Author: Jordanna Morgan (email@example.com)
Archive Rights: Please request the author’s consent.
Characters: Jimmy (Conan) and Doctor Agasa.
Summary: Doctor Agasa really should put warning labels on his creations.
Disclaimer: “Detective Conan/Case Closed” belongs to Gosho Aoyama.
Notes: Written for the prompt word “Ball” at Fan Flashworks.
“Hey, Doc… Are you home?”
As Conan Edogawa walked into Doctor Agasa’s laboratory, silence was the only response. The boy looked around the room, taking in the usual disarray of machine parts and test tubes, but he saw no sign of his inventor friend.
Then his eye was drawn to something that sat prominently in a clearer space on the countertop: a soccer ball, shiny and brand-new.
Conan’s eyebrows rose behind his glasses. He had just recently complained to the old man about how store-bought soccer balls didn’t stand up well to being kicked with his super-sneakers. Of course he didn’t cheat that way when he was really playing, but on those tricky occasions during a case when a ball was his most convenient available weapon… Well, the last ball he’d kicked at a gun-wielding kidnapper did the job of knocking away the weapon, but it was certainly never going to see action on the pitch again.
Maybe Agasa had been inspired to design a new ball for Conan, made of some space-age material that would survive the enhanced force of his kicks. Smiling at the idea, the young detective pushed a stool over to the counter, and clambered up to retrieve what was obviously meant to be a gift for him.
When Conan picked it up, the ball felt just slightly heavier than a normal one. He approved of its feeling of solidness in his hands: this would indeed make a more sturdy projectile if need be. Carefully he squirmed down off the stool, and stood rolling the ball back and forth between his palms as he continued to appraise it. There were no markings or brand names, but that stood to reason if Agasa had made it himself.
After a long moment, Conan decided to give the ball a proper test—although without the use of his sneakers. A regular kick would give him a perfectly good read of its buoyancy and bounce.
Holding it out at arm’s length, he sharply drop-kicked it toward the far wall.
The diminutive sleuth’s next awareness was of being seized in someone’s arms and tumbled to the floor. The much greater weight of an adult body crashed down over him; and at the same moment, there was a thunderous boom from the other side of the lab.
In the deafening silence that followed, Conan could only hear his ears ringing. An acrid smell of smoke reached him as he coughed and crawled out from under Doctor Agasa’s ample figure. Behind him, the groaning inventor sat up more slowly.
Across the room, there was now a gaping hole at exactly the point in the wall where Conan had kicked the ball to.
“My boy,” Agasa muttered woefully, “the next time, maybe you should ask me before you try to test out one of my inventions.”
© 2016 Jordanna Morgan