Conan: Begins to collaborate with Miss Bayonetta and become famous

The rain has started again.

It wasn't the kind of sudden downpour you see at dusk, but rather the typical London drizzle—dense and cold—like countless invisible silver needles, silently piercing the night air and weaving a hazy veil in the dim glow of the streetlights.

Rainwater flows along the cracks in the bricks of the old building, gathering at the drains at the edge of the sidewalk, making a monotonous gurgling sound.

Baijiu (Chinese liquor) is being sold on the street.

Without direction, without purpose, and without even the intention that the action of "walking" should have, his legs simply moved mechanically, stepping alternately on the wet asphalt, splashing up tiny droplets of water.

The rain quickly soaked through his already tattered suit, the fabric clinging to his skin, icy cold, but he felt nothing.

His face was expressionless.

There was no sadness, no anger, no thought, not even weariness—only an empty, bottomless void.

Those eyes, once sharp as an eagle and deep as a pool, are now dull and lifeless, their pupils unfocused, reflecting the distorted light of the streetlights and the falling rain, yet unable to capture the shadows of anything.

Rainwater streamed down his soaked black hair, slid across his blood- and dust-stained cheeks, dripped from his chin, and mingled with the endless puddles on the ground.

He walked like that, like an empty shell whose soul had been ripped out, a body still powered by the last bit of bioelectricity.

Walking through the quiet residential area, warm light and blurry figures shone from the windows;

I walked past the shops that had already closed, their roller shutters tightly shut;

Walking through the deserted park, the swings swayed gently in the rain.

The world flowed around him—sounds, light, smells… everything seemed to come through a thick layer of frosted glass, blurry and distant.

The calm look in Old Hei's eyes when he finally cut the power line, the dull thud when the tunnel collapsed, the suffocating feeling of dust engulfing your mouth and nose, and that phrase, "For those I've never met."

……

These images and sounds replayed silently in his mind, over and over again, but failed to stir any emotion in him.

His heart felt hollowed out, leaving only a dark, cold, and constantly drafty hole.

I don't know how long it took.

Time has lost its meaning.

His steps grew slower and heavier.

Finally, in the middle of an intersection, where the white zebra crossing of the pedestrian crossing was exceptionally clear after being washed by the rain—

His legs, as if suddenly stripped of their last bit of support, went limp without warning.

It wasn't falling down, it was "kneeling down".

His knees slammed heavily against the cold, slippery pavement, making a dull thud.

But he couldn't feel any pain.

His upper body leaned forward due to inertia. He tried to brace himself with his hands, but his arms were also weak. He was frozen in the middle of the road in this half-kneeling, half-lying position.

His head drooped low. His soaked black hair completely covered his face, leaving only the back of his neck exposed to the rain and the streetlights, his skin deathly pale.

Rainwater flowed down the grooves of his spine and disappeared into his tattered collar.

He stopped moving.

Like a broken sculpture suddenly abandoned on a rainy night street. Only the slightly undulating back proves that a faint trace of life still remains in this body.

He knelt there, at the deserted crossroads, in the cold night rain, completely abandoning all resistance, all pretense, all the semblance of "baijiu" (a type of Chinese liquor). Only the most primal, naked, utterly emptied void remained.

The rain was pattering.

In the distance, the deep rumble of engines could be faintly heard, and more than one vehicle was approaching.

Baijiu didn't look up, or even move his eyes. He remained in that position, as if he had become one with the rain and the road beneath him.

The sound of the engine grew closer and clearer, finally coming to an abrupt end around the intersection.

Swish—! Swish—! Swish—!

Several blinding, bright, and scorching car headlights, like stage spotlights, lit up simultaneously from several directions, instantly tearing through the haze of the rainy night and completely engulfing and swallowing the disheveled figure kneeling on the ground in the center of the intersection!

The bright light revealed every inch of his features, every scar, and every stain.

Rainwater danced wildly in the pillars of light, like a cold, grand dance of death performed around a sacrifice.

It's a car headlight.

Black headlights of a large SUV.