[TL/N: New Book -
Anime Group Chat in a Doomsday World!]
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At this time, Conan had just come to the Mouri household. There was no elaborate prank involving his parents flying back from the United States, nor was there any arrangement for him to officially move into the Mouri residence under their pretense.
As a result, Dr. Agasa had little trouble bringing Conan back to Bartolomeo's own place.
Though the days of bathing with Ran as a child were behind him, Conan resolved to prioritize the matter of the Black Organization. For the sake of everyone's safety, he chose to leave his family behind and seek out Bartolomeo's assistance.
"Alright, this will be your new home~"
In the basement of the Barto Detective Agency, Bartolomeo gestured toward a training room lined with professional equipment and a modest bedroom adjacent to it. He grinned as he spoke to Conan.
"..."
Conan's gaze swept over the various advanced training apparatus and physical evaluation instruments. His expression soured, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"Are you seriously expecting a first-grade child to live in a dark basement like this?" he asked incredulously.
"Absolutely!" Bartolomeo responded without hesitation.
"This may be a basement, but thanks to Sonoko's generosity, we've installed the best fresh air system on the market. There's even a fully equipped lighting area. Living here is no worse than staying in your own villa."
Before Conan could voice further objections, Bartolomeo abruptly shifted topics.
"Speaking of which," Bartolomeo said, his tone growing sharper, "you're in such a hurry to get information about the Black Organization. But have you ever stopped to think—what could a kid like you possibly do with that information?"
"This is a criminal syndicate so powerful that even the FBI and CIA can't handle them. Do you seriously think the local police will manage to bring them down?"
The bluntness of Bartolomeo's question left Conan stunned.
Until now, he had been so focused on tracking and exposing the organization that he hadn't fully considered the scope of what he was dealing with. His understanding of the Black Organization was shallow at best.
After all, only a few days had passed since he'd been transformed into a child. He didn't even know Gin and Vodka's codenames, let alone the full extent of the organization's influence.
He certainly hadn't grasped that this wasn't just a local crime syndicate—it was an international criminal enterprise being hunted by intelligence agencies worldwide. And yet, even they had failed to make headway against it.
Conan fell silent as Bartolomeo's words sank in.
For the first time, he realized he'd been approaching this with the arrogance of someone who thought experience alone would see him through. The reality, however, was far bleaker.
If the Black Organization was truly as formidable as Bartolomeo described, then Conan—a single detective with the body of a child—was utterly outmatched.
At that moment, Conan acknowledged a hard truth: he couldn't fight this battle alone. He needed help, and lots of it.
Fortunately, Bartolomeo—despite his mysterious demeanor and enigmatic motivations—seemed willing to provide that help.
"Kid," Bartolomeo said, walking over to a specialized treadmill and adjusting its settings. "If you want to take on an organization like that, what do you think is the most important thing you need?"
"Huh?" Conan blinked in surprise, then began to think aloud.
"Weapons? Intelligence? Manpower? Or... money?"
As he spoke, his voice grew quieter. For the first time, he found himself at a loss.
Even if he could gather intelligence about the Black Organization, what could he do with it?
Sure, he had ties to the police. But expecting them to take down such a formidable group was naïve at best. If the police had been capable of handling such threats, Conan wouldn't have spent his career as their de facto savior.
Realizing the futility of his previous plans, Conan raised his gaze to Bartolomeo. He could tell that the man—who had so casually posed this question—already knew the answer.
As if on cue, Bartolomeo broke into a grin.
After finishing his adjustments to the treadmill, he patted the machine and turned to Conan.
"Weapons, intelligence, manpower, money... Those are all important," Bartolomeo said. "But there's something far more crucial that you haven't even thought of yet."
"What is it?" Conan asked, a mix of confusion and curiosity on his face.
"It's you," Bartolomeo replied, his tone soft yet firm.
"Me?" Conan echoed, utterly baffled by the answer.
"That's right," Bartolomeo confirmed. Without further explanation, he stepped forward, picked Conan up, and dropped him onto the treadmill.
At that moment, a solemn expression crossed Bartolomeo's face.
"Kudo Shinichi, I trust you understand the enormity of taking on an international criminal syndicate," he said gravely.
"As far as I know, there are powerful conglomerates within Japan secretly backing this organization. For you to confront such a terrifying force with your current abilities is nothing short of wishful thinking."
"So..."
"Starting today, I will subject you to strict and specialized training. I will turn you into a capable warrior!"
"My goal is to give you the strength to face this organization head-on!"
"Remember this: the only person who can make you stronger is yourself!"
As his words echoed in the air, Bartolomeo suddenly pressed the start button on the treadmill. The machine roared to life, its tracks spinning at an intense speed.
"Wait! A warrior? What are you talking about?!"
Conan, still reeling from Bartolomeo's declaration, stumbled forward as the treadmill forced him into a frantic pace. Desperately trying to keep up, he shouted in confusion, "What do you mean by 'warrior'?!"
Meanwhile, Bartolomeo casually pulled out a pristine notebook, its cover crisp and unblemished.
From his position, Conan could glimpse dense lines of text and diagrams covering its pages. Just a single glance was enough to send a shiver down his spine—because it looked more like a survival guide than a training plan!
"Hey, what's in that notebook?" Conan asked nervously, pointing toward it as he struggled to maintain his footing.
"Hm? This?"
Bartolomeo lifted the notebook, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
"This is your training plan for the foreseeable future," he replied.
"Don't worry," he added, the grin deepening, "I've tailored it to your current physical condition. With this, you'll become a warrior strong enough to take on the Black Organization in no time."
"Wait! I never agreed to become any kind of warrior!" Conan yelled, his voice tinged with panic.
But Bartolomeo ignored him entirely, flipping through the pages of the notebook.
At least one thing he said was true: the notebook did indeed contain detailed plans to turn Conan into a powerful fighter.
This particular plan revolved around the Naval Six Techniques Training Manual (specifically the "Tempest Kick" chapter), a system Bartolomeo had acquired at the expense of 20 points. While it was a modest investment, the plan was realistic—it wasn't about creating wind blades that could cut through steel, like the elite warriors of a pirate world. The goal was much more grounded: to develop Conan's ability to generate small, precise wind slashes, a feat that would be achievable with dedication.
For now, the focus was on building Conan's physical foundation, ensuring he could perform at least as well as a normal adult. Once that baseline was established, Bartolomeo would gradually integrate advanced techniques and fighting skills, allowing Conan to master the Naval Six Techniques over time.
When that day arrived, Conan would finally have the means to protect himself—and to participate in operations against the Black Organization.
As luck would have it, Bartolomeo had already received intelligence through Rotom's surveillance system. It seemed that members of the Black Organization were planning a bank heist.
That would be the perfect opportunity. Bartolomeo couldn't wait to see how the "new and improved" Conan fared in action.
And so, Conan found himself moving into the basement of Bartolomeo's detective agency, still dazed from the whirlwind of events.
To ensure his training wasn't interrupted, Bartolomeo asked Dr. Agasa to arrange a short leave of absence from school on Conan's behalf. This way, Conan could focus entirely on his rigorous training regimen.
Time passed strangely in the chaotic atmosphere of Bartolomeo's domain. Seasons seemed to shift unnaturally quickly—spring melted into summer, summer gave way to autumn, and autumn transitioned to winter, all in the span of a single month.
Even Conan, with his sharp deductive mind, couldn't explain how he'd experienced an entire year's worth of seasons in such a short time.
Despite the bizarre flow of time, the training bore results. Within a month, Conan's physical fitness surpassed that of an average adult.
Ordinarily, such rapid progress would have been impossible. But Bartolomeo's meticulous planning, coupled with the insights and combat techniques he imparted during their sessions, accelerated Conan's growth exponentially.
Although Conan wasn't yet at the level where he could kick down a concrete-and-steel utility pole like Ran, he had gained enough strength to shatter a human skull with a single blow.
Finally, after weeks of relentless effort, Conan reached a significant milestone: the first stage of his training was complete.
Bartolomeo had granted Conan a rare moment of rest.
Given Conan's average physical talent, the progress he had achieved thus far represented the absolute limits of his current body. To grow any stronger, he would require special resources.
Over the past month, Conan had helped Bartolomeo solve numerous cases, filling the latter's wallet and earning him considerable fame in this world. Grateful for Conan's efforts, Bartolomeo decided to reward him. Once this brief respite was over and the next stage of training began, Bartolomeo planned to purchase supplements from the Pokémon world to enhance Conan's physical capabilities.
Bartolomeo had once chatted with Nurse Joy and learned an intriguing fact:
In the Pokémon world, children as young as ten often possessed superhuman strength. Though most of them were trainers who avoided direct combat, there were still cases of people capturing Pokémon using only their own physical prowess.
This phenomenon, Bartolomeo realized, stemmed not just from the inherent physicality of humans in that world but also from the highly nutritious food they consumed daily.
Since it was far too late to switch Conan to a Pokémon-world diet, Bartolomeo decided to use supplements and health products to push Conan beyond his natural limits.
After all...
Conan had to surpass his childhood sweetheart, didn't he? Otherwise, it would be far too embarrassing.
That morning
Gentle sunlight and a warm spring breeze caressed Conan's face as he made his way to the gate of Teitan Elementary School.
For the first time, he felt genuine excitement about returning to school.
However...
As Conan stood before the empty school gate, his backpack slung over one shoulder, realization struck him like a bolt of lightning:
Today was the weekend.
The school was closed.
"..."
"I've been training too much..." Conan muttered, placing a hand over his face. "I can't believe I forgot something as simple as it being the weekend."
Regret washed over him as he reflected on the relentless training of the past month.
Just as he turned around, intending to visit Dr. Agasa instead, a familiar voice called out.
"Hey! Isn't that Conan-kun?!"
The sound of rapid footsteps followed, and a small girl with a hairpin appeared. She grabbed Conan's hand, her eyes lighting up with delight.
"Wow! It really is you, Conan!" she exclaimed. "Is your overseas trip over already?"
Dr. Agasa had used the excuse of an overseas family trip to explain Conan's sudden absence from school. Conan, of course, was well aware of this cover story.
"Haha... yeah, I'm back," Conan replied with an awkward laugh, trying to sound casual.
Before he could say more, a chubby boy ran up and slapped a hand on Conan's shoulder.
"Seriously, Conan! You should've called us when you got back!" he said, pouting. "You left so suddenly without saying anything. Do you even want to stay a member of the Junior Detective League?!"
"That's right!" a thinner boy chimed in, crossing his arms.
"Sorry, sorry," Conan said sheepishly, clasping his hands together in apology.
Standing before Conan were Ayumi Yoshida, Genta Kojima, and Mitsuhiko Tsuburaya—his school friends and fellow members of the Junior Detective League.
Their bond had deepened after the thrilling Ayumi kidnapping incident and the Maple Leaf Gold Coin case. The trio genuinely regarded Conan as a close friend, and his sudden disappearance had worried them greatly.
Now, seeing Conan's half-hearted apology, they weren't about to let him off the hook so easily.
"A simple 'sorry' isn't enough!"
Before Conan could react, Genta and Mitsuhiko lifted him by the arms.
"It just so happens that the Junior Detective League is heading to the library for some advanced training today!" Genta announced with a grin. "Now that you're back, you're coming with us!"
"Wait—what?!" Conan stammered, startled by their enthusiasm.
With his current strength, Conan could have easily broken free. But he didn't want to risk hurting Genta or Mitsuhiko, so he let them drag him along.
As for the "advanced training" at the library...
Conan was well aware that their so-called training was nothing more than an excuse to read comic books for free.
Still, the idea of spending time in the quiet, relaxed atmosphere of a library was oddly appealing. It had been a long time since he'd had the chance to sit down and enjoy a good book.
With that in mind, Conan stopped resisting and let his friends lead the way.
Before long, the group arrived at the Beika Library, ready for their next adventure—though perhaps not the kind they had imagined.