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

Kuroda Hyōe vaguely and simply recounted his experience that day, setting aside his own feelings.

"Oh, so you're the police officer my mother was talking about!"

A glint flashed in Kuromon Haruya's eyes, as if he had recalled some childhood fun, and he appropriately revealed a look of surprise.

But in reality, he really couldn't remember at all when or where he had encountered this character in the story while he was still in his previous identity!

The current situation is like when you go home for the Chinese New Year and a distant relative suddenly appears and strikes up a conversation with you. Even though you have no recollection of the person, you still have to bite the bullet and act like you know them well.

Fortunately, at least Kuroda Hyoue won't suddenly say something like, "I used to hold you when you were little."

The time frame was fine within 20 years. By then, he had already realized the fact that he had traveled to the world of "Detective Conan," and he became much more restrained in his behavior and arrangements.

But if it's been more than 20 years... then he really can't guarantee what he's done.

Don't ask, the answer is that I was young and impetuous and played around a lot.

As for the veracity of this matter, Kuromon Haruya had no doubts, after all, using cheap ingredients to silence his critics was his usual practice. Twenty-three years ago, if you look back, it happened to be around the time he brought Gin to Nagano for an inspection, and also spent Children's Day when he turned seventeen.

As she recalled the failed attempt to correct her picky eating habits, Kuromon Haruya narrowed her eyes and smiled wryly, remarking:

"It's such a coincidence that we met here!"

Kuroda Heibei put his hands in his pockets and rubbed the inner pocket of his wallet, where he kept a motorcycle ticket that he had treasured for more than 20 years.

"It really is fate." Adhering to the tacit understanding among adults, the topic was left untouched.

No wonder he's that woman's son.

Kuroda Hyōe looked meaningfully out the window, recalling the meeting that had taken place the previous afternoon.

Even though the Metropolitan Police Department has been trying to divert public attention and downplay the influence of individual heroism, a large number of young people are still influenced by this and have begun to consciously serve the public interest by taking the "Kuromon Advisor" as a benchmark.

Just like him when he woke up after being in a coma for more than ten years. The world has changed, and he has no relatives or friends around him. On the contrary, the gratitude he could not repay is more and more unforgettable the more he thinks about it.

However, just because the two adults are like this doesn't mean that Conan, the curious little guy, is willing to stop there:

"Huh? What kind of person was Kuromon's mother? I've hardly heard you talk about her."

To be honest, he knew almost nothing about Hei Men's family background.

Aside from her already known experiences studying abroad and photography, the rest of her criteria for choosing a partner were things she overheard while Sonoko and Ran were chatting on the phone—either blonde and blue-eyed or silver-haired and green-eyed. Sonoko had absolutely no chance!

Kuromon Haruya looked up and, unsurprisingly, met Kuroda Hyōe's regretful yet pitying gaze. He casually ruffled Conan's hair.

"Actually, I don't remember very clearly, since it was many years ago. But an elder once said that my appearance is more like my mother's, but my gentle personality is entirely inherited from my father!"

Conan: Doesn't that just mean my mother is very unconventional?

"However, what was meant many years ago was..."

"He died in a gas leak seventeen years ago."

Kuroda Hyoue checked the file: "Please accept my condolences."

“It’s alright.” Kuromon Haruya shook his head in relief, picking up a book from the bedside table. “If Mother knew that my words had helped, she would be very happy.”

Just as Kuroda was about to exchange more pleasantries, a police officer rushed to his side and whispered a report. After a brief farewell, the officer immediately led his men out.

Conan instinctively wanted to rush out, but then suddenly remembered that there were still people to protect. After running a few steps, he turned back and stood guard.

"Go if you want." Kuromon Haruya found his actions amusing. "With the police stationed there, the organization certainly won't target me. There might be clues left behind at the crime scene."

"Or rather, Shinichi, are you hungry?"

"of course not!"

Looking at the calm and carefree expression on Kuromon Haruya's face, Conan breathed a sigh of relief. He had been worried that bringing up the past would upset Kuromon, but now it seemed there was no need for that.

"I'm thinking about what code word to use in case that beer is counterfeited again."

Upon hearing this, Kuromon Haruya immediately became interested:

"Since that guy will be lurking among us, this code must be able to blend into everyday life, ideally at the level of a daily greeting."

“That’s right.” Conan stroked his chin and nodded in agreement.

"As a code, it must remain undetected while retaining its distinctive features."

"Uh-huh."

"So I propose that, Shinichi, you start singing whenever you see me from now on."

"Okay...hmm?"

Conan frowned, sensing something was wrong: "Kuromon-kun, be serious! I meant to prevent someone from impersonating you, not me!"

Yoruichi Kuromon turned the page and explained quite frankly, "This is just in case. If someone shrinks like Sherry, wouldn't they be able to replace you?"

"I deny it."

Conan looked at the sincere face in front of him and responded with silence and indifference.

After being tricked for so long, if he still can't see through the perverse sense of humor that Kuromon is hiding behind his acting skills, he might as well quit being a detective!

It's definitely not because his mother did the same thing!

"Actually, it's not impossible."

Since that's the case, don't blame him for retaliating. Conan cleared his throat and grinned crookedly: "Then my code is, 'Chinese food is the worst food in the world.'"

Bang!

The plastic fork, subjected to intense pressure, shattered in two on the spot. One half lay submerged in the milk and oatmeal porridge, while the other half was clutched in the hand of Kuromon Haruya.

Conan raised an eyebrow, surprised by the remarkable effect of his words.

Kuromon doesn't have many hobbies, but his two most important ones are photography and cooking. Ever since he learned that he doesn't like Chinese food, Kuromon has been inexplicably motivated to cook Chinese dishes and send them to the Mori office every now and then.

To be fair, the Chinese food tastes pretty good, but he's been used to Western food since he was a child, so he's not quite used to it. For example, Mapo Tofu might be more to his liking if it were served with sweet and sour strawberries.

"Shinichi, you really love to joke around."

Kuromon Haruya smiled, his eyes narrowing into slits, radiating a friendly aura: "Let's think of some more logical codes; this is too unrealistic."

Conan subconsciously swallowed, wanting to take back what he had just said, but when he glanced at the cane by the window of Yoruichi Kuromon, a long-dormant competitive spirit suddenly rose in his heart.

Black Gate Bro can't move fast right now. If we don't avenge this, when will we ever get another chance?

Thinking this, Conan slowly retreated step by step, trying to approach the ward door discreetly.

As long as he seizes the opportunity and uses his leg strength to escape in the car, Brother Heimen will definitely not be able to catch him.

Having made up his mind, Conan sighed and compromised, "Alright, alright, I'll try a different code."

Four meters, three meters, two meters... The ward door drew closer and closer. The moment Conan stepped into the starting area, he turned around and solemnly declared to Haruya Kuromon:

"But I still have to say, Chinese food is the worst-tasting food in the world!"

Now! Get out of here immediately using cover!

"Ah."

The moment he took off running, Kuromon Haruya chuckled, picked up the cane beside the bed, and threw it diagonally upwards.

Whoosh—boom!

The blunt-tipped cane pierced the screen window and came to a steady stop 5 centimeters away from Conan, while also knocking away another running, blurry black figure.

"Gurgle." Conan sat sprawled on the floor, twisting his rusty neck to look behind him.

On the bed in the hospital room, Kuromon Haruya held a book in one hand, turning her head to smile at him with a serene and peaceful expression.