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ladygriffith · 4 months

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REVEALED! The real villain of Berserk: The Skull Knight

(The Skull Knight) (Thulsa Doom)

Kentaro Miura has mentioned that Berserk was inspired by Conan The Barbarian (Robert E. Howard).

Conan the Great is a fantasy novel by American writer Leonard Carpenter, featuring Robert E. Howard's sword and sorcery hero Conan the Barbarian. It was first published in paperback by Tor Books in April 1990.

In Conan you have the kingdom of Aquilonia (Latin Aquilae means eagle, like Falconia means Falcon).

Conan rescues the dwarf Delvyn, jester to Balt. Delvyn, however, is not the fool he appears, but the secret instigator of the invasion and servant to Kthantos, an evil demon.

Delvyn feeds on Conan's anxieties about his advancing age, while heightening his concern over the amoral and ruthless Prince Armiro.

Concerned by rumors Armiro has imprisoned his former lover, Queen Yasmala of Khoraja, he decides to liberate her and so gain intelligence on his foe.

He rides disguised across Koth to the Tarnhold, Khoraja's infamous prison fortress. Gaining entry through an underwater passage guarded by a giant water spider, he finds Yasmala indeed present, but in voluntary retirement. Armiro and some of his retainers, who had secretly followed Conan, burst in on the two; in the incursion, Yasmala's maid, Vateesa, is critically injured. The enemies renew their combat, but Conan falters when Yasmala begs him to spare Armiro, now revealed as her son.

The demon god Kthantos, playing both sides, visits Yasmala, who is nursing the comatose Vateesa in their new prison. The demon attempts to possess Yasmala, a fate she evades only to fall to her death.

News of her demise reaches Conan he assumes Armiro responsible and guilty of matricide, kindling his wrath against the prince all the more. Kthantos then appears in a dream to Armiro with an offer of power; the prince is skeptical, but reports the dream to his subordinates as a holy visitation.

Delvyn encourages him to envision himself emperor of the world with the godhood such a role implies, a notion previously implanted. After a disturbing dream in which Conan imagines himself drawn to his doom, he awakens to word that an army equal to his in size has entered the plateau from the Kothian side—Armiro and his host, guided by the prince's dream.

The antagonists face each other at the temple, which proves the lair of Kthantos. As the demon god hails them, Delvyn and Amlunia incite the two rulers to personal combat, the prize being mastery of their combined armies and the world under Kthantos's patronage. Both monarchs, realizing they've been used, are suspicious of the god but otherwise game, as each believes the other the instigator of Yasmala's death. Their confrontation is interrupted by Queen Zenobia, driven by chariot in relays all the way from Aquilonia. With her is the partially recovered Vateesa, now revealed as the queen's mysterious visitor. They reveal Conan that Armiro is not just Yasmala's son, but his own as well.

This balks Conan while inflaming Armiro to new fury as he vents on Conan the distress over abandonment that has afflicted him his whole life. The fight is on, and Kthantos manifests in triumph. Vateesa recognizes and denounces the demon as Yasmala's murderer, uncovering its machinations. At this the two kings put aside their quarrel and turn on Kthantos, toppling a shattered pillar into the well from which it issues. The dwarf Delvyn remains, released from his patron's spell, and is revealed in his true form—a giant twice the size of Conan. Shunned by humanity, he had studied ancient lore to achieve vengeance, which had led him to Kthantos. In his diminished guise he had played the fool, enticing kings to the demon's service until, in the troubled Conan, he had found what he deemed the perfect tool, to be first used and then supplanted. Now unmasked and thwarted, he challenges the king. Conan has his soldiers dispatch him.

Under truce, and still uncertain of their feelings for each other, Conan and Armiro resort to their advisers and diplomacy. A modus vivendi is envisioned in which both monarchs will pull back from Ophir and respect each other's spheres of influence, abandoning pretensions to sole mastery of the Hyborian world.

(Conan the Swordsman)

Kull of Atlantis or Kull the Conqueror is a fictional character created by writer Robert E. Howard. The character was more introspective than Howard's subsequent creation, Conan the Barbarian, whose first appearance was in a re-write of a rejected Kull story. Kull's mortal enemy is the sorcerer Thulsa Doom.

Thulsa Doom is described by Howard in "The Cat and the Skull" as having a face "like a bare white skull, in whose eye sockets flamed livid fire". He is seemingly invulnerable, boasting after being trampled by one of Kull's comrades that he feels "only a slight coldness" when being injured and will only "pass to some other sphere when his time comes". Thulsa Doom is the most authoritative and powerful sorcerer. One of his most notable abilities is shapeshifting, allowing him to claim various identities. Often impersonating someone else. He was able to hold his own in a sword fight against Conan or Kull.

Thulsa Doom is also seen as controlling the elements and being able to call up a storm out of a calm sea. While Thulsa Doom cannot be killed – even when pierced by a sword or thrown from a great height – he's vulnerable to steel being driven through his body, such steel acting to imprison him and prevent Doom from getting away.

Thulsa Doom is the prototype for many of the future undead evil wizards in Howard's stories. he is also called the 'Skull face' and he has foresight of the most possibilities.

He appeared when he and his legions invade the lands of Cimmerians for the first time, leading to a massacre of the people there including the young Conan's parents (the father was killed by Doom's dogs while the mother was decapitated by Doom with the father's sword). As the young Conan became a gladiator after years of slavery, Conan swore to avenge his people's tragedy by killing Doom.

Posing as the nobleman Ardyon, he forms an alliance with four rebels who actually dethroned the hero, and set him on a quest to regain his lost kingdom. Thulsa Doom sent members of his Black Legion to ambush Kull and Brule, though they won the fight. Thulsa observed the battle through a magic crystal. Kull and Brule's ship was later attacked by a sea serpent, with which Thulsa may or may not have had anything to do.

Thulsa Doom/Ardyon learned of the curse of Torranna (essentially, if a scarred man wore the crown and sat on the throne, he would be unable to ever leave the throne), which he determined to bestow upon Kull. Thulsa Doom drew Kull into Torranna and had him undergo a series of trials to gain the crown of Torranna. Thulsa Doom revealed himself to Kull, challenging him to one final battle. Thulsa Doom pulled Kull into a pocket dimension for their final battle. Kull managed to slash Thulsa Doom's face with his sword, but was ultimately overpowered by the necromancer. Thulsa Doom returned them both to Torranna, but Kull rallied long enough to push Thulsa Doom onto the throne and place the crown on his head. His face scarred by Kull, Thulsa fulfilled the prophecy and fell victim to the curse himself. Thulsa's power were drained by his curse as the city of Torranna collapsed, seemingly crushing him. Kull, luckily, escaped, and then returned to Valusia to retake his own throne.

Set in the time of King Arthur (though Arthur himself doesn't appear onstage) Thulsa Doom comes back to life after 18,000 years on a sinister deserted island. Recognizing Cormac Mac Art – an Irish adventurer who joined a band of Danish Vikings – as a reincarnation of his old enemy King Kull, Thulsa Doom immediately resumes his ancient vendetta and relentlessly seeks to kill Mac Art.

The Riddle of Steel In the beginning, we see Conan's father explain the Cimmerian lore concerning the ancient Giant Kings of earth stealing the forging secrets from the god Crom. Conan's father tells him that he must learn by himself the riddle of steel. Giving him a hint, he tells him that you cannot trust anything in this world, except for one thing; and, showing him the sword of steel he just forged, he says: "This you can trust." What he does exactly mean by "this" is not clear.

Years later, Conan tracks down and confronts Doom and his raiders. Doom tells him that he has abandoned the pursuit of steel, because flesh is stronger. To prove his point, he beckons one of his cult followers on a cliff to come to him. Enthralled by her faith, she steps off the cliff and falls to her death. This, the ability to lead loyal followers who are willing to die for you, is real strength for Doom, and he reproaches Conan for not recognizing where his own strength is. Then, in his final confrontation with Doom, as he is subjugated by Doom's mind control, Conan looks at the damaged sword and somehow frees himself and kills his enemy with one thrust of the still sharp sword. It is implied that, in that instant, he figured the riddle and the true answer to the riddle. Which these are, however, we are never told Fans have come up with several explanations over the years. One is the Nietzschean idea that will is indomitable and stronger than both steel and flesh.

“In this world, is the destiny of mankind controlled by some transcendental entity or law? Is it like the hand of God hovering above? At least it is true that man has no control, even over his own will. Man takes up the sword in order to shield the small wound in his heart sustained in a far-off time beyond remembrance. Man wields the sword so that he may die smiling in some far-off time beyond perception.”

What about Griffith / Femto then

Antagonist Villain

Antagonist vs. Villain

Griffith is the Antagonist of Berserk:

Antagonists are plot devices that create obstructions and challenges for your protagonist, while villains are evil characters with malicious intent

A story’s villain is always an antagonist, but not every antagonist needs to be a villain

Often, antagonists are other characters who have their own goals and their own obsessions. Unlike the villain, they don’t necessarily take pleasure in causing the main character harm—they just happen to have desires that conflict with the protagonist’s desires.

Many antagonists are compelling characters in their own right, since they’re not necessarily bad people. They can even go through character development and grow throughout the course of the story.

Skull Knight is the Villain of Berserk:

The villain in your story is the character whose primary motivation is malicious destruction. They’re usually the main antagonist of the story, causing the biggest source of conflict for the hero. Many of them remain hidden until the finale or hide their true intentions to create a plot twist.

He gave Guts the cursed Berserker armor, feeding off of his life force for vengeance. His hatred and darkness is consuming his flesh and SK wanted to kill the moonlight boy, who had helped Guts not to lose himself and hurt his party.

His astral form prevented Guts from killing Casca and falling into madness. Skull Knight could foretell the future but didn't prevent the eclipse. He also tried to kill Femto to stop the birth of Falconia, the peaceful city for human race.

He started the cycle of revenge and sacrifice when he probably tortured the clergyman who transformed into Void who called the god hand upon him.

Clearly, Griffith was an innocent child before he was corrupted by the God Hand giving him a behelit.

Finale Skull Knight Theory

I think Skull Knight will be the End Boss of Berserk and Guts will have to fight him.

Using the power of the Yobimizu no Tsurugi (Sword of Resonance/Actuation), Skull Knight can cut through dimensions. Time is often referred to as the "fourth dimension"

Guts will win against him and take Skull Knight's Sword. He will cut through the dimension and time travel to Griffith's childhood.

When the clock struck notice the flashing purple light which opens a dimension and Guts appears before Griffith?

You have the same purple hue when SK visits him and Casca. Also The SK's eyes have the hue.

In Conan you have Doom who looks a lot like the Skull Knight. In Conan in the end he is revealed to be the main villain and Conan has to fight him!

Griffith is torn between his dream which is the castle and Guts. HE CHOOSES GUTS and runs towards him. Meaning they will see through the manipulation of those who forced his destiny and defeat the God Hand as well as Skull Knight.

Griffith's love for Guts is the only thing keeping him from losing his humanity, and Guts's too. Griffith is no narcissist. He is misunderstood and manipulated. As he grew up, he was corrupted. A tragic character, whose true will was taken from him.

Great foreshadowing there. Guts will save Griffith set it all right this time! They will beat their fake destiny.

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angelicsentinel · 2 years

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amaryllis in the spring

Title: amaryllis in the spring Fandom: Detective Conan/Magic Kaito Author: AngelicSentinel Rating: Teen Relationships: Kudo Shinichi/Kuroba Kaito Characters: Kudo Shinichi, Kuroba Kaito, Mori Ran Additional Information: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Murder, Identity Reveal, Case Fic Word Count: ~14,000 Summary: Years after Shinichi becomes a police detective, someone is murdered at Haido Recital Hall. The biggest mystery, however, is why the principal dancer seems so familiar. Notes: This is my gift for @altumvidetur for the 2022 KaiShin secret santa as hosted by @dcmkkaishinevents. Thanks so much for hosting! This was written for the first prompt: Case fic team up where Shinichi doesn't know Kaito's identity at first. Please enjoy!

As always, mirror on Ao3

Shinichi hated ballet. It was just a bunch of people in frilly costumes frolicking across the stage to classical music. At least, that’s what he thought until the performance started.

They danced with such grace they floated across the stage, and they’d designed each lavish costume with such attention to detail Shinichi found himself impressed.

Ballet wasn’t exactly something Shinichi would have gone to himself, but Ran didn’t want to go alone. It wasn’t a hardship to go with her. They’d maintained their close friendship even after their romance didn’t work out, and Shinichi had missed spending time with her to be honest. It didn’t hurt much anymore, so it was easy to look past the lingering bittersweet feeling to enjoy her company. He thought he was missing an ideal more than what they actually had, anyway.

Ran watched the stage with stars in her eyes, her hands clasped in front of her, so Shinichi knew it was an excellent idea. He was happy she was so enchanted.

He settled back against the seat, eyes riveted to the brilliant display of athleticism before him. The women were in full gowns and powdered wigs with bright red rouged cheeks; the men likewise wore powdered wigs and breeches.

Somehow, he’d gotten it into his head that ballet didn’t have professional level performances, which was an uncomfortable amount of bias. Shinichi shook his head. He was not sure exactly what he imagined, actually. Something more Shakespearean and minimal, perhaps. But they were professionals, and even with his lack of knowledge about ballet in general, he could tell they were highly skilled.

Shaking his head, he laughed at himself. No matter how logical a detective he might deem himself, he was only human in the end. He settled back to enjoy the show. It took a little doing. He wasn’t sure if it were true of all ballet, but following the plot took a bit of imagination.

He gathered they were at some kind of holiday party, what with the opening of the gifts and the dancing. The proscenium arch of the Art Nouveau stage framed the Empire backdrop, the two disparate styles complementing one another. Where the recital hall was smooth and twisting, the sitting room with the large festive tree was stately and imposing.

Soon, amidst all the red and gold brocade of the parents, a man in black with a glittering midnight cape appeared as if from nowhere, the children clapping their hands excitedly and chattering amongst themselves in pantomime.

He watched him pull a long scarf out of nowhere, twirling around with it onstage before making it disappear in a flash of fire. He then made a plush rat appear out of nothing, followed by a princess doll in another flash, dancing around with them, telling a story of a fierce rat king who wanted to take her for his own, only to be interrupted at the end by a soldier who drove the rat king off.

More dancing followed, intricate and well-choreographed. He wondered how they weren’t all running into one another, especially when three life-size dancers meant to be wind-up dolls took the stage, dressed as Harlequin, Pierrot, and Columbine. They danced their number and then disappeared in the swirl of the magician’s cape.

The second set of gifts were a pair of elaborately dressed porcelain dolls dressed in Heian era fashion, the emperor and the empress. They wore multiple light layers instead of heavy silk and the fabric flowed as they danced, swirling in a rainbow of color that was almost dizzying.

With a loud pop and a burst of light, the children and parents danced off the stage, leaving the magician alone with the two lead dancers, who Shinichi supposed were perhaps the children of the house.

To them, he gifted them the eponymous Nutcracker, a proud soldier in a French-cocked hat with a peacock feather. Underneath, he wore an elaborately beaded Venetian mask, inlaid with brightly colored shards that gleamed like gems and looked like glass.

His dancing had a certain je ne sais quoi that drew Shinichi’s attention like a beacon in the night. The rest of the dancers were wonderful, no doubt about that, but the Nutcracker himself had an indescribable quality that kept Shinichi’s eyes on him long after the male lead had broken him and he’d finished his dance.

The woman cried, forlorn, and the magician fixed him, and still Shinichi could not tear his eyes away. Shinichi barely saw the rise and fall of his chest, he was so practiced at remaining still. The party ended, and the young lady came back to check on him, to make sure her brother hadn’t broken him again with his roughhousing, and fell asleep on stage.

The magician appeared as if from nowhere, cape swirling devilishly. The stage lights went down. The clock struck twelve. The “night” came. Shinichi was still riveted to the stage, entranced by the Nutcracker.

He gasped alongside Ran and the crowd when the Christmas tree grew and the toys came to life, followed by gingerbread people dancing on stage in a twirling frenzy. Dancers costumed as mice poured from both sides of the stage, and a fierce battle broke out. It was organized chaos—some of the best choreography Shinichi had ever seen.

Honestly, why had Shinichi had such a biased view of it in the first place? This display was fantastic!

The Nutcracker came back onstage, his sword flashing, parrying the blow of the Rat King. They danced back and forth, surrounded by gingerbread men and tin soldiers and more mice. So many people whirled in tight patterns around one another, it was hard to determine just who and where everything was, what with the smoke and the cool blue lighting.

In a devious and fell series of dance steps, the Rat King stabbed at the Nutcracker, only for the young lady to take the blow on her left forearm. She staggered around, twirling gracefully, the back of her hand on her head. Her arm dripped with what looked like real blood. Shinichi leaned forward. She danced for another minute as the battle continued, took five more steps, then staggered and fell to the floor. She didn’t get up.

Slowly, as if waking from a dream, her castmates stopped, surrounding her in a circle. The orchestra stopped. The Nutcracker, still in his glittering wood-like mask, knelt down and held his fingers to her neck. He punched the stage.

She didn’t move. Shinichi stood up, ignoring Ran’s hushed, “No, it can’t be.” He turned to her, and they both nodded.

“Ran, tell the ushers not to let anyone out.” She nodded again. “Excuse me,” he said, sidling past the people in the row until he made it to the aisle.

He strode down the red carpet to the proscenium, flashing the theater security his badge. He repeated his orders to them. “Keep everyone in the theater for now until I can figure out what’s going on.”

“Yes, sir,” the security guard said, and radioed Shinichi’s orders while Shinichi climbed on stage.

The dim blue lights were surprisingly bright. The heat they gave off was unexpected also, and Shinichi felt himself sweat underneath his coat. He tugged at his tie with one hand and pulled out his badge with another. “Assistant Inspector Kudō Shinichi. Excuse me,” he said, flashing his credentials, and the danseurs parted like the sea.

Shinichi caught the cool blue eyes of the Nutcracker. He held Shinichi’s gaze for a long moment, something like surprise in his wide eyes and the slant of his mouth before looking away first, hands still in fists.

What was that all about?

He knelt down, checking her pulse himself.

Yes. She was dead. Her mouth caught his attention, though, her lips a cherry red. He sighed, leaning closer to the stage, examining her with a small flashlight. She had lather on her mouth. Cyanide. It was as he thought. She’d been murdered.

“No one leave this stage,” he ordered. “Cast, crew, anybody. That includes anyone backstage."

People grumbled, so Shinichi added, "Don't make me get you for interference in a police investigation."

"Scary, scary," the magician said, sing-song.

"Someone get the stagehands to hit the lights, I need to see the crime scene.”

“Crime scene?” The Rat King said, his voice trembling.

Shinichi didn’t bother to answer. He dialed HQ. “Inspector,” he said, no nonsense. “Murder at Haido Recital Hall.”

“Isn’t it your night off?” Takagi asked him, amusement in her voice.

Shinichi didn’t deign to reply.

“What is this, the third time this month?” she continued.

“I need a forensics team and enough officers to corral about oh,” he glanced up at the audience, doing mental math at the tiered seating, which was mostly full. “Maybe fifteen hundred people?”

“You don't think it was someone in the audience?" Takagi asked.

"No, but I figured it was better to be safe than sorry," he said.

"I'll meet you there. Try not to run into any more corpses," she said.

"I'll do my absolute best," Shinichi said, followed by her sigh as he hung up.

More preliminary investigation of her corpse added to his theory. Her fingernails, the blueish color of her face. "Can anyone tell me if they were filming this performance?"

The Nutcracker shook his head. "The equipment wasn't working tonight."

Shinichi stroked his chin. "Convenient." He glanced over at the man. His voice sounded strangely familiar. "You have anyone who can back that up?"

He nodded. "Honoka is responsible for the filming."

Shinichi narrowed his eyes. "You're being suspiciously helpful."

"I don't like murder," he said.

Shinichi took the rumpled program out of his pocket. "Kuroba Kaito?" he asked.

"In the flesh," he bowed with a grin.

"That makes you the Rat King," he said, turning to the other man. "Ishida, right?"

"Ishida Daisuke, yes."

"Is there any particular reason you were using live blades on stage?"

"Uh," Ishida stammered. "We're both pretty good at fencing? And the crowd likes it, so," he trailed off, then looked down at his feet.

"Isabel wasn't supposed to step between us," Kuroba said. "I've half a wonder if she wasn't already poisoned by then."

Shinichi frowned down at the corpse. Isabel was her name. Satsuma Isabel. The prima ballerina. "It looks like it was ingested. I couldn't see well from where I was sitting, but who has the best access?"

"It's impossible to say," Kuroba said. "Any of us could have done it."

"Wonderful. That helps a lot," Shinichi said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "In the last few minutes of her life, her motor movements would have deteriorated to a noticeable degree. And no one noticed?"

"In our defense," Kuroba said mildly, "we were preoccupied with the tight choreography and the frantic pacing."

Touché. Shinichi inclined his head, acknowledging the point.

"Shinichi," Ran called from the floor, "They've locked down the building until the police get here."

"Thanks, Ran," he said, distracted, running what he knew through his mind. He glanced back over the audience again. A lot of them were shifting in their seats, uneasy. At least one elementary class was present. He needed to clear most of the people here. "Does any of the audience have VIP access?"

"Not until after the show," Kuroba said. "We do a meet-and-greet backstage in the dressing rooms."

"What's the set-up like?"

"The prima ballerina and the lead danseur get their own rooms. Otherwise, there's a separate shared space each for the men and women."

"And this is usual for your company?" he asked.

"By which you mean to ask if the meet-and-greet is a routine occurrence?" Kuroba asked.

"Yes."

Shinichi wasn't sure if that absolved the audience or not; conceivably, they didn't have regular access to the dressing rooms, but if someone planted something the night before—

"How long has the show been running?" he asked.

"Are you serious? Aren't you here? Tonight's opening night!" Ishida said.

"I'm not really a ballet person," Shinichi said. "My best friend had tickets and didn't want to go alone."

"'Best friend?' Not girlfriend?" Kuroba asked, surprised.

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes, my best friend. That's the kind of thinking that made us think we had to date. Anyway, I'm not the subject of interrogation here." Hmm. He needed a way to work through the suspects. "Divide yourselves. Lead cast here, gingerbread men here, soldiers here, rats—"

"Mice," Kuroba piped up helpfully.

Shinichi cut his eyes at him, continuing immediately as if he hadn't been interrupted. "—Rats here. Stage hands over here." Looking back over the stage, he said. "Anyone who wasn't on stage at the time, I need them here," he said, pointing to stage left.

Most of the ballerinas from before had come back as rats or soldiers, but there were a few more named characters that wouldn't show up until the second act, including the Sugar Plum fairy and someone aptly named Mother Ginger.

As an aside, Shinichi thought to himself the story was incredibly strange, but that was neither here nor there, really.

Forensics arrived first, photographing the body before setting up and analyzing the crime scene.

He'd worked his way through most of the soldiers when the rest of his backup finally arrived. He left the other two detectives to finish the interrogation with the chorus characters while he went back to the main set of cast members. About ten people stood there in all.

Takagi was present, questioning the Magician.

"Drosselmeyer," Kuroba said, apropos of nothing.

"What?" Shinichi asked, confused.

"That's the name of Akio's character. You seemed confused. Either that or his cape has done something to offend you."

Shinichi said, "You're flippant for someone at the scene of a homicide."

Kuroba stared at him. "It's Beika," he said, as if they explained everything.

Maybe it did.

"I suppose that's fair," Shinichi allowed.

"Anyway, since you're not a fan of ballet, I thought maybe you'd like the ins and outs of what's going on?"

"Who's to say you're not the culprit and rearranging the story to suit your needs?" Shinichi asked.

"Easy," Kuroba said. "I don't have a motive."

"I'll determine that for myself, thanks," Shinichi said, irritated.

"Suit yourself," Kuroba said with a shrug.

"Didn't Isabel hate you?" Ishida said.

"Hate is a strong word," Kuroba said. “She just really, really didn’t like me.”

“Is there any particular reason why?” Shinichi asked.

Kuroba grimaced, but didn’t explain.

Ishida opened his mouth instead. “She had a really histrionic personality—”

“I don’t know if histrionic is the right word, exactly,” Kuroba muttered. “She knew what she wanted and how to get it. She was a consummate professional onstage; that has nothing to do with how we interacted offstage.”

“It does if you had anything to do with her murder,” Shinichi pointed out.

Kuroba inclined his head. “She just thought I wasn’t serious about the craft,” Kuroba said. "Most people you see here have trained to do this since they were very young. Careers are usually decided early. And sure, ballet classes were part of my routine as a child, but they dropped off in middle school, and I didn't dance seriously for a long time. She didn't like it, that's all."

"So how did you end up as the principal danseur of an internationally acclaimed company?"

Kuroba laughed. "Isn't that the question? Luck, I guess, and the fact that Madame Yamato liked me?”

“Who’s she?” Shinichi asked.

“The choreographer and owner of the Beika Company,” Ishida said. “She has very exacting standards. It was a surprise for everyone.” He glanced at his fellow danseur. “But Kuroba here has earned it. He works as hard as anyone I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you,” Kuroba said with a flourish and a bow.

"You both seem to have level heads. I appreciate your knowledge about the company," Shinichi observed.

"No need to say that, I know we're both suspects," Kuroba said.

"What?" Ishida yelped. "You can't be serious!"

"I had access to her dressing room. We had a long, loud argument everyone knows about," Kuroba said. "No detective worth his salt is just going to ignore that."

"What about me, huh?" Ishida asked. "Me and Bela were on good terms."

"You were also longtime partners and have only recently broken up. Face it, Ishida, you're the prime suspect. That's always how these things go."

Statistically, it was most likely to be the partner. Shinichi opened his mouth to comment, but Kuroba had been right. It wasn't unusual for people to have been caught up in several homicide cases, since Beika Ward was the murder capital of Japan.

Of course, given his glibness, he could also be the murderer, but Shinichi could revisit that later when they had a fuller idea of the circumstances.

He turned to Officer Tome, who was noting things on a chart on his clipboard. "Do you have cause and time of death?" Shinichi asked.

The man nodded. "I'll need to confirm it with an autopsy and a toxicology report, but preliminary findings suggest she died from cyanide. It was probably ingested around thirty minutes before she collapsed.”

Shinichi nodded. “Takagi,” he called across the stage. “It was definitely someone with access to the stage and backrooms.”

“Yeah, that’s what I think, too.” She picked up her phone. “Shiratori,” she said. “You can start letting the audience go once you’ve searched their bags.”

“Noted,” Shinichi heard through her speaker. “I’ve talked to the box office as well; we have a list of everyone who purchased tickets, just in case.”

Kuroba and Ishida stood off to the side, talking to one another in quiet tones. They were joined by Ono Akio, who played the magician. Detective Ishikawa was interrogating the stage hands.

Slowly but surely they winnowed it down to a handful of people. Kuroba and Ishida both had keys to her dressing room. Miyamura Satsuki played the Sugar Plum Fairy; she was also seen arguing with Satsuma about conning her out of the lead role—by all accounts a vicious and dirty argument. The company hadn’t been as profitable as in previous years, so financial means could have also played their part in the early demise.

“I would think that it would drive sales away,” Shinichi told Director Yamato, who’d finally come down to be interviewed. She was a stern, sharp-eyed woman who dressed in a black pantsuit and wore her hair tied back in a tight bun. Everyone in the company called her Madame, but director or producer was closer to her role, alongside doing the principal choreography.

“Oh no. Everyone in the arts is superstitious, Detective Kudō. You don’t mention the name of the Scottish play, certain productions are cursed…”

“I’ve never heard that said about The Nutcracker,” Shinichi said. “Besides, if I were dancing, I don’t think I’d want to share a stage with a murderer. “

“Stars shine brighter just before they fall,” the Director said, sighing wistfully.

Shinichi couldn’t help himself; he shook his head. Despite her stern countenance, she was rather whimsical.

“What can you tell me about her?” Shinichi asked.

“Hmm. Well. For the most part, she was a good dancer, but lately, it’s been strange. Her behavior was increasingly erratic.”

“She was going through a crisis?” Shinichi asked.

“Oh, nothing like that. She was excellent on stage; probably the best dancer I’ve ever seen, but no, it was little things. Forgetting we had practice, tardiness, taking twice as long to learn choreography…I became quite concerned, you know.”

“I see.”

Once they were done with their interview, Shinichi turned to his coworker. “Ishikawa,” Shinichi said. “Take over, would you? I want to get a full look at the scene before they start processing the evidence.”

“Sure thing, Kudō,” she said.

Freed from questioning potential suspects, Shinichi slipped his hands in his pockets, eyeing the stage and the elaborate Empire style set pieces. Nothing looked out of place. Halfway down stage right, Kuroba joined him.

“So, you’re pretty dedicated to your job,” Kuroba said. He looked ridiculous in the wooden mask, officer’s coat, and powdered wig.

“Some might say that,” Shinichi allowed. “What’s it to you?”

“Oh, I don’t mean any offense, really, but watching you work, you’re like a hound dog with a bone,” he said. He walked circles around Shinichi, doing some weird kind of ballet thing with his feet where he spun around on one foot, doing a perfect split standing. Shinichi winced. Men shouldn’t flex that way.

“Is that necessary?” Shinichi asked, looking at his foot. The shoes they wore were thin, and couldn’t be comfortable on the wooden stage. Kuroba wore breeches, but under the hose were very firm and defined calves. Given what he’d seen about balance and strength, he supposed they’d have to be lean and tightly muscled.

That did not make him envious, oh no. He surreptitiously poked his gut, which had grown a little pudgy from late night konbini snack runs, and sighed. He really needed to find time to exercise a little more. But it was hard to maintain a consistent routine when every time he got a little downtime, a murder happened.

“Of course it’s necessary. I fidget when I’m nervous. I’m much worse off if I don’t have this outlet, you see.”

“Uh huh,” Shinichi said slowly. “Is there any particular reason why you’re nervous at the moment?”

“Uh, I’m a suspect being accosted by a very handsome police detective? Wouldn’t you be nervous too?”

“‘Accosted?’ Just what are you implying, Kuroba-san?” Shinichi said, raising his eyebrows. He wasn’t even going to touch the word handsome. It wouldn’t be the first time a suspect tried to fluster him.

(It would be the first time it almost worked, though.)

Kuroba held up his hands. “Nothing, nothing! You’re just a legendary member of the police force, that’s all. I’ve heard stories.”

Right. And Shinichi was Detective Samonji. “Stories, huh. I didn’t think I was that famous.”

“Everyone has heard stories of the former teen detective.”

“Unlikely,” Shinichi said. He spotted many half open bottles of water backstage. None of them seemed to be the contamination vector, though Inspector Takagi was going through them and testing them with Detective Maeda’s help.

Shinichi decided to turn his attention to the dressing rooms.

“But in my case, we might have mutual acquaintances. My best friend’s father used to work in Division Two. You might have heard of him.”

Shinichi thought about that for a moment. He didn’t know many people in Division Two. “Inspector Nakamori?” he asked, guessing on a whim.

“The very same!” Kuroba said, clapping his hands.

Saying they had relatives or friends in law enforcement was another common manipulation tactic. “Do you think that letting me know you have a friend in law enforcement is going to let you off the hook?”

Nothing seemed out of place in the women’s dressing rooms. Lights, makeup, costumes, bras…nothing unusual. Some food, a few water bottles. All those would need to be tested, but it was highly unlikely Satsuma had been poisoned here, not with a dressing room to herself. Shinichi slipped on a pair of nitrile gloves.

“Oh no, I would never!” he said, eyes wide and mouth open in mock shock. “You just seemed to be curious as to how I knew so much about you, and I wanted to put you at ease about it.”

“You know that just means that I will be looking at you more closely,” Shinichi said, looking through the women’s things. He probably should have left this part of the investigation to Takagi or Ishikawa. “Since you’re going out of your way to ‘put me at ease.’”

“Hahaha!” he laughed, leaning over and clutching his stomach. “Oh, you haven’t changed a bit in the last seven years, have you?”

That…seemed more than just hearsay or popularity. “I’m sorry, have we met before?” Shinichi said, narrowing his eyes at him.

“Oh, I had one of those teen detectives at my alma mater, that’s all,” Kaito said. “He spoke about you from time to time.”

He didn’t speak Kansai-ben, his dialect was purely Kanto, so it had to be Hakuba Saguru, maybe? “You were classmates with Hakuba?” he put forth hesitantly.

“The very same!” he said. “Ah, my best friend was obsessed with detectives and KID, and she was always nattering on all about you and the rest of them, so I learned a lot against my will!” he said with a huge grin.

“Don’t say that so cheerfully,” Shinichi grumbled, even more irritated at him than he was before.

“But why not, it’s the truth!” he said.

Shinichi pointed at his eyes with two fingers, then pointed again at Kaito. “Don’t think I’m not onto you. I am. I’m sharp. I don’t know why, but you’re deliberately trying to get a rise out of me, aren’t you?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said, his face pure innocence. As if Shinichi even believed that for a second.

“Cut it, Kuroba.” Ah. He’d forgotten he needed a key. Kuroba quietly handed his over, and Shinichi had no choice but to take it. He used Kuroba’s key to let himself into Satsuma’s dressing room. It hadn’t been processed yet. He internally groaned when Kuroba followed behind him. He kept his eye on him, but he didn’t do anything suspicious as he stopped in the doorway. He didn’t even enter the dressing room wholly, he just leaned himself against the door frame.

Shinichi perused her room, pilfering through her things. What little was there, anyway.

On the vanity was her makeup and a bundle of twelve blood red roses, the tips of the petals beginning to wilt.

The roses would have to be tested for sure, but Satsuma was fastidious. Outside of what was required for her costumes, the only items of note were the roses and her purse. She was religiously organized. The room could belong to a design magazine for how little personality was in it.

“Did she never do anything in here?” Shinichi asked himself out loud.

It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but Kuroba actually answered. “She wasn’t a fan of clutter or making a mess. Said it was unclean.”

“...Okay,” Shinichi said, brow furrowing. She allegedly had a histrionic personality—perhaps she denied herself as a matter of controlling her life, or for making her emotions stronger during her dancing. It wouldn’t be the first time Shinichi had heard of people like that.

“It’s not like it sounds,” Kuroba said, taking Shinichi's pensive expression the wrong way. “Bela was a good person.”

Shinichi looked at him. “You sound so confident of it despite the fact she hated you.”

He waved Shinichi off. “I can deal with one perfectionist. It’s not as big of a deal as we made it sound.”

"You keep saying that," Shinichi said.

Kuroba sighed, looking around the room. “She held herself to the same standards she held the rest of us to, if not even higher,” he said. “Without her, I don’t think I’d even be where I am today.”

“You talk about her as if you were friends,” Shinichi said.

“We were.”

"But you said she hated you."

"No, I said she really didn't like me."

"Those are the same thing."

"Not quite. Indifference is the opposite of love, not hate. She didn't like me. I don't blame her. There are times I don't like me. But she was a good friend to me despite it all. She didn't have to like me for that."

Now that was strange, given what had been previously said in front of Ishida. He wondered if they had been secretly dating. “Not more? You almost make it sound like you were dating.”

“No, Officer. Just friends.” He crossed his arms. “Admittedly, it was a strange sort of friendship, but I think we both got something out of it.”

Huh. Interesting. “So if you were friends, you must have known something about her personal life. Something that would have served as the motivation for murder.”

Kuroba sighed again. “That’s the thing I can’t quite figure out. I don’t know of anyone that wanted to kill her. She could be harsh in her criticism at times, and she had very exacting standards, but I don’t think that anyone really felt that way about her. Sour enough to murder her, I mean.”

“What about the other lead ballerina? The one with the death threats. What’s her name? Satsuki?”

“Satsuki’s all hot air. She wouldn’t have hurt her.”

“You seem very sure about that.” Done with his cursory examination of her dressing room, Shinichi opened her purse. Inside was a folded sheet of paper with the date and time for a doctor’s appointment on it. It used the Beika General Hospital letterhead, but it didn’t say what kind of appointment it was.

“What can I say?” Kuroba said. “I know the people I work with. They’re good people.”

“So you say,” Shinichi said. “I’m not so sure I agree.” He tapped the doctor’s note with his gloved hand. “Since you seem to know everything, do you know why she was going to the doctor?”

“Oh, right. Bela had frequent migraines. Recently, they’d gotten severe enough to interfere with her dancing.”

“Her headaches were that bad?” Shinichi asked.

“Oh yeah. I think she took some kind of medication for them? I’m not so sure, though.”

“I thought you knew everything,” Shinichi said.

Kuroba grinned again, that same infuriating familiar smile. “Well, almost everything. Nobody’s perfect.”

Shinichi scoffed and placed the doctor’s note into the evidence bag, followed by the contents of her purse.

“I’m surprised you’d admit you’re not perfect.” Shinichi said.

“Surely I’m not that bad,” Kuroba said.

“So you were aware of her routine,” Shinichi said.

“Yes.”

“Did anything strike you as unusual? Anything at all?” Shinichi asked.

“Hmm,” he said, pacing around before doing a handstand. “Well, if I had to say, she’d been disappearing for short periods of time when we’re onstage. No one knows where she goes.”

“No one?” Shinichi pressed. Kuroba shook his head.

They walked back towards the stage where Ishikawa was hailing him. “We found these unmarked capsules in Ishida’s bag.”

“Where’s Ishida in your list of ‘good people,’” Shinichi asked Kaito just to needle him.

“I don’t think he would do it,” Kaito said. “But then again, I don’t think anyone here could have murdered her.”

“If there’s anything I’ve learned during my time as a detective, it’s that anyone is capable of murder. Even the most unsuspecting people can hide darkness in their hearts,” Shinichi said. “It doesn’t matter if they were good people before. Everyone can kill.”

“That sounds like a revelation based on personal experience,” Kuroba said.

“You know,” Shinichi said, suspicious, “You’re awfully interested in my personal affairs.” What was with this man? He was acting like a fanboy the likes of which Shinichi hadn’t seen in years.

“I’m just a nobody to you,” Kuroba said. “But I find you a very intriguing person.”

“I don’t need any fans.”

“Ah, Kudō! You know as well as I do that you still have fans even after all this time,” Takagi said, elbowing him in the side.

Shinichi grunted.

“The Inspector is right!” Kuroba said. “I’m an enormous fan of yours, Detective!”

Something about the way he used that word pinged again at his subconscious. He stared at him for a long moment. It wasn’t coming to him, so he ignored it and moved on. “What you are is a suspect in this murder case. We don’t need some kind of amateur sleuth—who may be the culprit—messing things up.”

“But isn’t that what you used to do when you were a teenage detective?” Kuroba asked with exaggerated confusion, stroking his chin in a farcical manner.

Shinichi groaned.

Kuroba turned serious, still wearing that stupid mask. “I know as well as you do that anyone is capable of murder,” he said. “But for now, I will keep holding the light of these people close to my heart. Excuse me.” With only that as his farewell, he grabbed a closed bottle of water and sat down on the chaise lounge that served as the set’s nod to a sitting room. He took his hat off, and finally his mask.

Once again, Shinichi was struck with a strange sort of familiarity at the sight of his bare face. Had he seen him in the vicinity of Hakuba or something?

Kuroba put his face in his hands and exhaled in a force of rattling breath that sounded like bones.

Ugh. He was getting distracted. “Takagi, have you found the poison yet?” Shinichi asked.

The inspector shook her head. “Not yet! You?”

“No.”

Shinichi crossed his arms, tapping his foot. This case was incredible levels of weird. The prima ballerina’s dramatic collapse on stage, Kuroba’s strange familiarity, the fact they couldn’t narrow down a suspect—

The autopsy would tell them more, but they wouldn’t get the results until sometime tomorrow afternoon.

And he still hadn’t found the murder vector. It had to be something she ingested; that’s what the preliminary findings suggested.

He stalked down the hall, frustrated as hell.

Not in the dressing room, not in the women’s dressing room, not in the staff hallway—

He passed a cleaning lady with her cart who was opening the door to a janitorial closet located just a small way beyond the exits to the outside, closer to the dressing room.

He continued a few steps beyond her, then he stopped, eyes wide. “Excuse me, Cleaning Lady-san!” Shinichi said.

“Yes?” she asked, turning. “I thought I’d already given my statement to that cute young hunk over there,” she said, pointing to Maeda who was still on stage.

“Does anyone else have a key to this closet?”

She shook her head. “Just the Madame and me. Though I don’t really keep it locked, except late at night.”

“What’s the stool in there for? Do you rest in there during your shift, or?”

She shook her head again. “Oh no, That’s Satsuma-sama’s seat. She comes in here sometimes for a bit of peace and quiet. Her poor head, you know. Bad headaches, nothing she’s tried helped.”

Shinichi entered the closet, and amidst the cleaning agents on the shelves was a water bottle, very out of place.

“You don’t keep poisons in here?”

“Oh no sir, not at all!” she said, paling as she realized what he was implying. “There’s her own water bottle, I tell ya, and I ain’t never seen anyone use it but Satsuma-sama herself,” she said, nodding.

“Leave your cleaning cart here,” Shinichi said, and called Tome over to process the crime scene before they tested the water bottle. Takagi followed behind him.

It was positive for cyanide.

“Good catch,” Takagi said. “I don’t know what we’d do without you, Officer Kudō.”

“Crash and burn?” he said wryly. “According to Kuroba-kun, no one knew where she went when she disappeared for short periods of time, but the closet was left unlocked and anyone could have had access to her water when she wasn’t in here.”

Takagi sighed. “So really, we’re right back to where we started, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” Shinichi said. “It could have been anyone with regular access to the stage.”

“Damn,” she cursed. “And I was really hoping we’d made some progress.”

Shinichi looked at his watch. The trains would stop running soon. “Do you mind if I head on out?” Ran and I took the train here, and they’re about to stop running.”

“I can take you in my car if you need more time,” Takagi said.

“Would you?” Shinichi asked.

“Sure. We should probably start wrapping things up here anyway. There’s not much left we can do. We didn’t find any traces of anything on any of the cast members, so the water bottle was definitely the poison vector."

Shinichi frowned. “Ishida’s capsules?”

“Aspirin,” Takagi said. “Nothing was hidden in either of the dressing rooms, we found nothing of interest in the closet. We can’t do anything else until we get the autopsy.”

“I guess it will be another bright and early day at HQ tomorrow then, won’t it?” Shinichi said.

Takagi laughed. “Guess so.”

“So much for my day off.”

“There, there,” she said. “Go on with Ran. I’ll meet you out front.”

Ran was deep in conversation with Director Yamato when she saw Shinichi approach. She bowed, then hurried over to meet up with him. “I got to talk with Yamato-san!” she said, bouncing in her excitement. “She’s a former star with a lifetime achievement award in ballet!”

“She seems nice,” Shinichi agreed.

“Oh, you don’t have to humor me. I know they’re all suspects,” Ran said, waving him off.

"I'm sorry, Ran. This always happens—"

"Don't worry about it, Shinichi. I got to meet a lot of cool and interesting new people, and it's not like you killed her, is it?"

"Well, no—"

"Then seriously! Quit worrying about it! I had a lot of fun!" She tapped her lips. "Okay, truth be told it was really scary in the middle of it, but the first and last parts were fun!"

"I'm glad, then. We should do more things together."

"I agree. It's not like a murder happens at everything we go to, and the show was great until she died." She frowned. "I hate how used to that I am."

He looped his arm around hers. "It doesn't mean you don't care, though."

"Oh, I know. Still, deaths shouldn't be treated as something so commonplace, and that is what bothers me most, I think. I see someone die, and it doesn’t upset me anymore. I just think, ‘What a waste, forgetting the fact that these are people with real, full lives and loved ones."

"Yeah. Don't I know it," Shinichi said with a sigh. That topic was too depressing, so he cast about in his mind for a new one as they exited the building and walked towards Takagi's car. "What were your thoughts on the dancers?"

"They're good! Despite the masks, they were very emotive, don’t you think? Especially the Prince!” She tilted her head. “I feel like I’ve seen him before, though I couldn’t recall where.”

Shinichi stopped. “You, too?” Then he shook his head and continued walking, leaning back against Takagi’s car.

“Huh. So we’ve both seen him somewhere, then,” Ran said, considering. “Speak of the devil,” she said, straightening up.

Indeed, there Kuroba stood, leaning against the side of the building, watching him and Ran with something like wistfulness or longing. Well, maybe not watching. He had his phone to his ear, talking to someone. Perhaps he was just using his mobile phone? Still, it was slightly strange that he’d followed them outside. Or maybe Shinichi was just paranoid. When he saw that Inspector Takagi had followed him out and was talking to him, he realized he was definitely being paranoid.

Takagi left him at the door shortly after, got in the car, and drove them home.

Shinichi didn't go to sleep, though. He had far too much research to do.

[2]

Shinichi yawned. He was up far, far too early for this in his opinion. The coffee in his hand was overwarm and overbitter. He’d fallen asleep fast but gotten up early, mind wrapped up in this strange case.

He sniffed, pressing the elevator down to the mortuary basement. He tilted his head to one side, cracking his neck, then tilted his head to the other side.

The elevator dinged, letting him off. He took a last gulp of the coffee and tossed it in the bin next to the elevators, knocking on the door to the autopsy room.

“Ah, Kudō-kun!” Doc Tanaka said, opening the door for him. “Welcome, welcome.”

“What do you have for me, Doc?” Shinichi asked.

“It’s unusual. You’ll like it,” she said. “Vic was twenty-eight, and my initial findings confirmed that cyanide was the most likely cause of death.”

“But you said it was unusual.”

“Right! She was very athletic. Must have kept to a strict diet too, no alcohol, nearly perfectly healthy on the outside.”

“Nearly,” Shinichi said.

“Right.” She tapped her head with her scalpel. “And then we get to the brain. I took it out to weigh it and discovered some issues with the frontal lobe. Look there.” She poked at the pictures on the lightboard. “What do you see?”

Shinichi squinted. “A strange mass of tissue?"

"Which is?" Tanaka said, leading.

Hell if Shinichi knew. "She had brain cancer?”

“Indeed! Correct again! We will make you a medical examiner yet!”

“I like my current job, thanks,” Shinichi said.

“She had several meningiomas, two of them in the frontal lobe, one of them in the parietal lobe.”

He tapped his fingers on the table, peering down at her naked form. “I noticed you didn’t mention any other organs.”

“Correct again! With my new knowledge, I went back over her again. Upon a closer examination, I noticed they metastasized from her lung.”

Shinichi frowned, peering down at her. “No one mentioned any symptoms relating to that, though. All of them were neurological.”

“Yes. It’s uncommon, but not exactly unusual for cancer to metastasize from unknown sources, or for it to grow faster than the primary tumor. In fact, if I hadn’t been looking for it, I don’t think I would have found the one in her lung. It likely wouldn’t have shown up on imaging when she was alive.”

Shinichi’s fingers tapped faster. So someone wanted her dead, but how likely was it that she would have died anyway?

“Can you tell if it was terminal?”

Tanaka tilted her head. “Well, what I can tell you is the second one in her frontal lobe was inoperable, but she had no signs of non-surgical options. If I had to guess, I’d say maybe, oh, six months?”

“That soon?” he murmured.

“Give or take a couple of months,” Doc Tanaka said, wiggling her hand. “Oncology isn’t exactly my field. Anyway, we’re still waiting on the toxicology report, but I’m confident in declaring the cause of death as cyanide. I’ll have the detailed report to you in a couple of days,” Tanaka said, reaching to grab a loose sheaf of papers from her desk.

“Thanks, Doc,” Shinichi said, paging through them.

With the new information, Shinichi needed to go back and interview the rest of the company sooner rather than later.

He met up with Inspector Takagi, getting the consolidated reports from Ishikawa and Maeda, and read them before taking his car from Metropolitan Headquarters to Haido Recital Hall.

Shinichi felt he was getting to know Beika’s Company quite well as he approached the hall for a second time. With most of the cast dismissed as suspects, he just had a few pertinent questions left to ask the main cast for.

The doorman let him in without asking for his badge, and the receptionist bowed and directed him to the practice studios on the other side of the venue. The first one was empty, but the second one had a pair of dancers in there, supervised by Madame Yamato.

To his surprise, it was two danseurs standing in a clinch, Kuroba and an unknown male. Kuroba was leaning against his torso, arm behind him to caress his face, while the man had his hand on Kuroba's stomach.

Both were shirtless wearing nothing but ballet leggings, which were very tight and almost sheer. Every twitch, every outline of their muscles was visible, and they both had lean, toned bodies from head to toe.

Shinichi's mouth went dry, and he shifted, uncomfortable at the intimacy of the pose, ignoring the swoop in his stomach as he glanced down at Kuroba’s oddly flat and smooth groin.

“Again!” the Madame said, cracking her thin cane against Kuroba's thigh. Kuroba, whom he needed to speak with. He also needed to speak with Yamato, but it was Kuroba he’d prioritized after reading the notes.

"Madame!" he said, snapping to attention.

"From the top and one, two, three, four—"

Shinichi hadn't seen the dance they were performing before, and he really didn't know enough about ballet to describe what they were doing in accurate terms even after his feverish research session, but Kuroba was in the role of a female dancer while the unknown male took the lead. Their muscles rippled and flexed under their skin as he lifted Kuroba with ease; Kuroba braced himself on his partner to help support the lift, folding his body near in two as his foot nearly touched his head, proving to Shinichi that not only were they very athletic, Kuroba was also very flexible.

But then, Shinichi knew that already.

Kuroba had to have at least fifteen kilograms over Satsuma Isabela, but his partner still lifted him with ease.

He set him down, and Kuroba spun away, leaning to the side and swaying dramatically.

Because he'd been so focused on his body, Shinichi hadn't realized Kuroba wore en pointe shoes. Now, Shinichi wasn't any kind of balletomane, but between Ran and his research session last night, he now knew men traditionally didn't study en pointe.

That didn't appear to stop Kuroba, who glided across the dance floor as if he were floating completely on the tips of his toes.

Ethereal and full of grace, Shinichi watched the love blossom on each other's face as they twined even more desperately together, dancing as if they were one.

He felt his face heat, and wondered what the director was thinking, having two men do this kind of thing. And his own reaction to the way they moved so intimately together, it was like—he was like—he couldn’t be gay, right?

Right? he thought desperately. They were both covered in sweat, and their bodies gleamed under the studio lights. Kuroba’s heaving chest stoked an ember deep inside Shinichi’s heart, and it blazed into being like oil on a fire.

What was it about Kuroba? Why did he seem so familiar, like Shinichi already knew him? He was so comfortable in the arms of another man, so at home, that Shinichi couldn’t help but put himself in the other man’s place.

He wanted to be in the other man’s place.

And imagining the flex of those muscles and the strength of that body during other physical activities—

The snap of the cane brought him out of his spiraling thoughts. They’d finished the section they were working on. “Kuroba!” Madame Yamato barked. “Your final cabriole was sloppy. You can do better.”

“Madame!”

“And you, Itō. Are those what you call sissonnes ouvertes? Run through it again, from the top.”

“Madame!” Itō barked.

They began the sequence from the beginning again, and the director turned to face him. “Detective Kudō. I’d say it’s a pleasure, but considering the circumstances, it is not.”

Shinichi inclined his head towards the danseurs. “I’m surprised you’re back to practice already.”

“We have a show to do, Detective. Life does not stop because of one person’s death.”

“Some people might call that callous,” Shinichi said.

“Hmph. What’s callous are the two girls in the role of Marie abandoning their company to financial ruin!”

“What?”

“We lost three dancers in a single night! The audacity of those girls,” she said, shaking her head. “Beika Ballet Company is family. Fleeing in cowardice does not have consequences for just them, but for the entire Company!”

It took Shinichi a long second to parse that. “The understudies quit?” he asked.

“Citing murder as the reason! Murder!” she said, throwing her hands up into the air. “As if dozens of other dancers haven’t put their blood, sweat, and tears into this performance!”

“But you’re still rehearsing?” Shinichi said, confused.

“Hmph. Only because Kuroba knows the role well enough to dance Marie. It is unusual, but he is willing. However, you are interrupting.” She put her hands on her hips. “Why are you here?”

“Oh right, uh, we came into some new information, so I thought I’d ask some follow up questions, if that’s alright.”

She turned her head and yelled at her danseurs. “Kuroba! Itō! Come answer Detective Kudō’s questions!”

Kuroba and Itō stopped mid-routine. Itō drank from a closed water bottle as Kuroba toweled off. Sweat dripped down his bare chest. Shinichi licked his lips. “Ah, Detective! You enjoyed my company so much, you had to come back for more, huh?” he said, breathless from exertion.

His words made Shinichi flush a deep red. He cleared his throat, ignoring him. “Madame, were you aware that Satsuma-san had cancer?”

“She what?” Kuroba asked, teasing expression gone, face now pinched in distress, at the same time the Madame closed her eyes, letting out a slow exhale, tilting her head back.

After a long moment, she said, “No, I was not. I knew that she’d been seeing a specialist of some kind but I thought it was simply about her headaches, nothing more. Though I suppose it still was, in a sense.”

Hmm. That didn’t feel right. “Kuroba, you’re pretty in tune with everyone here. Do you think anyone else had an inkling?”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t think anyone knew.”

Madame Yamato harrumphed. "Likely because she knew what I'd do if she came to me with it."

Shinichi frowned. "Fire her?"

"Heavens, no. But it is likely I would have monitored her much more closely and restricted her practices to a certain extent, requiring my presence anytime she was in the studio. She was highly protective of her time.”

That made sense. Shinichi turned to his partner. “Itō, was it? What do you do?”

Despite being rather broad for a danseur, he was quiet and reserved. “I generally perform as part of the ensemble unless I’m required to fill Kuroba-san’s role.”

“Did you know that Kuroba was going to take over Satsuma-san’s role?”

The man shook his head. “That’s why Kuroba-san and I were split from the other dancers. He’s helping me work on it.”

“Kuroba, you’re going to be performing her role, costumes and all?” Shinichi asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“Was that your goal?”

“Not quite, no.”

“How do you know the role?”

Kuroba crossed his arms. A defensive move. “I told you, Bela and I were friends. We practiced together during our off hours, that’s all.” He jerked his head at Madame Yamato. “She knew.”

The Madame harrumphed. “I did. And before you get that silly thought in your head, he didn't volunteer. Out of desperation, I asked."

Relief swept through Shinichi. Their preliminary findings had exonerated Kuroba until this new information put him on Shinichi's suspect list again, and he found himself beyond happy that he hadn’t had the intention to become the principal dancer for the show. "So you decided to dance the part even though it could lead to your death?"

"With all due respect, Detective, they're welcome to try." He grinned, wild and manic, and once again, familiarity struck deep inside Shinichi's heart. Who was Kuroba? Why was he so familiar to Shinichi? Why did he feel so drawn to him?

“I don’t mean to interrupt your practice, but I was wondering if I could borrow Kuroba for a more in-depth interview, Madame?”

“Yes. Anything to find out who did this to my dear Isabela,” Madame Yamato said. “Especially when she was already struck with such tragedy, and keeping it to herself. She must have felt so alone.”

“Detective, you hear that? You can have me,” Kuroba joked, and Shinichi blushed again, his face hot, burying his face behind his manila folder. What was with this guy? Why was Shinichi so affected?

“Um, not to intrude, but I do need to make sure I have the main choreography down by tonight,” Itō said.

“Not to worry, Itō. You will be dancing with me,” Madame Yamato said. Itō gulped audibly. “Let us start from six—”

“All right, Detective, here I am,” Kaito said. “Interview away.”

“Can we go to a place that has a little more privacy?” Shinichi asked.

Kuroba stared at him in surprise. “I don’t know. Can we?” Kuroba said. Shinichi sighed, ignoring the gibe at his grammar. Kuroba followed him the short way to the empty studio next door, closing the door behind them. “So, what did you need to know?” he asked, sitting down on one of the chairs near the door and patting the chair next to him.

Shinichi preferred to stand. “You misled me. Sources indicate you did spend a lot of time together with Satsuma,” he said, flipping through the annotated statements of the other investigators.

“Yes. I told you we were friends.”

"You also told me she didn't like you."

"She didn't."

"And you didn't know she was sick?" Shinichi asked.

Anger filled Kuroba; he tensed, his posture stiff. "I wouldn't lie about something like that. That's too disrespectful. I know it's part of your job to ask the same thing in slightly different ways, but really. That’s too much.”

“And you’re continuing in her role despite the risk of your own death?” Shinichi stepped forward towards his chair.

“Who wouldn’t? Someone had to.”

“That’s not a popular opinion.” He stepped forward again until he was almost looming over him.

“What’s this about, Detective?” he asked. “Don’t waste my time. I have very little of it; I could be in rehearsal right now.”

Shinichi was quiet for a minute or two longer, gathering his thoughts, formulating how he was going to say them. Finally, he said, “Something’s off about you, Kuroba. I don’t know what it is, but I’m going to find out.”

He gripped his legs so tightly his knuckles turned white. “So you really think I did it.”

Shinichi laughed, short and sharp. “No, the evidence doesn’t add up.”

“Then why am I here?” he asked, still tense.

“Because I need your help to solve this case,” Shinichi said.

“The lauded detective needs my help to solve a case. Will wonders never cease?” he said, shifting back in the chair, holding his hands up in mock surprise. “What could you possibly need my help for?”

"Live bait," Shinichi said.

Understanding crossed his face. "You're going to use me to draw out her killer."

"You're already doing it anyway; I don’t need you to do anything extra. Just dance tonight."

"I didn't say I had a problem with it. Of course I'll do it," Kuroba said, leaning forward and putting his head on his hands, elbows resting on his knees.

A silence that grew long, Shinichi wracked by indecision. He didn’t want the conversation to end. He wanted to keep talking to him. He wanted to pry him apart, figure out why he made him feel this way. Why did he recognize him? Why did Shinichi want him?

He turned his head and looked up towards Shinichi. "You're still here."

"I'm not finished with you," Shinichi said, taking a last step forward, something wild welling in his heart. He was in Kuroba's space now. What would he do?

Kuroba stood up. "What else could there possibly be?" he asked, bewildered. “I already agreed, didn’t I?”

Shinichi slammed his palm against the wall, leaning in close. “Who are you?”

“Kuroba Kaito—”

“Bullshit!” Shinichi said. “I know you. I know you. Who are you?”

“I don’t think I can give you any answer you’re going to accept,” Kuroba said quietly. He wouldn't meet his eyes.

“Did I meet you on another case? Were you in one of my university classes? Who are you?” Shinichi asked, almost desperate, leaning even closer.

Something in Kuroba’s face changed. His eyes grew sly, half-lidded, and he smirked. “My, my, Detective. How quickly we forget, hmm?”

And then Kuroba closed the distance between them, kissing him.

Shinichi gasped, shocked at the turn things had taken, and Kuroba used that to his advantage, running his tongue over his bottom lip before slipping it into his mouth.

Oh. He was still shirtless, dressed only in leggings and ballet shoes. Shinichi wrapped his arms around him, running his hands down that perfect back. He kissed like a professional, and heat surged through Shinichi’s body, warming him to his toes.

Shinichi pressed him back, only for Kuroba to yelp and lose his balance over the legs of the chair. Shinichi grasped at him desperately, and he pitched forward, knocking them both to the ground, hard.

“Ow,” Shinichi groaned, seeing stars. He’d fallen flat and hit his head on the floor. Having better balance, Kuroba had straddled his stomach trying to catch himself. Both of Shinichi’s hands cupped his—there was nothing but bare skin under those leggings.

“Do you not wear anything under that?” Shinichi asked, highly interested.

“Do you think that I’m nak—I’m wearing a dancer’s belt,” Kuroba said, exasperated. “For support. Otherwise there’d be unsightly lines all over the place!”

“Oh,” Shinichi said, blinking. That made sense. He supposed that's what he got for thinking with the wrong head. Then he said, “I’m on duty and you’re a person of interest in this case.”

It was more to remind himself than anything else, but Kuroba said, “I didn’t do it.”

“I don’t think you did,” Shinichi said. Then he rested his injured head against the floor. “But I’m still on duty.”

“And your hands are still on my ass,” Kuroba said, voice wry.

“In my defense, it’s a nice ass,” Shinichi said, squeezing it. Very firm, very round.

“Be careful, Detective. I might get ideas,” Kuroba purred, leaning down to press a kiss on the corner of Shinichi’s mouth. Shinichi shuddered, continuing to massage him.

“Do you want to go to the victim’s apartment with me?” Shinichi asked.

“That’s your idea of a first date?” Kuroba said, shaking his head. But he was grinning.

“Please?”

“I’d love to, but I really do need to rehearse,” Kuroba said, forlorn. “And you need to catch my friend’s killer, hmm?”

“But—”

“What if it really is me?” He pinched Shinichi’s nose and rattled his head. “Get your head back into the case.”

“It is!” Shinichi said, voice nasal. “And I know it’s not you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be in this position!” Really though, Kuroba had a fantastic ass.

“Think of me as a reward for a job well done then.” He put his hands on his hips. “Now, really, Detective. I’m going nowhere. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

“I know, it’s just—”

“Be a good boy and go solve this case for me, okay?” He patted Shinichi’s cheek. “I know it’s what you love to do, and you’ve never let me down yet.”

“Who are you?” Shinichi murmured, heart warm.

“You find it a lot more fun to figure it out yourself,” Kuroba said, trailing his fingers down his neck. “What I want to know is if you interview all your suspects this way.”

That cinched it. Kuroba knew him. “Of course not. Just you.”

"Mmm. Detective, I'm honored." He bent down and kissed him again.

Shinichi hadn't felt like this in so long. He didn't get attached to strangers like this. But he knew Kuroba, somehow from somewhere, and Kuroba knew him in return.

With some reluctance, Kuroba stood, and then he helped Shinichi gather his papers. He paused at one sheaf stapled together, flipping through. "Oh, you really did clear me."

Shinichi nodded. "Eyewitness reports, including mine, corroborate you never left the stage during the time she was suspected to have been poisoned. You have some suspicious gaps in your schedule but everyone is entitled to a little privacy. If you're a criminal, it's for some other crime."

Kuroba laughed. He had a beautiful laugh. “Would that be a problem?” he said, his voice low, and Shinichi’s brain pinged.

It struggled futilely in the presence of Kuroba’s half-naked body, though. "Depends on what it is. I ought to get you for public indecency."

"Not yet. But if you stay—"

Point taken. Shinichi needed to leave for his own sanity. Before he left, though, he touched that chest of his, ghosting his palm across his lean, toned body before pulling him into another kiss.

"Bring your water bottle when you dance tonight, but don't drink anything," Shinichi ordered. "Make it believable, though."

"Yes, sir," Kuroba said. "You'll find I'm very good at pretending." He kissed him again.

Shinichi really needed to go, though. “I’ll walk you back next door,” he said, finding his hand.

Kuroba gave it a gentle squeeze as they turned to walk out of the studio. “I’ll be waiting for you, Detective. Go solve this.”

With one last longing gaze, Shinichi left him behind.

Naturally, the first thing he did was call Ran. "Ran, I'm gay?" he confessed, bewildered. It was a question, more than anything.

"I don’t think so," she said, thoughtful. "You seemed genuinely attracted to me. You’re bisexual, maybe?"

…That actually made him feel a little better. Less like the world was falling out from under his feet. Both. He could live with that.

"Tell me what happened," she continued, and Shinichi did. She didn't actually laugh at him, but she had warmth in her tone when she said, "Shinichi, honey, it's not the end of the world."

"It feels like it," he muttered, petulant.

"He kissed you back, right?"

"Yes."

"And he seemed just as interested, right?"

"Yes."

"So what's the problem, here?"

"Other than him being a suspect in this case?" Shinichi asked. "Everything."

She laughed. "Don't be so melodramatic. You have a good eye, Shinichi. He was clearly into you from the beginning."

Shinichi blinked. "He was?"

"Shinichi, I think the only reason he didn't crawl all over you was the circumstances in which you met. The desire in that gaze, whew!"

"Huh," Shinichi said, stunned. "Really?"

"Really."

"All right, then." He cleared his throat.

An awkward silence.

"Thanks, Ran."

"No problem. And Shinichi—congratulations, really."

"Thanks," he said quietly.

They said their goodbyes, and Shinichi hung up.

Kuroba, however, lingered on Shinichi’s mind as he drove to her apartment.

It was a small complex on the edge of the sixth block, maybe seven floors. She lived on three, and Shinichi snapped on gloves, using her key to get in. They’d already processed her apartment last night, but maybe they’d missed something.

Her presence was minimal here just like in the rest of her life. It was like she was hardly there; what was there wouldn’t look out of place in a home design magazine. Very little personal touches. The design itself was minimalist, utilitarian. Small. He wandered through the space, and the only spot of color and spontaneity was in her closet. But even there, the fashionable clothes felt sorely out of place, like they needed to be hidden from the rest of the world.

It had two bedrooms; the second bedroom was a study replete with a desk. The top of it was clear, still no photos or personal items or even papers. There was tidiness, and then there was austerity, and it was clear which way Satsuma Isabela tended.

He stood in the study, stroking his chin, thinking about what their investigation had uncovered about her. She was half-Japanese, estranged from her family on both sides who hadn’t liked the marriage between her parents. Her parents themselves had died about a decade ago when she was a teenager, both of them succumbing to their injuries in a terrible car accident.

Neither side of her family had wanted her, so she’d petitioned the court to emancipate her, and Madame Yamato had taken her in since she was the most promising member of the company.

It really seemed such a sad and lonely life.

He turned, and a framed diploma on the wall caught his eye. “A degree in biochemistry,” he said to himself.

Looking back at the desk, he rifled through the drawers, looking for something, anything.

In the second drawer of the heavy desk, in a stack of correspondence, was a letter from a professor at Teitan University, handwritten with the Teitan letterhead. Shinichi skimmed over it. It stated that of course she was free to use any of the labs on campus at any time, despite the fact her life had taken her down other avenues. She’d have to have something to do after she aged out of dancing, after all.

A degree in biochem. Access to a lab. Terminal cancer and a flair for the dramatic. That meant—

Huh.

Well. It didn’t preclude other options, and it was only circumstantial so far, but Shinichi thought he’d figured out the case.

Now for the final piece.

The night came wet and windy. Shinichi huddled in his raincoat and umbrella and the rain still hit him in sheets, leaving him damp as he walked the short way to the performer entrance and dithered around backstage.

Despite that fact, it was a packed house. Satsuma’s death and Kuroba’s unusual replacement had brought a lot of people interested in the spectacle to the show.

Through the stage lights, Shinichi watched the officers station themselves on multiple levels, interspersed with security.

Backstage, Madame Yamato barked last minute orders. Itō was in costume, Ishida and Miyamura were right there, but where was Kuroba?

They all had small 250mL PET bottles, drinking them in one sitting if they needed to.

Kuroba then drifted out of Satsuma's old dressing room with a sports bottle in his hand, and Shinichi's heart stopped.

He was taller than the average ballerina, yes, but if Shinichi hadn't known he was dancing the part of Marie, he would have been firmly convinced the person in front of him was a woman.

Shinichi only knew of two people in the world with that level of skill, and only one was a man.

Kaitō KID.

He'd kissed Kaitō KID.

He blushed, warmth spreading down to his toes. He'd missed Kaitō KID. His heists hadn't stopped, but they'd slowed significantly. Shinichi guessed the grueling practice schedule of a danseur was the reason why. Much to his regret, Shinichi hadn't been able to go to any since before he finished university.

It was nice to see him again, Shinichi mused. He laughed at himself. More than nice, actually, since that was an understatement. He'd been joking about the criminal thing, but KID was harmless. He was glad, too, of the realization that it offered; the facts had been on Kuroba's side, but Shinichi knew KID would never kill anyone if he could help it.

No wonder he was hesitant about Shinichi figuring out his identity. Idiot. Like Shinichi would try to catch him outside a heist. Besides, that wasn’t his purview as a detective. He had no interest in thieves. Well. At least not in that way.

Kuroba—the Kaitō KID—met Shinichi’s eyes and nodded. That meant they’d finished setting the cameras up while the rest of the performers had been distracted. Kuroba was the only one that knew.

He set his water bottle backstage in a spot deliberately set up to be lightly guarded.

The lights went down and the show began.

Kuroba was beautiful like this. Graceful, delicate, floating, perfect. Shinichi thought he could watch him forever. Such power, such form…Shinichi wondered what brought him here, that ballet was his day job? He made a note to himself to ask.

They made it to the battle with the Rat King, Shinichi waiting for it, impatient. Kuroba was the lynchpin of their plan and it was almost time to begin.

Kuroba leapt up, shocked by the entrance of Ishida in his menacing Rat King costume, eyes glowing a fearsome red. Itō stood in front of him protectively, defending “Marie.”

Wait for it.

The heated battle raged across the stage, the dancers twirling in perfect choreography.

Then as the scene began to ebb, Kuroba staggered across the stage in an exaggerated faint, falling to the floor and ending the scene, right on cue.

The lights went down. Someone laughed, evil and menacing, echoing across the stage. The lights came back up. Kuroba didn’t move.

Murmurs filled the audience, harmonizing with the susurrus of whispers. Kuroba still didn’t move. Itō hovered over him, unsure what to do.

They couldn’t have their ruse discovered early, so Shinichi himself crossed the stage. The murmurs from the audience grew. He knelt before Kuroba and felt his pulse.

“He’s dead,” Shinichi said grimly.

Shock from the audience and the stage; Madame Yamato let out a wounded cry. “No one leaves,” Shinichi said. “Officers, remain at the exits. The killer is here.” He paced back and forth in front of Kuroba’s body. The spotlights centered on him; he was in his element. They’d wanted to dramatize this, so Shinichi would.

“Inspector Takagi. Is the projector set up?”

“Yes, Detective,” Takagi said. He couldn’t see her fierce grin from here, but he imagined she was wearing it.

“How’s the feed?”

“It caught everything,” Takagi said. She pressed a button, and the white backdrop lowered. He heard another click of the line, and the projector started to play.

Kuroba’s water bottle was centered in the middle of the frame. The time stamp was a little over thirty minutes ago. Ishida, in the rat costume but with his face bare, hunched over it like a rat, dribbling something from a clear capsule into it.

“I’d say that’s proof, wouldn’t you?” Shinichi said, his voice cold. “Officers?” They came towards him from every direction on the stage, leaving him no place to run.

“It wasn’t me! I’ve been framed!” he said, but the proof was right there, playing in a forty second loop above them all.

“Take him away. I think we’re done here,” Shinichi said, mouth twisted in a feral grin, and they did.

The audience clapped. It was acknowledgement he didn’t need, and only half the story besides. Maeda and Ishikawa were confirming the other half of it at Ishida’s apartment as they waited.

Shinichi turned back towards Kuroba and held out a hand. Kuroba rose and took it to the audience’s gasp, and Shinichi helped him to his feet. Kuroba bowed, Shinichi following, and then they left the stage.

“Thank you,” Kuroba murmured.

Shinichi pulled him close, uncaring of who was watching, and whispered in his ear. “No, thank you, Kaitō KID.”

Kuroba’s smile could have lit up the sun. Shinichi reluctantly left his embrace.

The show continued from that point on, rolling back to the beginning of the scene, Ishida’s understudy coming out to replace him.

Shinichi left Haido Recital Hall without looking back, hands in his pockets and a grin on his face.

Later that night, he’d just gotten out of the shower when he heard a rattling knock on the window in his bedroom. Clutching his towel tightly, he crept to his door, opening it slowly, only to see one Kuroba Kaito standing on his windowsill, framed by the high arch, curtains fluttering in the breeze.

His gaze was molten, dragging over Shinichi long and slow. Shinichi laughed and shook his head. He always had to be dramatic.

“Come on in, it’s cold out there,” Shinichi said, shivering from the cool air hitting his damp body.

“Are you sure?” Kuroba said, hands in his pockets. “I died tonight. You might be letting in a vampire.”

An undignified snort. “I’ll take that chance,” Shinichi said as Kuroba came in, Shinichi locking the window behind him. “What brings you here?”

“What you did,” Kuroba trailed off, licking his lips. “What you said. That wasn’t everything. I know that wasn’t everything.”

Ah, of course. For someone that prided himself for being just a thief, he was awfully nosy sometimes. "We rushed the labs. I got the results just before I arrived tonight. Satsuma had eight times the lethal amount of cyanide in her system."

"Eight times?" Kuroba said, frowning.

"Eight times," Shinichi confirmed, grabbing his wrist and leading him to the bed, where they both sat down. His skin was cold. Had Kuroba been waiting out there the whole time? He entwined their fingers together. "Two capsules. She was poisoned twice."

Kuroba stilled, grip tightening. "You're not saying what I think you're saying."

Shinichi squeezed back, sympathetic. "I'm sorry. She took her own life."

"But you just arrested Daisuke for her murder."

"He killed her," Shinichi said. "The same way he tried to kill you. We just don't know which dose killed her."

"But for me, it's attempted murder."

"Yes."

"So it's imperative that you get him on something definitive."

"Also yes. The sentence is much longer, and I don’t want him out there."

"Why did he try to poison me, then?"

"Seething, raging jealousy. We have his blog posts. They're essentially a declaration of intent towards both you and her. He thought you were dating."

"I already told you that we weren’t, Detective—"

Shinichi cupped his cheek as Kuroba leaned into his hand. He swept his thumb across his cheek, letting his hand linger for a moment before trailing it down his arm and finding his hand again. "Oh, I know. Anyway, it’s circumstantial, but it proves motive and intent beyond reasonable doubt. Satsuma was the one that sourced the cyanide, through the lab at the university, and through her, he had access to it. Since we didn't find them at her apartment, I'm betting they'll be at his."

"And if they're not?"

"We have him anyway," Shinichi said, waving him off. “The circumstantial evidence is enough to prove he did it. No one else had that kind of access.” He sighed. "It's sad. She broke up with him when she found out her cancer was inoperable, not wanting him to watch her die. She couldn't bear chemotherapy and how it would affect her.”

“And he thought she broke up with him to pursue me,” Kuroba said.

“Exactly,” Shinichi agreed. “It’s a tragedy all around.”

Kuroba pulled away, putting his face in his hands, leaning forward, sighing. “Why does this always have to happen to my friends?” he said, voice muffled. “It doesn’t matter what I do. Is death going to continue to follow me around everywhere?”

Shinichi had had such thoughts. They stayed with him, even now. “It doesn’t do you any good to dwell,” he said, scooting closer, rubbing his hand up and down Kuroba’s back. “You’re not responsible for the actions of other people.”

“Are you so sure about that?”

“I’m certain.”

Kuroba harrumphed. “If you say so.” He let out another mournful sigh, resting his head on Shinichi’s shoulder. Shinichi’s arm snaked around his waist, and he held him tightly, offering silent support.

They sat in silence for another few minutes before Kuroba raised his head again. “You know,” Kuroba said, “I keep expecting you to comment on what you said, on seeing me tonight.”

“What do you want me to say? I said it depends on the crime,” Shinichi said. “What do you expect me to do?”

“I don’t know, arrest me?”

“I work in homicide, not theft,” Shinichi said. “Besides, it doesn’t count if I don't catch you at a heist.”

“I see,” Kuroba said, sounding like he didn’t see at all. “And you stopped coming to heists.”

“Exactly!” Shinichi said, pleased that he got it.

Another long silence, this time with Kuroba examining him like he was something under a microscope.

The answer suddenly came to him. “Oh, are you upset I stopped coming to heists?” Shinichi asked.

Kuroba shuttered his expression. His face was inscrutable. “...No,” he said.

“You were,” Shinichi said in realization. “You totally were!”

“No,” he repeated more firmly.

“You had a crush on me, even then!” Shinichi felt heady, triumphant. Wow. After all this time, KID had still—wow.

“No!” Kuroba said again with even more emphasis.

“That’s why you were flirting with me,” Shinichi said, caught up in the rush of deduction. “You never expected to see me again and were taking advantage of the opportunity!”

Kuroba sighed again. “If you say so. You’re the one obsessed with my ass.” It was a weak rejoinder, and Kuroba knew it.

“How did you end up a danseur, anyway?” he asked. “I thought for sure you’d be a magician.”

“And that’s exactly why I picked up ballet again,” Kuroba said. “I wasn’t kidding about my mother putting me into classes when I was younger in order to build up my strength and flexibility. I also took gymnastics.”

“I see. Your mother��s the Phantom Lady, right?” Shinichi tilted his head. Kuroba nodded. “So that was her way of training you.”

“One of them, yes.”

“And that’s your way of hiding who you are.”

“Something like that. I figured it wouldn’t take you too much to get it,” Kuroba said. “I keep up to date with my tricks, but given the bias and stereotyping around danseurs, you will understand exactly why I chose it as a career path.”

“It’s a great way to mask who you really are. And given your skills at mimicry, and your ability to learn and retain information, you become a genius of ballet,” Shinichi said.

“And hard work. Don’t forget hard work. Coming back to it so late, I had a lot of catching up to do,” he said. “Madame Yamato was a great help. I’m so happy it wasn’t her,” he said.

Shinichi stroked his side. “She’s like a mother figure to you, isn’t she?”

"She's good to her Company. She’s been more my mother to me than my mother has been in a long time."

“Did you have any idea who it was?” Shinichi asked.

“No,” Kuroba said. “Like I told you before, I wanted to think the best of everyone. I couldn’t possibly think any one of them did it, because that would mean the people I trusted with my own heart were failable, and I just—”

He leaned his head onto Shinichi’s shoulder again. “I’m tired of murder, that’s all.” He sighed yet again. “It’s a dark and bloody magic, the taking of a life, and everyone suffers.”

Shinichi tightened his arm around his waist. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about,” Kuroba said, shifting over, pulling Shinichi closer, kissing his cheek next to his ear. “What I’m more surprised about is you flirting back, being so bold as to slam the wall next to my head. What is this, a romance manga?”

“Hush, you,” Shinichi said. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Or hentai, the way you were fondling me,” Kuroba said with a purr, trailing his hand down Shinichi’s chest. “You’ve gained a little weight, Detective.” He pinched Shinichi’s stomach between his finger and his thumb. "Too many doughnuts while out chasing innocent thieves?”

“Ha. Ha. No,” Shinichi said.

“Too bad. It’s cute.”

“Says the one that came in through my window. What kind of a person are you?”

“You didn’t bother to put on clothes, either. It’s like you knew who I was,” Kuroba said. “Were you trying to seduce me with your wily detective ways?” He licked the shell of his ear. Shinichi giggled, and then coughed, trying to hide the ridiculous sound.

But it was too late. Kuroba already caught it, his smirk driving Shinichi insane. “First of all, who else would come through my window?” Shinichi said. “Secondly, it’s three in the morning. You had to have been waiting for me to come home to surprise me. I bet you waited until just as I was in the shower too. Pervert,” Shinichi said, his neck heating up. He’d blushed more in the past few days than he had in the last several years.

“Maybe you caught me,” Kuroba said, shifting back and nuzzling his stomach. “Worth it to see you like this, I think.”

“Shut up,” Shinichi said, clutching at his towel. “I don’t have time to exercise like I used to.”

Kuroba blinked, pulling away and looking looking up. “You think that’s an insult, my dear?”

“Is it not?” Shinichi asked, crossing his arms over his bare torso and hunching in on himself.

“Not hardly,” Kuroba purred, spreading his arms apart and pushing him down to the bed.

Shinichi’s whole body was on fire from his words. KID was just too much! And here Shinichi thought he hadn’t changed. Stupid, audacious criminal! “Kuroba, be careful! The towel might slip!”

Kuroba tilted his head. “That sounds like a bonus, honestly,” he said, and then he straddled him, cupping Shinichi’s face in his hands, and kissed him.

The kisses before had been excellent, Shinichi was sure, but that was nothing compared to the ones now, the ones with knowledge of just who Kuroba was. It sent fire coursing through his entire body, and he stared up at Kuroba, warm with the knowledge of just who he was.

It was divine, utter bliss, to have the thief under his hands. How had he lied to himself for so long? How had he not realized that this is what he was after, that this is what he was missing?

He hated that it was murder brought them back together, but there was a part of him that was fiercely glad. Kuroba Kaito, the Kaito KID, was a good man, a kind man with a lovely smile and a brilliant mind. To have him back in his life—

He ignored the part of him that said he was the hottest man that Shinichi had ever seen.

Certainly, Kuroba had been a major source of discovery about himself. Kuroba had stoked those uncertain feelings Shinichi had always carried for him into a major flame.

After all this time, maybe the thing Shinichi always felt was attraction. That desire to challenge KID, to have him look at Shinichi and absolutely no one else. Maybe it wasn’t about the challenge at all, the desire to have KID’s focus solely on him. Maybe Shinichi’s crush was the secondary reason he’d never found time to go back to KID’s heists after a certain point.

He was in love. He’d been in love this whole time. And after so long without contact with him, he'd felt aimless. Unsteady.

His friendships were great, especially with Ran and Hattori, there were no doubts about that, but sometimes he wanted something more. Something soft and intimate. Something like this. Lips, soft and pliant and hot against his own. A hot body on top of his, wandering hands that explored his body with thorough care. And the nicest ass Shinichi had ever seen on anyone.

Kuroba kissed him hot and languid and slow, taking his time. He kept his hands above the waist, but they did wander, lingering and exploratory.

Shinichi wondered just what exactly he was exploring. He didn’t have the body of an athlete anymore, not like Kuroba did.

Kuroba didn’t seem to mind, though, a soft smile lighting up his entire face as he gazed into Shinichi’s eyes. He looked at Shinichi with awe, like he was some sort of precious thing.

“Look at you, my detective,” he said. “Look at you.”

The fondness in his eyes was too much; Shinichi had to look away. He couldn’t help it. It was just too much. Too real. Too…everything. He was everything. And he was here with Shinichi, in his room, in his arms.

Shinichi felt alive again, more than he had in such a long time.

He hadn’t died tonight. He hadn’t forgotten about him. By all accounts, he’d missed Shinichi. He’d even pined for him, if Shinichi had understood him.

"Stay?" Shinichi asked.

"Of course," Kuroba said, leaning down and pressing his face against his.

Shinichi trembled. This thing growing between them was soft and delicate like a flower. He exhaled slowly.

An amaryllis, perhaps. Two different flowers that shared the same name, once considered similar but split over time. Perhaps KID was the true amaryllis, the African flower. And perhaps Kuroba was really the hippeastrum, common name amaryllis.

It stayed dormant all summer in the northern hemisphere and bloomed at Christmas, carrying on into the spring.

Would this affair carry into spring? Shinichi didn't know. He wanted it to. Desperately.

"Forever?" he asked.

"If you want," Kuroba said, and he untucked Shinichi's towel, and pulled it away.

And the rest was lost to the night.

#kaishin #detective conan #dcmk #ksss22 #kuroba kaito #kudo shinichi0 #ballet au #case fic #murder mystery #identity reveal #sentinel writes

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