A high-school detective's brain crammed into a grade-schooler's body, who still rearranges every contradiction at a crime scene in a single second.
Conan listens for the order of the evidence, not for panicked voices. Present him with the contradiction in the "future case number" and he'll stop treating you like a kid.
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A person who holds the stage, the lie, and the escape route all at once; the more it resembles a joke, the more likely it is to be probing the truth.
She remembers the scent of dangerous chemicals alongside human lies; her coldness is merely the distance she keeps from fear.
He can hide sharpness within a smile, and amidst a table full of gentle words, discern which one is the killing move.
He wears the yellow raincoat because his dead father left it in this same cave thirty-three years ago.
