Detective Conan: The Player Doesn't Care

[No CP] + [secret identities] + [outsiders’ perspective on a beautiful but tragic character] + [an unconventional fix-it fic] + [the protagonist’s morally gray actions are a little tipsy] + [Fourth Disaster, but an immersive player]

(Narrated in third person)

I’m so miserable.

My childhood friend got whacked on the head and turned ten years younger. I’m surrounded by a bunch of weird, creepy people, and in the end, a blond guy with dark skin half-threatened me into joining the organization. To save that elementary schooler, I changed my name and lived in constant fear, as if walking on thin ice over an abyss. In the end, I fell just before dawn.

Just kidding. I made it all up.

Gin is my big brother, Vermouth is my mom, and if the Boss treats me badly, I’ll just get a new one.

What bad intentions could a player possibly have?

Players are just collectors, that’s all.

Literary Version

I can give you the victory you want most.

No one dies. The whole world rejoices. The famous detective grows up and embraces his childhood sweetheart beneath a sea of flowers. The watcher in the dark steps out of the mist. Four familiar names stand waiting in their old place, arms around one another. The sorrowful girl looks back, and at the end of the light, her sister opens her arms.

So hush now. Please be quiet.

Blindfold yourselves. Let’s quietly change what “we won” means. Put a finger to your lips and pretend that every figure returning is just as they used to be.

Don’t look up. Don’t let anyone find out.

The crow cuts the burdening rope and flies toward the higher clouds.

When the leaders of both sides interlock their fingers, glasses clink, and golden liquid drips into the other’s bottle, blending into a more brilliant color, please believe that this is the best victory of all.

Out-of-character warning. Written for my personal tastes. Updated irregularly. Thank you for understanding.