Chapter Text
On paper, Shinichi Kudou is as perfect as a human can be.
Sure, he’s missed nearly a year of his school, but that didn’t stop him from entering university at the same time as his friends. The newspapers write about the organisation takedown in extensive reports, including the explanation of Shinichi’s mysterious disappearance. His reappearance is also announced, and they write about how he is hailed as one of the brains behind one of the biggest criminal takedowns of all time, besides the FBI, CIA, and the Japanese security bureau.
There are some things that couldn’t be written on his records, however, such as the fact that his best friend since childhood yelled at him multiple times after he showed up on her doorstep and tried to explain everything, asked for a break in their relationship, and how it hasn’t been the same between them ever since.
The tears on the Detective Boys’ cheeks when he, Conan, told them that he won’t be coming in for a while will remain on his mind forever. The smile on his parents as they see their only son returning to his original body, just before they bounced off yet to another country.
But still, Shinichi is still much more capable than any other ordinary 20-year-old.
And yet, a human can not be perfect, for there is always a weakness.
In hindsight, he used to be underestimated in his shrunken body. The criminals that still had a conscience would take a look at his body and hold themselves from ever hurting a little boy, so in a way, he’s always safe. Except for that one time that he was shot, probably, or the other time he was nearly bombed, and many more instances. They’d use him as a shield or a bargaining chip, so they knew better than to kill a seven-year-old.
It’s an entirely different matter when he’s a grown adult, however.
It happened in Poirot, of all places. It's a miracle that the restaurant hasn't been closed after two murders in two years, but to be fair, there aren’t a lot of murder-free restaurants in Beika nowadays.
The third murder happens when Shinichi just happens to be writing an essay for an assignment that's already over the deadline anyway. A woman keeled over after she was arguing with her friends, which turned out to be pretty serious. It’s a quick deduction anyway, and not thirty minutes later, Shinichi had already figured out the culprit.
He doesn’t point to the culprit literally—he wasn’t really in the mood to put up a dramatic flair today—but he supposes that his words add the same tension. “And you, Noguchi-san,” he says, “you never intended to invite her to apologise to Hirano-san in the first place. You invited her to her death instead.“
“Shinichi-kun,” Inspector Megure says, exasperated. He's already used to Shinichi's antics, but he still gives Shinichi a warning once in a while. Sure, his arrogance has toned down compared to pre-shrinking, but still, a detective’s got to flex now and then. Besides, it’s not like it would get him in danger or anything.
At least, that’s what he thinks until the sharp end of a knife gets pressed against his neck, alongside an incredibly strong arm curled around his neck nearly cutting his air supply and Azusa’s gasp.
“Shut up!” Noguchi yells, pressing the knife onto Shinichi's neck harder. “You don't know how it feels like being in that relationship with that bitch!”
“Shinichi-kun!” Inspector Megure says, now out of fear rather than a warning of Shinichi, you know better than to provoke the culprit! which Shinichi ought to really listen to more.
“Stupid brat should’ve kept his mouth shut!” Noguchi growls, in a cliche murder culprit fashion. Shinichi cringes as the sharp edge nips dangerously close to his artery. “Don’t step any closer or I’ll slash his neck until he bleeds all over this cafe’s floors.”
“I’d rather you not do that after I just mopped all over the floors this morning.”
Shinichi would’ve turned his neck if he wasn’t pinned under a murderous culprit’s elbow. That voice, drenched in sweet honey, but in reality, is hiding an investigative and dangerous man. That could only be —
“The know-it-all waiter who says he's a detective, huh?” Noguchi growls, as Shinichi sees Furuya secretly take a stance. Good, Shinichi thinks. Noguchi waves his knife-welding hand away from Shinichi and now at Furuya. Bad, Shinichi rethinks. “Do you want to see me actually slash this boy’s neck?!”
“I’d like to see you try,” is Furuya’s reply, before the pressure on Shinichi’s neck disappears in a woosh.
For a millisecond there, Shinichi is struck by the fear that oh shit, Noguchi really did slash his neck, but that quickly subsides as one of Poirot’s tables squeaks underneath Noguchi’s weight as he was thrown over. Proudly staring at his work is Furuya, pinning Noguchi face down on the back with his knee, Noguchi's arm twisting behind his arm as the man yells, “Let me go!”
“That's for adding more murders to Poirot,” Furuya says with a sigh. He turns to Shinichi with a concerned frown on his face, still pinning Noguchi underneath him without a sweat. “Are you okay, Kudou-kun?”
“Yeah,” Shinichi says with a wince, rubbing his hand over his neck. Everything’s okay. Miraculously, he’s unharmed. “Thanks, F—Amuro-san.”
“No problem,” Furuya says, before turning to beam widely at Megure, bright and lovely whilst tightening his hold on the culprit. “Megure-keibu, you may apprehend the culprit now. We've closed the cafe long enough today.”
“Ah, yes,” Megure distractedly says, eyes still wide open at Noguchi's sprawled body on the table. He clears his throat, and Takagi hurriedly cuffs the culprit and allows Furuya to let him go. “Good evening, Shinichi-kun, Amuro-san. We'll contact you for questioning soon.”
Soon enough, the culprit is dragged out of Poirot with a red mark on his face from being pressed down so hard. Shinichi closes his laptop with a sigh. He'll finish his work later at home. He's ready to go until Furuya comes up to his table, his tray tucked under his armpit.
“I'm sorry that you didn't get to finish your assignment, Kudou-kun,” Furuya apologises, and it sounds and feels sincere. As expected from a man who’s gone undercover on two roles at the same time, acting sincere comes with his job.
“It’s alright, Amuro-san.” Still with the nicknames. It’s become sort of a gentleman’s agreement between them since they finally worked together and took down the organisation to keep each other’s identities at bay. Especially for Furuya. “Finishing a murder case honed my skills more than a ten page essay assignment, anyways.”
“Maybe so,” Furuya replies, and then becomes quiet for a while before saying in a quieted-down voice, “I noticed that you didn't protect yourself when Noguchi-san restrained you.”
Shinichi swallows. “Really?” he says, feigning surprise. “I guess I was kind of tired from all the assignments.” There is some truth in that. Truth be told, he did get caught off guard when Noguchi took a swing at him. He’d rather face a million Kaitou KIDs before he admits that to Furuya, however.
Azusa comes up and apologises profusely about what happened and promised him lemon pie if he’d come in next time. Shinichi replies cheerfully that the culprit has been apprehended, and no one else was harmed. Besides, he’s had worse before.
That’s what he totally says to himself as he steps outside Poirot, anyway. The sun is shining, giving a slight warmth to the cold weather of Tokyo in April. It’s a fine weather to walk in, which is what Shinichi is about to do.
“You know that you’re a bad liar, right?”
At that voice, Shinichi turns his head. Behind him, Furuya is calmly sweeping the sidewalk until he stops, looking straight at Shinichi, gaze piercing.
“Sorry?” he asks.
“You did see Noguchi-san taking a swing at you,” Furuya continues. “You just couldn’t stop him.”
Damn. Caught red-handed. Shinichi only shrugs. “So?”
Furuya frowns, and suddenly, the gap between them becomes much closer as Furuya steps forward. Shinichi has only one millisecond before stepping away from Furuya’s swing aimed at his stomach.
“Gah!” Shinichi gasps, almost falling backward, but Furuya quickly grabs his hand and pulls him upright again, steadying him before he can fall on his ass. “What the hell was that?!”
Furuya hums, assessing him one more time before letting go of Shinichi. “You have good reflexes, but you didn’t parry,” he deduces. “So, you know how to avoid when someone takes a swing at you, but you don’t know how to block.”
Well. Shinichi would rather dig a hole in Poirot’s floor and stay there than admit that. “Amuro-san,” he says instead, putting on a thin smile that is hardly friendly at all, “not that I’m confirming anything, but would you please keep this… deduction to yourself?”
Furuya lets out a small chuckle. “Don’t worry,” he says. “It’s not that I’m going to blackmail you with that. But I must admit that I’m a bit curious.”
“Why?”
“You are surrounded by martial experts. Ran-san is a master at karate, and so is her father at judo. Your Osakan friend and his girlfriend are both champions at aikido and kendo, too.”
Stupid annoying undercover security police investigator. “You’ve done your research about my friends very well,” says Shinichi dryly.
“I’m merely observant.” Furuya’s expression turns serious. “If you want, I could teach you.”
“Sorry?” Shinichi asks, before he could stop himself. Furuya wants to what?
“A detective runs into many dangers during his investigations, and it seems that you are a special case.” Furuya folds his arms in front of his chest. “Ordinarily, I’d tell civilians to run if they get into danger, but you’re not an ordinary civilian, Kudou-kun. You run into these troubles frequently, so you’ve got to have some degree of self-defence knowledge.”
Shinichi bites his lip. He knows that Furuya is right. While it isn’t unfamiliar to him, self-defence isn’t exactly something that he’s an expert of. For some reason, his father didn’t exactly enroll him in that area. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you, Amuro-san,” he starts.
Furuya chuckles, his friendly persona seeping in. “Nonsense. It’ll be a fun little exercise for me too.”
Uft. Of course, what would be an exercise for Furuya would probably be hellish for Shinichi. He knows how fit Furuya is—the man fought another FBI agent on top of a giant ferris wheel, for god’s sake.
“I’ll think about it,” he says, finally, only to shut down Furuya's persistence for now. “Thank you, Amuro-san.”
Furuya’s shoulders deflates—only a bit, but then he smiles, understanding. “Be careful, Kudou-kun,” he says, and goes back inside Poirot.
//
“Ya almost got what?!”
Shinichi winces, putting the phone away from his phone to protect his ear from more shouting. “I’m fine, Hattori,” he says, putting his phone on the counter and turning on its speaker. “It’s just that one time.”
“It sure the hell ain’t!” Hattori grumbles. The Osakan had called him from his hometown and pestered him on whether he had any cases recently, and once Shinichi told him about today, he was more shocked than usual. “What about that one time ya almost got stabbed? That one time ya got shot?”
“That’s when I was Conan, not as Shinichi. That doesn’t count.”
“Oh, my mistake!” shrieks Hattori in a way that says that he isn’t actually sorry. “What about that one time ya were poisoned and shrunk into your six year old version of yourself?”
“Hattori,” Shinichi warns. He looks down at his pan full of boiling broth. Is miso soup supposed to be this dark? “I’m telling you, I’m fine. Everything’s taken care of.”
“I guess so, considering you’re talking to me and all that,” Hattori grumbles. “How did ya get yourself out of that?”
“Amuro-san pinned the criminal on the table.”
“That undercover police did? Why’s he still working there anyway?”
Shinichi shakes his head. Furuya's motives are a mystery that he hasn't quite gotten around to solving yet. He had thought that Furuya would disappear and focus on other missions by the bureau, but here he is three years later, still around Shinichi's vicinity. “Beats me. He actually offered to teach me how to defend myself.”
“Really?” Hattori asks. “Did ya say yes?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s a security bureau agent who should probably spend his time doing other things than teaching me self-defence?” Shinichi asks, stirring inside the pan. “I’ll be fine.”
On the line, Hattori lets out a heavy sigh. “Kudou,” he says. “Listen to me, okay? You’re a death god, death-magnet, death-everything—whatever. Ya attract more murders in a day than the entire police department of Osaka in a week. Ya need to take a class, or read about defending yourself instead of rereading those Holmes books, ya geek.”
“You don’t have to call me a geek,” Shinichi complains, turning down the stove. He sighs. Deep down, he knows Hattori’s right. “And I know it’s important. I’m just—I mean, I don’t have to be taught by Amuro-san.”
“Do ya want me to teach ya?”
“You don’t have to do that,” Shinichi says, though he knows damn well that Hattori would travel to the moon back and forth for Shinichi. Which is adorable and endearing and so loyal and so Hattori, but he can’t ask him to do that. Hattori’s done so much for him already. Besides, he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle the embarrassment when Hattori turns this into yet another reason why he’s better than him. “I’ll just enroll in a class or something.”
“Fine, fine. I won’t push,” sighs Hattori in defeat. “It’s not like ya can ask that neechan to help ya out this time, eh?”
A sudden breeze goes through Shinichi’s body, and he grips his phone harder. “Not exactly,” he says in a low tone.
“Ah, sorry, sorry,” Hattori says, somberly. “I forgot that you’re—you know.”
“It’s fine.” There’s no use in walking on eggshells, even if Hattori drops the eggs most of the time. Besides, Shinichi can handle more than that.
“Still not talking much, huh?”
“If she doesn’t want to talk to me, then who am I to force her,” says Shinichi, stirring the pan. It’s not as though he hasn’t tried reaching out first anyway.
“Anyhow,” Hattori says, about to change the topic, “it ain’t so bad to take that guy’s offer. I mean, it’s even free! Just don’t strain yourself too much. Ya know your own limits and so on.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m not a kid anymore, Hattori.”
Hattori chuckles. “Yeah, gotta get used to that,” he admits. “That reminds me. I just solved a super weird case involving this creepy doll that supposedly murders everyone.”
“Tell me about it,” Shinichi says, and listens to Hattori’s stories throughout dinner.
//
To be honest, Shinichi isn’t sure what to make of Furuya after the whole organization thing is over. He was surprised to see Furuya still working on Poirot after he had returned to his original body. They stood there, staring at each other until a small, sincere smile appeared on Furuya’s face. “Welcome back,” he had said, and Shinichi immediately knew that he didn’t have to explain about Conan.
It took some pressure off of him from explaining all over again—after all, how do you explain to most people that you had shrunk for the past year and now you’re trying to get your life back? You lie. He supposed there's a small relief in knowing that there's one less person to explain to. Not that Furuya would've not figured the whole shrinking thing by himself, though Shinichi supposes that it did take him quite a while. Perhaps he did figured it out at some point and decided to not ask Shinichi about it, like Akai did.
But still, it rather bothered him how Furuya probably knew so much about him, and yet Shinichi knew so little about the other, except Furuya’s real name. Besides, from what Shinichi has gathered, there’s a real chance that his real self can be vastly different from Amuro Tooru.
With all of these in mind, the next day, he marches into Poirot anyway. It’s a quiet evening today, and it as though as the weather has also arrived inside the restaurant. No one practically remains inside, except for the waiter currently cleaning a glass behind the counter, that is.
Furuya raises his head at the sound of the door jingle and immediately puts on the welcoming smile he usually uses for customers. “Hello, Kudou-kun.”
“Evening,” replies Shinichi, nodding. “I’d like to talk to you about what you said yesterday.”
“What is it?”
Shinichi clears his throat. “If your offer yesterday still stands,” he says, not bothering to beat around the bush, “I would like to accept it.”
A smile appears on Furuya’s face. “That’s really great to hear, Kudou-kun. When would you like to start?”
"Actually, I've got some free time right now.”
Furuya’s smile grows bigger, hands already untying his apron at the back. “What a coincidence. In fact, I think my shift is ending right now.” He stops for a moment. “Somehow, I already have the feeling that you know.”
Shinichi only shrugs teasingly. “Maybe so,” he says.
“Alright. There’s a small place I use for training not far from here, just two blocks away. My car’s being repaired, so do you mind walking?”
“Not at all. You’re the one who’s going to be my coach, so lead the way.”
Furuya chuckles lightly. “Coach, huh,” he says, and opens the door for Shinichi.
“Is your car being repaired, Amuro-san?” asks Shinichi curiously as they walk on the sidewalks. What kind of trouble did you run into recently is what Shinichi really wanted to ask.
“Just the usual repairs. Brakes haven't been as good as they used to be lately.” Furuya smiles. "It's not like I've been bumping into some troubles, unlike someone else here."
“I see,” says Shinichi with a small, nervous laugh. As expected, he is given an answer that isn’t quite an answer.
It doesn’t take fifteen minutes for them to arrive. Located just around the corner, it’s small and hidden enough that Shinichi doesn’t even know the place had a person keeping watch, having passed by it enough times without paying attention. An old man who’s watching by at the door perks up at Furuya’s appearance. “Amuro-kun, welcome, welcome,” he says, and then turns to Shinichi with a curious look. “Amuro-san, this is the first time you've brought someone here.”
“He’s a friend,” says Furuya. “Ono-san, you don’t mind if we train together inside, do you?”
“Not at all,” says Ono brightly. “By the way, Amuro-san, those tips you gave me for my back pain helped tremendously. I feel ten years younger already. Thank you for that.”
“I can see that you’ve sat up straighter, Ono-san. Keep doing what I told you and you may feel twenty years younger.”
“I’ll try!” Ono says brightly, opening the doors behind him and letting them inside.
A large room welcomes them, and immediately the lights turn on as soon as they come in. Shinichi can’t help but let out a little exclamation as he sees the room. From the outside, you wouldn’t expect to see a large boxing ring inside with a couple of punch bags around the corners. It’s considerably well-lit and could fit ten to twelve people at the same time. “This is incredible. How did you find this place, Amuro-san?”
“I helped the owner bring in a few boxes when he was moving in some time ago, and he kindly opened up the place for me ever since,” says Furuya from the other side of the room. “This is a nice place to go when I need some time to think alone.”
“Amazing,” Shinichi says. He turns around and widens his eyes. Furuya has taken off his coat, and now he’s only wearing a fitted white shirt. “Are we starting immediately?”
Furuya tilts his head. “What are you waiting for?”
“Erm,” Shinichi starts. He hadn’t expected anything, really. “Hold on.”
He takes off his own jacket until he’s only wearing a dark shirt and pants. He can’t help but take a glance at his own body and compare it to Furuya’s. While Furuya is all toned and incredibly fit, Shinichi probably has half the amount of muscle Furuya has. Guess that’s the kind of body he has after eating as a grade-schooler for almost a year, he supposes. He folds his arms in front of his body, trying to disguise the way his shirt hangs loosely from his body.
“I’m ready,” he calls out.
Furuya says nothing at first, taking a long glance at Shinichi. “You know,” he starts, “you don’t have to worry too much. Once you start training and eat right, your muscles will soon grow and you’ll get stronger.”
Damn. Furuya had seen straight through his thoughts. It’s like talking with his mother and Ran at the same time. “Yeah, well,” Shinichi only says, putting his hands inside his pockets and trying to look as casual as possible. “When are we actually starting, then?”
“We can only start once we’re inside the ring, so hop inside.”
Furuya enters the boxing ring gracefully, whilst Shinichi just hopes for the best and stretches the ropes to let himself in. “First of all,” says Furuya, “I’d like to see how much you actually know.”
“I know enough in theory,” says Shinichi. One time, when walking home with Ran from school, Ran had once told him what to do if a criminal had pinned him with a headlock.
I would just throw the criminal away, Ran had said plainly.
That’s doable for you because you have superhuman strength, Ran, Shinichi told her. What about me?
Shinichi, you’re strong enough as well, you know? But I suppose someone with not as much karate training would know what to do, Ran laughed. Well, you can probably elbow-strike them in the ribcage. Or strike them in their vulnerable areas! That would be the first thing to do, I think.
“And in practice?”
“You’ve seen it,” Shinichi begrudgingly says. Somehow, that memory instantly evaporated once he was face to face with an actual criminal.
Furuya nods, tilting his head as though he is considering something. “Then, would you try punching me?” He points to his stomach. “Aim for the middle so I can see how you swing.”
“Uh, sure.” Shinichi takes a few steps closer until Furuya is within arms’ reach. He doesn’t waste any time to land a punch to the target, putting in enough strength but not so much that he has to throw his body away. “How’s that?”
“Not bad.”
Well, Furuya could’ve at least acted like he was a bit hurt by Shinichi's punch, honestly. Before Shinichi can respond, Furuya says again, “You have amazing accuracy, but your technique is all wrong.”
“Thank you?” Shinichi says, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m saying that it could be improved,” Furuya says. He rolls up his sleeves up to his elbows, revealing toned forearms. “May I?” he asks, and Shinichi nods. Suddenly, he places his hands on Shinichi’s shoulders.
“Keep your stance wider,” he says, putting his face closer and making eye contact with Shinichi. Shinichi gulps a little. “That way, you’ll have more balance.”
“Okay,” Shinichi says, widening his stance to match Furuya’s. Furuya’s legs are long and firmly planted on the ground, so Shinichi tries to do the same. “This alright?”
“Yes,” Furuya says with a satisfied tone, and then releases Shinichi’s shoulder. “Now, go at me again.”
Shinichi takes a swing again, but Furuya deftly avoids it. He tries to do it again, but Furuya even blocks him this time, his open palm stopping Shinichi’s fist.
“Ah!” Shinichi exclaims, resisting the urge to pout. “I didn’t know that you would block this time.”
“That’s how it usually goes in real life,” says Furuya, dropping Shinichi’s fist and returning to his original stance. “You have to anticipate people’s actions to yours. They might catch you in your weak times and suddenly—” he takes a swing at Shinichi, but before Shinichi can react, stops right in front of his nose, “take advantage.”
Furuya really doesn’t play around at this. Shinichi watches him closely as Furuya retracts his arm. “In the real world, people don’t wait until you’re fit enough to fight you,” Furuya says. “And no matter how much you train, there’s always someone else out there who can beat you. You must always prepare for the worst. There might be a time that you won’t have access to your gadgets.”
Shinichi lets out a small snicker. “Yeah, evidently.”
“Speaking of your gadgets, where are they? I haven’t seen them in a while.”
“I left them at the professor’s,” Shinichi says with a shrug.
“Haven’t they been helpful to you?”
“Yeah, but…” Shinichi mainly used them when he was Conan. Seeing them in his now grown-up hands felt like a reminder of his once lost life that couldn’t be recovered. “I guess I was trying to see if I could survive without them.”
Furuya frowns once again. Being under that scrutinizing gaze is overwhelming to Shinichi, and he’d rather they focus back on the reason why they’re here in the first place. “Let’s continue, Furuya-san,” he says, and then widens his eyes at his slip-up. “I meant—”
“It’s alright,” says Furuya with a smile. “We’re alone right now. I trust you won’t be reckless when using my name.”
It’s a grave honor to be trusted like that, and Shinichi means to use it wisely. At least he won’t be like Heiji who almost always fails spectacularly at calling other people’s fake names. “Alright,” he says. “I’m ready for more, Furuya-san.”
Furuya is a tough trainer to have, but Shinichi isn’t a slow learner. Every time Furuya takes a swing, Shinichi aims to block. Every time Furuya defends himself, Shinichi tries to wrestle that defence away from him. It’s like a little dance, with Furuya trying to lead Shinichi to follow in his footsteps just the right amount.
It goes like that for quite a while until Shinichi actually feels grateful when he lands on the floor face down. He feels beat and exhausted, but he had promised himself to go through all the way. He won’t back out now, especially not in front of Furuya, but at the same time, lying down on the floor feels better in the world.
“I think that’s enough for now,” Furuya says.
Shinichi sighs, letting himself relax. He can feel the sweat running down his back, drenching his whole shirt. That was intense. He hasn’t worked out that hard for a while.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” Shinichi says, waving a hand. He’ll be fine in a minute. Rolling to his back, he looks up at Furuya, who’s leaning against the ropes. “That was pretty tough. I guess that’s what I had expected from you, Furuya-san.”
“I’m pleased that you wanted to do this, Kudou-kun.”
“Well, I can’t say that my intentions coming here were purely for learning.” At that, Furuya perks his head up. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something.”
Furuya sits down at the chair on the corner of the ring. “I can see that you have a lot of questions,” he says, taking a sip of his drink, but his eyes are still on Shinichi, waiting.
“Just the one.” Shinichi returns Furuya’s gaze calmly. “What exactly do you gain from teaching me?”
The older man puts down his drink bottle and grabs a sports towel from his bag, slinging it around his neck. “What do you mean?”
“Furuya-san, you’ve been very helpful and kind. But you don’t have to go all the way to establish the image of Amuro Tooru any longer, at least not to me. You didn’t have to bother teaching me this, and yet…” Shinichi gestures at his surroundings. “Here we are.”
Furuya says nothing, so Shinichi continues. “You could’ve stopped working at Poirot anytime now. I don’t know why you’re still working there.”
“You know that there’s also the possibility of me just enjoying the mindless activities of making people coffee and food, right?” answers Furuya dryly.
“Maybe. I also think that for someone with your job, you have too much free time on your hands.”
Furuya chuckles, shaking his head lightly. “Kudou-kun,” he says, “you’re a very suspecting man. May I explain?”
“Sure,” says Shinichi, though he’s not sure that Furuya’s answers would help soothe his nerves anyway.
“Creating a new cover isn’t as easy as you think. Especially when one has established a rapport as the ‘famous Beika waiter’ as publicly as I did,” says Furuya, folding the towel around his neck. “I can’t lie, I’ve grown a bit attached to the life I’ve built there as well. Azusa-san is a wonderful friend to have. Besides, by being Mouri-san’s ‘apprentice’,” Furuya’s eyebrows raise amusedly, “I could still help him on cases now that you’re not there to put him to sleep.”
That’s true, Shinichi thinks. Though he would’ve liked for Kogoro to use his head on his own for a bit to solve cases and not to chase girls. “However,” Furuya starts, “I admit there’s another reason why I offered to give you lessons.”
“And that is?”
“I was trying to gauge your skills, before extending you an offer,” says Furuya, turning serious. “I'd like you to join the security bureau.”
Now there it is. Shinichi lets out a small exhale and nearly rolls his eyes, but because he's raised with manners, refrains from doing so at the last second. However, nothing stops him from immediately saying, “No, thank you.”
Furuya’s face remains impassive, as though he already knows Shinichi’s answer anyway. “You’ve led the joint operation between three renowned defence agencies to take down one of the largest criminal organisations in the world,” he says. “Are you sure you just want to be an ordinary college student?”
“Hey, it’s not like I stopped solving cases. I still help out the police sometimes.”
“Unofficially,” Furuya clarifies. “You have the great potential of becoming something much greater than this country has ever seen. Don’t you want to at least try?”
“It’s not that I—” Shinichi sighs, shaking his head. He has to calm down. “I’m sorry, Furuya-san, but my answer will be no.” He takes a look at his watch; it’s eight PM. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going.”
Furuya purses his lips. “Very well,” he says. “I’ll have to say that I’m disappointed. Perhaps that working independently with the FBI and CIA causes you to not care about the wellbeing of people around you anymore?”
He’s trying to get a rise out of Shinichi, he knows. Shinichi scoffs. “Furuya-san, I thought that this is me we are talking about, not you.”
A dangerous glint flashes in Furuya’s eyes. “We are,” he says.
“Look,” Shinichi says. “Taking down the organisation took a toll on me, and I vowed to stay out of things like that in the future.”
“I’d have thought that someone like you would be thrilled to take part in more things like that.”
“Perhaps you’ve misjudged me.”
“Maybe so,” says Furuya. “I never thought of you as someone who gives up easily.”
“Well,” says Shinichi coldly, “perhaps you are not as good an investigator as you thought.”
He stands up, wanting to end his sentence on a final note. A pang of dizziness strikes him and he runs his hand through his hair. The rush of his heartbeat starts to run in his ears, and now he recognises the telltale signs of the thing he's always wary of ever since he took the antidote. Shit. Haibara is going to kill him.
“Ah, crap,” he gasps out, clutching his chest and wincing at the sharp pain that burst in. Haibara is so definitely going to kill him.
“Kudou-kun?” Furuya asks, voice laced with high concern and completely different than the tone he used a few seconds ago, standing from his seat. “Are you alright?”
Not for the first time, Shinichi curses his body for almost always breaking down at the wrong time in front of the wrong person. He opens his mouth to say something snarky, I thought you were Japan's best investigator, can't you see for yourself? Instead, "Furuya-san," is what he manages to say before his legs give out.
Furuya reaches out to him, calling his name repeatedly, and yet his words are drowned by the sudden rush of air in Shinichi’s ears. The edges of his vision become dark and the last thing he’s aware of is himself falling into something firm and sturdy.