Stop Pretending, Uncle Maori

Conan fan fiction detective After traveling through time and becoming Mouri Kogoro, I did three things. First, avoid Conan's anesthesia needle. Second, identify the murderer before he can. Third, I discovered that there are people in this world who are "writing scripts." The anesthesia at Aimeito Central Hospital was changed. The girl who died on the operating table was missing a front tooth. The doctor who handed over the knife dared not speak for twenty-three years. The founder of the pharmaceutical company canceled his household registration and stuck pages in an old bookstore for thirty years, waiting for someone to knock on the door. They carved their names on the insides of life vests, on bookshelf dividers, and on temple pillars. Conan cut out these symbols one by one - T, hand, question mark, M, 307, Yuki, circle, crow - folded them and put them in his pocket. "I save it for them," he said. Justice is a matter of law. Remember it's a human thing. This is a story about "remembering". I patted his head: "Boy, shoot more accurately next time." From that day on, there was a sober waste in Miwa Town. And the high school student wearing glasses began to doubt life. [High energy warning: This may be the most in need of beating Mouri Kogoro you have ever seen]