Click.
Conan, asleep in his bed, snapped into a state of hyper-awareness the moment the door latched. He didn't open his eyes. Instead, he lay perfectly still, filtering the sounds of the room through the instincts of a seasoned detective.
"Interesting... the 'Two-Dimensional Realization' feels completely natural. Not abrupt at all."
A series of heavy, rhythmic footsteps approached his bedside. Conan felt an inexplicable pressure weighing down on the air—a heavy, suffocating presence. He carefully modulated his breathing, ensuring he maintained the facade of deep sleep.
"Looking at him like this, Conan is actually quite cute..."
The word "cute" sent a violent chill down Conan's spine. His mind immediately cataloged a list of red-flag labels: Pervert. Predator. Shota-hunter. Damn it, who is this guy? So it wasn't a hallucination earlier. But how did he get back in? My Power-Enhancing Kick Shoes are at the entrance... the Stun-Gun Watch is on the desk...
He frantically calculated his chances. Without his gadgets, he was just a seven-year-old boy. Physical confrontation with an adult was a losing game.
"Conan actually has 11 HP. I didn't expect that..."
Sylas stood over the bed, watching the floating green health bar above the boy's head with genuine interest. Eri, a trained professional explorer, only had 13 HP.
"If the kid is an 11, wouldn't Ran Mouri's HP break 50? Tsk. Shonen power-scaling is a nightmare."
Sylas turned away, his eyes scanning the room. It was a standard Western-style bedroom: a desk, a bookshelf, and a simple wardrobe. His gaze landed on the metallic object resting on the desk. He picked it up.
[Conan's Stun-Gun Watch]
[Value: 20 Energy]
"The Stun-Gun Watch. I wonder if this thing has a localized damage bonus against Mouri Kogoro?" Sylas mused. In the source material, the older detective had been tranquilized so many times he likely had a permanent physiological resistance to medical anesthesia.
Sylas slipped the watch into his Inventory. He didn't care about the 20 Energy; he just didn't want the "Grim Reaper of Beika" shooting him in the neck while his back was turned.
"Conan, since you're awake, you might as well get up."
The voice wasn't loud, but to Conan, it sounded like a thunderclap. Realizing the ruse was over, he sat up, rubbing his eyes and performing his best 'confused child' routine.
"Ah? Who are you? How did you get into my room?"
Sylas smirked. "You really woke up just now? I was just guessing."
Conan's internal monologue was a string of profanities. This guy is a menace. "Uncle, how did you get in here?"
"A high-school student who's eighteen years old pretending to be a toddler is a bit much, don't you think, Shinichi?"
A bead of cold sweat rolled down Conan's temple. The innocent mask shattered instantly. His eyes sharpened, radiating a cold, analytical intensity that didn't match his small frame.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
Sylas couldn't help himself; the urge to mess with the protagonist was too strong. "Are you really Shinichi? I was just guessing that, too."
Conan didn't buy it for a second. He felt a throbbing headache coming on. This man didn't view him as a threat—or even as a person. He viewed him as a curiosity.
"Alright, enough games. My name is Sylas. It isn't a pleasure to meet you."
"Stay in your elementary school role for now. I have work to do. I'll see you around." Sylas waved a hand and turned to the door, but Conan scrambled out of bed. He couldn't let this man wander near Ran.
"Wait! Was what I saw earlier... was that an illusion?"
"Opening the door and seeing me in the mist?" Sylas paused at the threshold. "Let's call it a sweet dream. Go back to sleep."
Sylas walked into the hallway, Conan tailing him like a shadow. When Sylas bypassed Ran's door and headed for the stairs, the boy visibly relaxed.
"Conan, if you keep following me, aren't you afraid I'm a 'good person'?"
Conan stared at him. "Who even says that? You clearly don't think you're a good person at all."
"I just want to make sure you don't hurt my friends."
"Friends? You mean Ran Mouri?" Sylas chuckled darkly. "Sneaking into the house of the woman you love by using a magical de-aging drug... you're quite the strategist, Shinichi. Let me guess—how many times have you 'accidentally' seen her in the bath?"
Conan's face turned a violent shade of crimson. Because Ran treated him like a little brother, she had no modesty around him. She had even scrubbed his back. The memories flashed through his mind like a high-speed reel.
"Hey, Shinichi. Your nose is bleeding."
Conan instinctively reached up to wipe it, only to find his skin dry. He glared at the older man. "You..."
"Confirmed. You're a pervert. I'll have to keep an eye on you."
Sylas headed down the stairs and out of the Mouri Detective Agency into the Beika night. The streets were quiet, bathed in the dim, jaundiced glow of the lampposts.
"Let's see if real-world timber processes into planks the same way," Sylas murmured. He looked around, but the urban jungle didn't offer much in the way of forestry. He turned back to Conan, who had followed him out with a soccer ball in hand.
"Conan, do you have a car?"
Conan looked at his short legs. "Do I look like someone who can drive?"
"Didn't you learn how to 'borrow' a car in Hawaii?"
"Borrow? That's carjacking!"
"Perspective is a funny thing," Sylas said. "Where's the nearest park? I need trees. Big ones."
"There's a park three blocks away. I'll take you, but you have to answer my questions."
Sylas nodded and followed the boy. The walk was tense and quiet. Conan was desperate for information on the Black Organization, but Sylas was busy eyeing the streetlights, wondering how much Energy a galvanized steel pole was worth.
"Can I have my watch back?" Conan asked eventually, trying to break the silence.
"No."
"..."
The silence returned, heavier than before.