Chapter 39: There Are Too Many People Who Look Like You
"The mystery in front of you now is a field even Holmes, Poirot, Queen, and your father, Yusaku Kudo, never touched. Can you really just walk away from it?" Renji asked, leaning forward with that same casual intensity.
Conan stared at the boy who wore his face. Renji's words struck a chord — they lit an impulse in him that was impossible to ignore. Still, as Conan studied that familiar face, a niggling unease grew.
"You're not wearing your true face, are you?" Conan said at last. "There isn't a single part of you that actually belongs to you. If I'm supposed to help, shouldn't I know who I'm helping?"
Renji shrugged, unbothered. "Villains who want to overturn the world are craftier than those who came before. If we righteous types don't become at least as cunning, how can we possibly beat them?"
"You stayed at the Mouri Detective Agency so you could use the detective cover to investigate the Black Organization," Conan said, voice tight. "You haven't told Ran, have you?"
Conan felt the old guilt — his secret still kept from Ran — like an ache beneath his ribs. Renji's half-smile flickered at that reaction.
"If you want to know my identity, investigate it yourself," Renji replied. "But I'll tell you one solid truth: I noticed you around 2008."
Conan's eyes narrowed. 2008 — he had been in elementary school then. Renji had been watching him for years without Conan ever sensing it?
Conan's questions pressed on: about the lens, about the things he'd seen, the enemies Renji had mentioned. Renji, pleased that Conan had bitten, began to lay out the world in blunt, fast strokes.
From vengeful spirits to cursed beings, from exorcists to curse users — Renji sketched the landscape and, almost casually, mentioned magicians as a possibility. Then he produced the lens and set it on Conan's palm.
"This tool helps deal with vengeful spirits," Renji explained. "Skilled users can channel spiritual power through it to dispel them. You don't have spiritual power — for you, the lens will consume some life energy."
Conan tensed. Renji waved his hand. "Life energy recovers with food and rest. You might get a bit of a cold from overexertion, but I happen to have something that helps with that."
Conan blinked — a cold being a good thing struck him as odd — but adrenaline kept him sharp. He wanted facts, not riddles.
"You've only just started touching this side of the world," Renji continued. "If I dump everything on you now you'll get confused. Ponder what I told you, and next time tell me what you think. I want to see what surprises your mind can come up with."
He paused, then offered, "As a reward for listening, I'll tell you a little about your own situation. Anything you want to know?"
Conan's first question was practical: what had happened to his body? Had he shrunk? Had his memories been transferred?
Renji answered plainly. "APTX4869 — that's the poison you took. Usually it causes cardiac arrest. Rarely, it causes reverse growth in the victim's body."
"Whether the drug has supernatural components is for you—the detective—to investigate," Renji added.
Conan swallowed. The idea of a drug with unpredictable effects was, on its face, more scientific; yet after tonight, after watching Jerry dissolve a vengeful spirit, Conan's tidy worldview had begun to fray.
"And the Organization?" Conan asked. "What do they want with me?"
"Want to confirm who the two people outside are?" Renji spread his hands. "Go on. Move quietly — they won't wake."
Conan didn't hesitate this time. He crept to the sofa, heart pounding, and peeled the mask off the sleeping man.
For a terrible instant his chest felt hollow; he almost choked. The face under the mask — it was his father.
No, his father was supposed to be abroad. Conan whirled, looking for a trick. Renji, who had been watching him with that half-smile, only laughed softly. The expression on Conan's face was priceless — equal parts fury and disbelief.
"You don't read your dad's fiction enough," Renji said. "That costume is exactly the same as your father's famous 'Night Baron.' That's your father's trap — a theatrical flaw."
Conan's mind raced. If the man on the sofa looked like his father's fictional villain, then the tableau was part of a staged lesson. Renji continued, blunt and unembarrassed: "If you peel off the woman's mask you'll see your mother. I put them to sleep with a special method — they'll stay under until tomorrow morning." He told the truth without hesitation.
Conan felt the floor shift. His parents were involved? Had they known all along? Were they staging this as training — or a warning?
Renji explained: "They want you to feel the Organization's reach. You're naturally curious about mysteries — that's your strength and your weakness. You don't worry about being spotted, do you? If you reverted to Shinichi and went back to school, people around you would be dragged in. Your parents acted to remind you."
Conan wavered. He didn't want Ran dragged into this, didn't want to risk anyone's life. Renji nodded, as if he had expected that resistance.
"I've made arrangements so that, for now, they won't be noticed," Renji said. "If you cooperate, I'll tell you more about the Organization over time."
He added, wryly: "Use your tranquilizer watch less. 'Sleeping Kogoro' draws attention. Better to tell Ran honestly and have her be your spokesperson."
Conan bristled at the suggestion; exposing Ran to this world felt impossible. He resisted, but Renji only chuckled and muttered under his breath, not unkindly.
Conan's voice hardened. "This is a collaboration. I won't expose you. If anyone notices something odd tonight, I'll tell them you're another victim of the Organization helping me."
Renji nodded in approval. "Good. If you need me, Jerry will show up. Call me 'Tom' for now — my real name can't be given yet."
Conan accepted the uneasy handshake and felt a strange mismatch — shaking hands with someone wearing his face felt wrong. Renji smiled and said, "Pity. There are a lot of people who look like you. I've been watching — there's another who and I swear the only differences are his haircut and a sliver in his voice."
Conan frowned. If someone else could impersonate Shinichi, the risk to his secret amplified. He made a note to himself: be on guard.
Before Renji left, Conan asked more: about Mihana Town's crimes, about dispelling vengeful spirits. Renji answered crisply.
"People who can't see spirits aren't usually attacked, but the spirits rub off on the living. Lingering spirits inflame negative emotions — minor conflicts snowball into violence. Mihana Town's high crime rate is, in part, catalyzed by the presence and influence of vengeful spirits."
Conan clenched his fists at that. He'd always encountered extreme criminals; the thought that spirits might be nudging people into crime sickened him.
Renji added, practically: "You can't cultivate spiritual power in your current condition — any exorcism tools I gave you would drain you flat. Use your brain. Find why these spirits exist, why they gather in Mihana Town, and why they lash out. That's the detective work you do best."
He held out the lens again. "I'll give you this when your life energy recovers in a few days. By then, you'll have had time to think."
Conan felt resolve harden into purpose. He would find the root cause of the spirits and stop them. But first: his immediate priorities. His parents were still asleep outside — he could not leave them like this. He took his father's phone and called Professor Agasa, voice clipped as he asked for a pick-up.
At the same time, Renji slipped away before Agasa arrived. The two of them — Conan and Renji — agreed, at least for now, on the danger spirits posed.
Renji paused at the door and murmured to himself with a touch of regret. He'd mentioned Relic technology earlier but Conan hadn't asked. Renji had been rewarded with knowledge tied to cybernetics when he'd written in his diary: a system that preserved or digitized consciousness — Soulkiller and its successor, Relic — technologies capable of exporting minds into data, with all the ethical horror that implied.
His plan was not to weaponize it against people, he said. Instead, if he could make a data interface that worked on yokai and spirits, then spirits would have no secrets left before him.
For now, that remained an experiment. He closed the door and melted into the night — a man with many faces and a thousand schemes — leaving Conan with a lens, a mission, and a newly expanded world to investigate.