Detective Conan: I'm a Boy, But They Treat Me Like a Big Sister — Chapter 43

Chapter 43: The Little Loli Who Was Kept

The streetlights of the Nichome intersection cast long, overlapping shadows on the pavement. Tōhō Getsukai slowed his pace, glancing down at the tiny hand gripping two of his fingers.

“Speaking of which, I haven’t asked your name yet.”

The little girl walking beside him didn’t miss a step. A half-second pause hung in the chilly night air before she offered a quiet reply.

“…Ai Haibara.”

Made up on the spot, surely, but a name he knew all too well. Getsukai filed the confirmation away in his mind, his serene expression betraying nothing.

They arrived at apartment 302. The elevator doors slid open to reveal a spotless corridor, the plush carpet carrying a faint, soothing aroma of cedar. The moment Getsukai swiped the electronic lock, the entryway sensor lights flared to life, bathing the living room in a warm, inviting yellow glow. Nordic-style solid wood furniture, an immaculate open kitchen, and a delicate bouquet of scented dried flowers resting on the bar counter—the decor completely bypassed the world of a standard bachelor pad. It looked like a high-end newlywed suite.

Ai Haibara froze on the threshold. Her usually guarded, overly mature face cracked, revealing a rare, age-appropriate flash of absolute bewilderment. Emerald eyes darted beneath her short brown hair, scanning the pristine layout.

“…Your house?”

“Mm.” Getsukai crouched down, his movements fluid and practiced as he gently unbuttoned her oversized trench coat and hung it on the rack. “Don’t just stand there in the cold. Come in.”

The subtle, fresh scent of chilled ingredients drifted from a slight gap in the refrigerator door. On the washstand, two sets of mouthwash cups sat in perfect alignment. Even the entryway floor held two pairs of plush slippers—one large, one suspiciously small.

Haibara had already kicked off her oversized shoes. She padded barefoot into the living room, her head barely clearing the height of the bar counter. After circling the dining table, she offered a solemn, clinical assessment.

“Good taste.”

“Thank you.”

“But.” She tilted her chin up. Her tender, rounded face carried a shrewdness that completely shattered the illusion of a child. “One master bedroom, one second bedroom. Which one do you plan for me to sleep in?”

Hmm? This little one already mapped out the floor plan?

“The master bedroom. The bed is bigger,” Getsukai replied smoothly. “I’ll take the second bedroom.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“With my current physical dimensions, I might not even be able to scale the edge of that mattress.” Haibara crossed her arms, her adult demeanor clashing hilariously with her stubby, three-headed-body proportions. “And—don’t you think the sight of a teenager fighting an elementary schooler for the master bedroom is grounds for a police intervention?”

“But I think it’s very sacred.”

“…Where exactly is the sacred part?” Haibara stared at him, completely immune to his brand of humor.

Getsukai couldn’t help himself. He reached out and pinched her pale cheek. It was ridiculously soft.

“Hey.” Haibara slapped his hand away with a deadpan glare.

“Nothing,” Getsukai chuckled. “I just wanted to confirm if those lines were actually coming out of a kindergarten toddler’s mouth.”

“…I bite.”

“So fierce.” Getsukai stood up, unwinding his scarf and tossing it over the sofa. “Go take a bath first. There are spare pajamas in the bathroom cabinet. Your size should be…”

He pulled open a drawer. Inside sat a neatly folded row of brand-new children’s cotton pajamas, all in a unisex size S.

“…Just right.”

Haibara walked over, staring at the perfectly sized sleepwear, then slowly looked back up at him. Getsukai could practically hear the gears turning in that genius head of hers.

The system interface for his passive skill, [Micro-expression Insight], flickered with floating tags: confusion, wariness, a hint of relaxation.

Good. The guard is dropping.

Twenty minutes later.

Clad in fluffy beige teddy bear pajamas, Haibara scrambled onto the tall kitchen stool. Her bare feet dangled in the air, swaying back and forth in a way that utterly ruined her cold, grown-up aura.

Getsukai stood at the stove. He had tied his long silver hair back with a simple string, a minimalist off-white apron wrapped around his waist. A clay pot bubbled merrily over the flame, filling the kitchen with the rich, savory aroma of fresh shrimp and simmering rice. He scooped a small spoonful, tasted it, dusted the surface with white pepper, and killed the heat.

“Be careful, it’s hot.”

He slid the ceramic bowl across the counter. Haibara stared down at the luxuriously thick seafood porridge. She glanced up at Getsukai, then picked up her spoon, blowing on the hot food before taking a small bite.

“You’re not an ordinary person.”

Getsukai stood at the sink, scrubbing the clay pot. The running water didn’t stop. “Hmm?”

“Your body temperature is abnormally high. When I held your fingers earlier, I felt a very regular, low-frequency vibration. It wasn’t a human pulse.” She swallowed her bite of porridge, her emerald eyes tracking his movements. “An ordinary person encountering a strange child late at night—especially one in a clearly abnormal state—would call the police or walk away. Your response was too flawless. This isn’t your first time dealing with something like this.”

Getsukai shut off the faucet and dried his hands on a towel.

This little loli’s observational skills are terrifying. A high-IQ genius scientist through and through.

[Micro-expression Insight] updated her current status: Nervous, self-defensive probing, expecting an answer that won’t disappoint her.

He leaned against the opposite side of the bar counter, meeting her guarded gaze.

“I have some… special abilities,” Getsukai said, choosing his words carefully. “Not the bad kind.”

Silence stretched between them.

“Also, I know someone in a very similar situation to yours. Wears glasses, a little boy, who also recently shrank.”

Haibara’s hand froze. The spoon hovered inches from her mouth. The implication was deafening. He knew. He had seen right through her from the very first second.

“…You.”

Ten agonizing seconds ticked by. Haibara slowly lowered the spoon back into the bowl. She bowed her head, letting her damp brown bangs fall forward to shadow her face.

“…You know him?”

“Mm.”

“Then what do you plan to…”

“I won’t tell him you’re here.” Getsukai’s voice was incredibly soft, carrying a gentle, absolute certainty. “Your safety is my responsibility now.”

The small head dipped even lower. A long, heavy silence filled the kitchen, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator. Finally, a tiny, fragile whisper drifted out from behind her bangs.

“…Thank you.”

Getsukai picked up his empty bowl and turned back to the sink. Sitting on the tall stool, Haibara watched his back. She stared at his tied-up silver hair, and the neat little bow of his apron strings resting against his lower back.

The water splashed against the ceramic.

A sudden, sharp memory pierced her chest. A long time ago, when her sister was still alive, she used to tie her apron just like that, humming quietly as she worked at the stove with her back turned.

Haibara lowered her eyelashes, ruthlessly crushing that dangerous, suffocating wave of nostalgia before it could take root.

…

Seven o’clock the next morning.

Getsukai arranged a plate of golden, pan-fried tamagoyaki, warm toast, and a glass of hot milk on the dining table. He slipped a folded note beneath the edge of the plate.

‘Lunch is in the fridge, microwave on medium for three minutes. You saw the door lock password last night. If anything happens, call this number. — Sister Tōhō.’

He had paused at those last two words, pen hovering over the paper as he seriously considered changing it. In the end, he left it. It was his official external persona, after all.

He changed into his school uniform, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and paused at the entryway. He glanced back at the tightly shut door of the second bedroom.

[Micro-expression Insight] couldn’t pierce solid wood. But he didn’t need a system skill to guess that the little girl was already awake, curled up under the blankets, silently tracking his every footstep.

“I’m leaving,” Getsukai called out to the empty living room.

A muffled, barely audible “…Mm” filtered through the bedroom door.

He smiled, pulled the front door shut, and headed downstairs. The crisp morning sun bounced off the apartment building’s glass exterior, catching Getsukai’s silver hair and making it shimmer with a blinding, ethereal light. His low-heeled leather shoes clicked rhythmically against the pavement as he walked toward the street corner, rapidly organizing his daily schedule in his head.

First order of business before school: call Aunt Eri. Tell her I stayed up all night helping a senior sister revise her manuscript and crashed at her dorm.

…

Back in Apartment 302, a single ray of morning light pierced the gap in the curtains.

Haibara stood barefoot on the polished wooden floor by the window, clutching the piece of paper. The handwriting was elegant, sweeping, and undeniably beautiful—prettier than the penmanship of most women she had ever met.

She stared at the signature, ‘Sister Tōhō’, for a very long time.

Rising onto her tiptoes, she peered out the window at the bustling street below. Far down the block, the back of a silver-haired figure rounded the corner of the crosswalk, vanishing into the golden morning haze.

Haibara looked down at the note in her hand. She turned her head, taking in the spotless kitchen, the warm breakfast waiting on the table, the quiet safety of the room that had been perfectly prepared just for her.

“…How about…” she murmured to the empty apartment. “…I leave tomorrow instead?”