Steve Smith remained silent for a heartbeat. 22, Block 2, Baker District... So, the one calling is Conan? The delivery was a "mistake"?
Right. Anita Hailey only chose her name after arriving at Dr. Hershel's. Receiving a package from Osaka addressed to that name the very next day made no sense chronologically. It was only natural they thought it was a misdelivery.
He hadn't known what to put for the recipient at the time, so he'd just gone with "Anita Hailey." He wasn't worried about suspicion, but he had been clever about it. The manifest said Hailey Anita—a name that, while rare, certainly wasn't unique to one person in the world.
His excuse? He forgot to ask her name and gave her a nickname. Would they suspect him of bugging the house? He hadn't even stepped inside. Would they suspect him of being psychic? If they did, they'd be joining him in the asylum soon enough.
Steve cleared his head instantly. "It wasn't a mistake."
Conan was momentarily choked up by the blunt answer. "It was sent to this address, but the person named 'Anita Hailey'—"
"It's for the little girl," Steve interrupted. "The name was just a nickname I gave her."
Conan felt the first stirrings of a massive communication barrier. "Then you're..."
Steve: "I'm the one who dropped her off at 22, Block 2, Baker District."
Conan's expression shifted instantly. He covered the phone with his hand and hissed at Dr. Hershel, "Hey, Doc! You said you came up with the name 'Anita Hailey,' right?"
"I did!" Hershel replied, looking baffled. "I told you, we based it on famous detectives. The 'Anita' was for Anita Blake, and 'Hailey' was—wait, why are you asking?"
"The guy who sent the package is the one who dropped her off," Conan whispered, eyes darting toward Anita in the back seat. "He says he just made up the nickname, but... Anita, your real name has a similar meaning, doesn't it? Is he actually an accomplice who knows exactly who you are?"
Anita looked at Conan with a flat, unimpressed stare and held out her hand. "Give me the phone."
Conan hesitated but handed it over.
Anita knew Conan didn't trust her, and since she and Steve weren't actually "accomplices" in any conspiracy, she put the call on speaker. "It's me."
"Mm," Steve replied. "What happened just now?"
Anita glanced at Conan. "The kid who answered the phone suddenly had a headache and fell off his seat."
Conan: "..."
Steve didn't believe that for a second, but he didn't press. "The package is a gift for you."
"I see..." Anita paused. "Are you in Osaka?"
"I'm back already."
"The name on the box... why 'Anita Hailey'?" she asked, genuinely curious. Could such a coincidence truly exist?
Steve's voice remained calm and steady: "Grief and joy are manifest before the first word is spoken."
Dr. Hershel (an engineer): "..." Anita Hailey (a scientist): "..." What... does that mean?
Conan's brain went into overdrive, scanning through classical Western literature, Japanese Haiku, and eventually Chinese philosophy. But the archive of human literature was vast. Even with his genius intellect, he couldn't pin it down immediately.
Anita looked at Conan. Dr. Hershel looked at Conan with a "you're the smart one, tell us" expression. For the first time, the Great Detective was stumped. He pulled out his own phone to search for the quote.
Silence.
Steve didn't offer an explanation. He just waited. Hershel focused on driving through the night, waiting for the answer.
The silence in the car was thick and slightly awkward.
Ten seconds later. The car drove through a stretch of unlit road. The interior was pitch black. As the boy hunched over his screen, a calm, male voice drifted from the phone on the seat:
"Found it yet?"
In the car with only three people, it felt like a fourth passenger had just spoken from the shadows.
Conan stiffened, shaking off a sudden chill.
Steve had guessed the silence meant they were looking it up. Knowing Anita's personality, she wouldn't leave a mystery unsolved, but she wouldn't ask directly—she'd look it up. He didn't realize she had him on speaker and that it was actually Conan doing the legwork.
"It's normal to look things up when you don't know," Steve added, thinking Anita was the one searching.
Conan whipped his head around to look at the back seat, half-expecting to see a ghost staring at him. He had just felt embarrassed about being caught searching, and the guy commented on it perfectly. It was uncanny.
Anita, unaware of Conan's internal monologue, found his reaction bizarre. Is this famous high-school detective having a stroke?
Conan caught her look, cleared his throat, and switched back into his "Conan" voice. "I found it~!"
Anita: "..." Hershel: "..." On the other end of the line, Steve went silent too. What is with that exaggerated kid voice?
Conan pushed through the awkwardness. He was a kid, right? Kids don't feel shame. "It's from a classical Chinese text! The Biography of Liu Jingting. It originally described the skill of a master storyteller—meaning that even before they speak, the sorrow or joy of the story is already visible on their face. Mr. Smith probably means that even before you said a word, your sorrow was already plain to see."
Dr. Hershel glanced toward the back seat. That was... unexpectedly poetic. By choosing the name "Anita" (derived from 'Grace' or 'Hebrew for Favor' in some contexts, but interpreted here via Steve's quote as 'Sorrow'), he was saying he saw her pain the moment he found her.
Anita froze. A wave of complicated emotions surged through her, leaving her momentarily speechless. Conan studied her, feeling a sudden, sharp pang of guilt. Maybe... just maybe... he had judged her too harshly.
"That's exactly it," Steve said, hearing the silence return. Knowing this was likely the night they'd find Professor Harrison murdered and Anita would break down for the first time, he added: "Sometimes, it's good to cry."
The feeling of being completely seen made Anita uncomfortable. "Don't be so full of yourself. I don't cry."
Steve: "Fine. But if you do, make sure to call me."
Anita: "..." He's so sure I'll cry? What an arrogant man!
Steve: "I want to record it for my collection."
Anita: "..." (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ
"Anyway, the package wasn't a mistake. That's my number. Let's talk another time."
Click.
The line went dead. Anita stared at the phone. Call me when you cry... record it for my collection...
Hershel suppressed a very strange expression. Anita bit her lip, saved the number, and handed the phone back to Conan. "By the way... what was his name again?"
Conan froze as he took the phone. "..."
"Usually, when people answer a stranger's call, they identify themselves," Anita said casually. "Did he ask who you were? Did he ask for Dr. Hershel's name?"
Conan broke into a sweat. She's getting back at me for earlier, isn't she? "The nurse called him 'Mr. Smith.' He likely has the surname Smith. We have his number now; we can ask later. Right now, let's focus on getting that data disk from Professor Harrison."
"Mm." Anita didn't push further. She began opening the box Steve had sent, pulling out the dolls and plush keychains, examining them with a quiet intensity.
Grief and joy are manifest before the first word is spoken...
The Next Morning. Blue Mountain Fourth Hospital.
At 8:30 AM, a car pulled up to the hospital gates.
The man who stepped out looked to be in his late forties, with a center-parted hairstyle, a square face, and thick eyebrows. He had deep nasolabial folds and a naturally stern expression.
"I apologize if I'm a bit early," the man said as Steve and Dr. Miller approached. "But we have a long drive ahead of us, and I wanted to beat the traffic. My name is Mitchell Mamiya. My late father-in-law was a cousin of Steve's grandfather. Technically, Steve should call me 'Uncle Mitchell.'"
"Not too early at all," Miller said with a friendly smile. "Do you have time to look after him, Mr. Mamiya?"
Mitchell nodded. "My mother-in-law is elderly and suffers from dementia. My son and I are home full-time to care for her. Adding Steve to the household won't be a problem."
"Steve has been doing excellent," Miller noted, going over the final discharge papers. "No personality shifts, no signs of depression in the latest tests. There are still some... minor perception issues, but overall, he's ready. Steve, Officer Nathan told me about the books you bought. If you're interested in psychology, keep reading. It's good for self-reflection. But remember: take your meds, get plenty of rest, and call me if you need anything."
"Thank you," Steve said. This time, the gratitude was genuine.
"Go on then," Miller beamed. "I imagine you want to head home and pack your things first."
Steve nodded and walked toward the car with Mitchell. He stopped suddenly, a thought crossing his mind.
"By the way, Uncle Mitchell... what day is it today?"
He'd been under Dr. Miller's thumb for so long that asking someone else that question felt surprisingly satisfying.