I'm writing a fictional immortality script in Detective Conan.

"Since you won't let me get close and aren't willing to leave, can't I just call the police?"

Conan swung his legs, peering intently into the rearview mirror at the villa's movements.

The warmth seeped through the paper cup to my fingertips, and combined with the howling cold wind outside the car window, it made me drowsy.

"No!" Ai Haibara lifted the lid of the bowl and cautiously warned Edogawa, "I've heard from my subordinates that there are organized spies within the police force. If a safe house is suddenly raided by the police, Gin will definitely realize something is wrong!"

Conan then lifted the lid: "Why don't you just tell me all the gossip about your subordinates?"

They've been staking out the villa for over twenty minutes, but aside from installing listening devices, they haven't come up with a concrete countermeasure yet.

He proposed a plan, and Haibara rejected it. The key point is that her reasons were so reasonable that they couldn't be ignored: the enemy outnumbered them, they were in the dark while they were in the light, and two elementary school students plus an old man simply weren't qualified to conduct an in-depth investigation!

We can't involve Ran and Uncle Mori. My parents have already flown abroad to visit their police friends, and Brother Kuromon is currently hospitalized due to illness. Our fighting strength is still too weak!

A gust of steam hit him, fogging his glasses with a layer of white mist. Conan, slurping noodles through his blurry glasses, tentatively suggested:

"Or how about we talk about that butterbeer?"

Don't think he didn't notice. Ever since hearing this strange code name, Haibara, who used to resist being followed and investigated, has completely changed her attitude, revealing a sharp and serious expression.

Butterbeer, which Shinichi Kudo tasted with his parents when he was a child in London.

Rather than a precise name, it's more like a cocktail, made simply by mixing and heating beer and butter, with almost no elaborate preparation method.

However, this drink is very popular in British pubs and comes in both alcoholic and non-alcoholic versions, making it suitable for all ages. It is also said to have some legends associated with gangsters.

Ignoring Gin and Vermouth's inappropriate conversation, he was curious about who this person was that could elicit such a strong reaction from Haibara.

Ai Haibara watched him wipe his glasses, which had fogged up again, gave a soft hum, and then lowered her head to stir the noodle soup with a plastic fork until the red oil covered the black soup before slowly speaking:

"Butber is the murderer of my sister."

"He seems to be involved in photography, and he likes to take crime scene photos of victims. He is very professional in his technique and can create aesthetics in his compositions."

"So you... have seen his work?"

Just as Conan was about to speak, he suddenly realized the connection between the two sentences—the victim's family and the murderer who liked to record the crime scene.

Being looked at with the eyes of a high school student younger than herself, who regarded her as a fragile item, Haibara Ai felt a little confused, but she forced herself to be strong and gave an affirmative answer: "It's just what you think. The only photo I've ever seen is of my sister lying in a pool of blood."

A golden wig adorned the back of her head, dazzling like intense light piercing through a crack. The eyes that had once tenderly whispered words of love to her when she awoke from nightmares were now clouded and murky, bearing a striking resemblance to her mother's blurred image in old photographs.

Like a butterfly that is tempered by fire in an attempt to escape the darkness, it is both incredibly beautiful and incredibly sorrowful.

"Wasn't Mr. Kuromon, who saved you, also a professional photographer? If it weren't for this chance encounter, he would have been one of my suspects."

Deliberately leaving a message for Conan to ponder, Ai Haibara focused on picking up the paper bowl and taking a sip of soup.

Having spent so much time at the research institute, she actually missed the rich flavor of instant noodles...

"Uh!"

The moment the broth touched her tongue, before she could even think, a strange and refreshing aroma of spices mixed with a cloying sweetness and sourness shot straight to the top of her head, making her feel nauseous and her scalp tingle!

The previous depression and anxiety vanished instantly, leaving only nausea, nausea, and more nausea!

Haibara felt she would need all her willpower to stop herself from vomiting in the car.

She covered her mouth tremblingly, and incredulously flipped the packaging lid over to examine it closely—the words "Authentic Tom Yum Soup Flavor" were printed in large characters in the lower right corner, with "Authentic" even being bolded.

"Ai, how's the food?"

Dr. Agasa wiped the oil off his hands, looked at Ai Haibara's flushed face with a grin, and proudly boasted, "The Tom Yum flavor is very appetizing, isn't it? It's my favorite!"

"Tom Yum flavor?!"

Conan stared wide-eyed at the paper bowl in Ai Haibara's hand, a look of pity on his face.

The doctor's tastes are sometimes as unique as his inventions. He once tried this so-called "Tom Yum flavor" when he was a child, and it tasted like the smell of his dad forgetting to rinse the dish soap after cooking soup.

Conan handed over a bottle of mineral water and scolded with his crescent-shaped eyes, "Doctor, you're still insisting on this weird flavor!"

Haibara covered her mouth and quickly filled a bottle with water, drinking half of it in one gulp before she could barely catch her breath.

"this..."

Professor Agasa, realizing the situation upon seeing the reaction, scratched his head sheepishly and said, "Sorry, sorry, I also bought red bean bread. Let me get you another one!"

He turned around and was rummaging through the shopping bag on the passenger seat when he saw a familiar figure reflected in the rearview mirror.

"Huh? Isn't that Mr. Kuromon? What's he doing here?"

"what!"

Conan nimbly leaped over the center console and crouched down in the front row to observe carefully.

In front of the villa they were tracking, Kuromon Haruya, dressed in a black overcoat, stood under the flickering streetlights. His expression was cold and unfamiliar, a half-finished unfiltered cigarette between his fingers, and he was on his phone, making a call to someone.

Conan grabbed the professor, who was about to greet him, and clenched his fists warily: "That's not Kuromon. He should be lying in a hospital bed at Beika General Hospital right now. Someone else is impersonating him!"

The only organization member who would appear at this juncture, possess disguise skills, and smoke is probably...

"Butbel!"

Ai Haibara had somehow arrived in the front row and was taking a picture of herself in the rearview mirror with her phone as evidence, then zooming in on the photo:

"Although the coat and appearance have changed, the leather shoes are still the same style as the salesman's, so there is no doubt that it is Butber."

The man in the distance used the snow on the iron gate to extinguish his cigarette butt, then put it into his plastic bag, thus putting an end to Conan's idea of ​​using saliva to identify blood types.

He twirled in the snow with waltz-like steps, then pressed a button and held the phone to his ear.

That location was exactly where they planted the listening device!

Seeing this, Haibara immediately picked up a warning: "Edogawa, eavesdropping!"

"Of course I know." Conan picked up the data cable for the monitoring signal and plugged it into the car stereo.

After a burst of muffled signal noise, a soft, familiar voice emanated from the speaker:

"...There's an operation that might be related to the FBI, so just in case, I'm planning to borrow someone's identity."

"Of course, no ordinary person can attend the memorial service for a famous director! I happen to know a colleague who is currently very popular and is also a photographer. It will be perfect to use his identity at the time."

"You guessed wrong. It's that police consultant who just became famous yesterday, named Kuromon Haruya."

As he spoke, Butbel seemed to have heard something very interesting, and he changed his tone of voice to communicate.

His deep laughter betrayed his undisguised pleasure as he said, "Unfortunately, it's too late to stop. I've already had his attending physician killed!"