mysteriously, "The Professor said if you get within three meters of that room, you'll be infected. The symptoms are red rashes all over the body, high fever, and then... all your hair falls out!"
"F-Fall out all hair?!"
Ayumi covered her head in terror, her small face turning pale instantly. Genta was so scared he almost fell off his chair, touching his buzz cut with a horrified look.
"Then... then forget it."
Mitsuhiko swallowed, his theoretical analysis thrown to the back of his mind. "Since it's so serious, she really needs quiet rest. Going there would only cause trouble for the Professor."
"Right, right, right! We'd better not go!"
Ayumi stuffed the insulated bag into Conan's arms, moving as fast as if it were a hot potato. "Conan, help me give this to Little Ai... go when you're not afraid of infection!"
With that, the three brats looked at each other, shouldered their bags, and ran out of the classroom faster than rushing to the cafeteria for food.
Looking at the empty classroom door, Conan let out a long breath of turbid air.
Finally fooled them.
But the stone in his heart didn't land; instead, it hung even higher.
...
Beika Town, Mori Detective Agency.
The second-floor living room didn't have its usual laziness and clutter; instead, it was filled with a suffocating smell of... cologne.
Mori Kogoro stood in front of the mirror, holding a brand-new razor, carefully trimming his signature mustache. He was wearing a dark gray bespoke suit reserved for important award ceremonies, his tie knotted meticulously.
"Ran! Where's my hair gel? This is meeting a divine doctor; the image must be perfect!"
"Dad, the hair gel is right on the sink, look for it yourself."
Ran's voice came from the bedroom, carrying a bit of shyness and anticipation.
Ancient Chinese martial arts, truly something to yearn for.
When Conan pushed open the door to the agency, a strong smell of cologne almost knocked him over. This smell was stronger than the scent of blood at a murder scene.
"Uncle, how much hair gel did you spray?" Ran's voice came from the bedroom, tinged with helplessness.
"What do you mean 'how much'? This is called etiquette! Do you understand etiquette?"
Mori Kogoro stood in front of the full-length mirror, struggling to put the dark blue tie around his neck, his movements stiff as if tying a knot for a dead person. He glanced at Conan who just entered, his brow furrowing instantly.
"Why are you back so late? Dawdling! If we miss the time, I won't take you, brat. Really, always wanting to join in on adult matters."
"Don't say that, Dad. Conan is just curious."
Mori Ran, who was tidying up in the room, defended Conan.
Conan threw his bag onto the sofa and rolled his eyes grumpily. "Uncle, it's just taking a bath, is it necessary?"
He was back late because he had just met with Akai Shuichi.
"Taking a bath?!" Mori Kogoro spun around like a cat whose tail was stepped on, the comb in his hand nearly poking Conan's nose. "That is a Medicinal Bath! It's a secret art inherited for thousands of years in China! Do you understand secret arts, brat?"
"A miracle that can make one reborn and return to youth!" Kogoro said while baring his teeth at the mirror, trying to squeeze an elite smile onto his hungover face. "Look at this face, about to return to the peak of age twenty. At that time, Miss Yoko..."
Conan's mouth twitched. Return to youth? If you knew that man's real identity is a high-level executive of the Black Organization, a demon who slices people up like lab rats, let's see if you can still smile. This 'Medicinal Bath' is likely the prelude to some new biochemical experiment.
"Alright, Dad, stop dreaming."
The bedroom door opened. Ran walked out carrying an exquisite paper bag. She had changed into a pale yellow dress, her hair tied in a simple ponytail. She wore no makeup, yet exuded a fresh, natural beauty like a lotus out of water.
Conan almost ground his teeth to dust.
"Ran-neechan, are you really going?" Conan looked up, his glasses reflecting light, trying to make a final struggle. "I heard Chinese martial arts are family inheritances; we won't be causing trouble for Brother Blake, will we?"
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