Chapter Text
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01. Don’t play in the mud anymore, all right young man?
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The badge was shimmery gold and about one thumb's length across, engraved with elaborate twin lions insignia and the royal motto. And in elegant cursive letters:
I am trueth to mine own kingdome;
Royal Inspector - Kudou Shinichi
Shinichi stared at the badge with a sigh, feeling a dull headache setting in.
The badge weighed heavily in his grasp—his fingers were barely enough to wrap around its expanse. Until now, he never thought the weight of his title was heavy, but the risks that came with his job were finally starting to collapse on his shoulders.
Shinichi took pride in his work as the Royal Inspector, he really did.
Despite the title, it wasn't a glamorous role. It came with gruesome kinds of responsibilities, but without any public grandeur like those that the Royal Knights enjoyed. As such, not many knights were keen to take on his title, but frankly, not many would even be qualified to take his place.
Shinichi didn't like to boast too much, but he knew he was the best at his job because he was the only one who cared enough about the kingdom to do it.
He'd take months to traverse the continent, wearing down the sole of his boots, to track down the worst of criminals. Live out in the countryside as he worked through the pages of his journals for the singular purpose of bringing justice.
After all, Shinichi preferred poring over case files under the lamp lights in tavern rooms to the cushy chair in his office.
He didn't need to go as far as going on investigations alone, but being alone was often more efficient as being discreet was his main priority.
With his persevering pursuit and sharp deductions, he brought countless criminals to justice, leaving behind a trail of grateful townspeople he had saved.
Shinich was much too busy to visit the same town twice to see any of them again though, but he preferred it that way.
There always reached a point when the abundant praise and gifts of gratitude became more burdensome and awkward the longer he stayed.
Shinichi was just doing his job, was all.
Such was his duty.
Chasing leads after leads, hopping from town to town, criminals after criminals. Despite Ran’s insistent worry, Shinichi never let the looming risks dissuade him from the arduous task.
If not him, the Royal Inspector, then who else could pull this off?
Shinichi sighed again as he tucked the badge back into his pocket. His tunic sagged heavily and the weight of his responsibility was cool against his chest.
He dropped his eyes to stare down at his hands for what must have been the tenth time that morning.
Short, thin fingers. Unmarred, baby smooth skin stretched over soft knuckles and faint flush of veins. Small stubby nails.
Shinichi flexed his hand this way and that, still in disbelief at how thin and scrawny his own wrist became.
At some point, Shinichi had become too complacent in his consistent success that his confidence turned into arrogance.
And that arrogance was his downfall.
It was a few days ago, when Shinichi was in the thick of chasing a lead in a distant town, pretending to be a errand boy, having bought a modest green cloak, beige tunic, and deep brown pants to supplement his cover.
After asking around the neighboring village for a passing caravan, he was able to pinpoint its location to the dense forest nearby.
He had taken the entire afternoon combing the perimeter of the woods, eyes tracking for wagon prints and overturned sign posts for a hint of direction. He was engrossed with his work that he failed to notice that the moon had taken its place in the sky.
Before he could investigate the deep tracks in the mud, Shinichi’s attention was stolen by low muttering behind the bushes.
The townspeople had told Shinichi about the pack of wolves that prowled through the forest during the night— and any unfortunate soul that wandered through them would inevitably be mauled, unless they had a weapon on them.
And any men who were armed— were dangerous.
Treading quietly, Shinichi found the source of the murmurs.
He pressed his back against the rough trunk of a tree, glancing over his shoulder to see two suspicious shadows standing in a small clearing by the trail.
It could be an innocuous, late night gathering, but Shinichi’s instinct told him otherwise. By the way they spoke, low and secret, Shinichi was keen on deciding whether these people were related to his case.
Under the moonlight, Shinichi could make out their figures— they were cloaked in black, handing satchels that jingled with coins.
In that surge of excitement, Shinichi was careless.
To begin with, he was unarmed, and he didn’t scan his surroundings for hidden enemies before he investigated the noise.
Shinichi should’ve gone back to the village, grabbed his weapon, perhaps even a flare for any semblance of backup from the villagers.
But he didn’t.
The low rumble of voices were alluring, and he couldn’t bear to leave when he caught wind of the directions towards the distant village where the weapons smugglers were staking out.
Hidden behind the dense trees, Shinichi held his breath as he listened on for a good while, heart pounding in his rib cage as he realized this was the lead he was chasing for the past two weeks—
But then he heard the faint snap of a twig behind him.
He whipped around in alarm, a second too late, hand reaching for the hilt of his sword that wasn’t there.
The next thing Shinichi knew, a resounding crack rang in his ears and the world spun, not with him, but away from him.
His head felt like it split open.
Gasping, he crashed onto his knees, palms pressing into the damp ground, dark spots swirling in his vision.
Panic rushed in his blood as he tried to stagger back to his feet.
He was caught.
He had to get up now, get away, but a cold, blunt steel pressed against his nape and shoved him down. Sharp bits of stone grazed into his cheek.
“Che, you let a stray rat get this close to you," a low, smooth voice muttered above him.
Several twigs and leaves were crushed under footsteps that quickly ran over.
A sheepish, gravelly voice then answered, “Looking at his clothes, it looks like he’s from the nearby town; not like it matters really.”
“That carelessness will cost you.”
Shinichi could barely make out his own muffled yelp when he felt his jaws being forced open and a strange, cold liquid was poured into his cracked lips.
The liquid seared its way down his throat and to his stomach, and in the midst of agony and white heat, he started hearing a piercing scream.
He then realized it was coming from his own mouth.
The voices started to drift further away despite the stinging grasp in his hair.
“Is that the new toxin?”
There was a low hum of acknowledgement.
“Kills without leaving any traces; he’ll be gone in a few minutes. The unlucky bastard who finds the kid will think he just fell and cracked his skull open.”
Shinichi dug his fingernails into the gravel and mud as white, scorching pain lurched in his organs.
Don’t pass out, don’t pass out—
“Let’s go.”
The footsteps crunched over the fallen twigs. One pair stopped shortly in front of him, sounding vaguely apologetic. “Sorry, kid, you were just at the wrong place, wrong time.”
The shadowed figure—two? three of them?—bobbed around in the corner of his vision before disappearing altogether.
It felt like a thousand sharp needles were stabbing his nerves and muscles. He couldn’t get his body to move no matter how he willed himself to get the hell up, Shinichi, stay awake—
He couldn’t.
Light prickle of needles sank into his hair. He felt a flutter against the tip of his nose and a chirp before a light wind brushed against his cheek.
Was he dead?
Shinichi cracked his eyes open, taking in the dapple of brightness through the shadows above him. He flinched, squeezing his eyes against the searing light.
His head was pounding in agony, and his eyelids heavy as lead .
Sharp pieces of–gravel? —dug all over his back as he painfully rolled to his side with a gasp. He cleared his vision several times, finally seeing the mud-caked rocks beneath him.
He shuddered his eyes closed again, the air scathing through his lungs.
His throat was burning in parched dryness.
Water—he needed water.
He forced his eyes open again, blinking hazily.
The dense layer of green leaves rustling in the wind above him slowly came into focus.
Leaves?
Trees. Forest—
His eyes snapped open in terror as he suddenly remembered.
Panic rushing through his blood, he ignored the stabbing pain in his muscles as he forced himself to sit up, eyes darting around wildly.
All around him was endless green foliage, appearing deceptively friendly—trees, and bushes, and more trees.
The forest looked eerily calm bathed in the day glow, in contrast to the ominous dark shadows it casted last night.
The warm sunlight filtered through the web of leaves from the east—must be near nine in the morning—and casted a wave of bobbing shadows on the grassy ground.
A crisp, chilled breeze blew past his hair, rustling the leaves around him peacefully.
There was no trace of the shadowy figures anywhere.
They even made sure to wipe away any shoe prints they would’ve left on the ground.
Likely, they left him in the forest alone to die—but they might return to dispose of his body if he stayed any longer.
Clenching his teeth, Shinichi pushed himself onto his feet—and promptly tripped over the excess pool of fabric.
“Ow,” Shinichi groaned as he got back up, lifting his hand to rub at his pounding head, fingers digging through his hair matted in sweat and grime, when he realized something was off .
His arms were swimming in his tunic sleeves—was his wrist always this scrawny?
There wasn’t time to think or deduce, though.
He had to leave now.
Despite the ominous weight growing in his stomach, Shinichi wrapped up his suddenly too-loose clothes close to his body and clambered off.
Shinichi staunchly ignored how small and short his own fingers suddenly looked, and how his toes knocked everywhere within the hard leather boots.
But he couldn’t shake the creeping feeling of how the ground felt—much too close to his face and how the trees loomed over him, like they were about to swallow him whole.
Bile grew thicker in his throat as the shimmery surface of the lake came into view.
His mind raced in slow sinking horror.
What the hell did those criminals do to him?
Shinichi took in a shuddering breath as he rushed to kneel by the edge of the clear bank of the lake.
He braced himself for—he didn’t know what he braced himself for, but the reflection he saw almost made him slip and fall head first into the water.
Soft, undeveloped jaws.
Baby fat along his round cheeks.
Frail shoulders and lanky arms.
His tunic no longer fit snugly on his waist, but rather, was barely draped all over his body by his own tiny, soft hands.
His body had shrunken .
Kudou Shinichi, the Royal Inspector, did not look a day older than thirteen.
Shinichi didn't have much time to mull over the how , just that he focused on what to do next.
First, he had to find a way to make himself decent, at least minimally. He couldn’t go back to the village, at least not like this: swarming in a raggedy tunic with a large blood stain draping down his collar.
Shinichi repeated the meditation mantra from his sword lessons from his academy days— quiet down, bring the mind to a stillness. Breathe calmly.
He had shaken himself out of the shock after splashing several handfuls of water on his face, washing away the lingering blood from his forehead.
He took even, deep breaths to suppress the trembles lacing up his muscles as his fingers fumbled to tear apart his beige tunic.
The rough fabric dug against the creases of his fingers almost painfully as he realized his grip was weak and lacking his usual strength.
But with sharp yanks and persistent tugs, he managed to tear off the excess fabric so that the tunic could roughly fit his smaller body. Shinichi hiked up his pants and fastened them with a strip of his green rag.
He dug a hole under the bushes and buried the torn cloth, leaving no trace that he had ever survived or died.
Fingertips bruised from digging, Shinichi wiped the sweat from his brow and squinted against the sun.
Now that he was decent, he had to get out of the forest and to the woodcutter’s shack that he had turned into his makeshift base.
It was an hour-long trek away to the east on the outskirts of Hanamori town, and it was lent to him by the huntsman whom Shinichi had helped some months ago.
With a solid direction, Shinichi set forth towards the east.
It took his short legs two hours to arrive at the base.
Thankfully, the only people he ran into were a group of elderly women carrying baskets and gathering berries near the foot of the mountain.
He scurried past them, ignoring their bewildered glances at his state of dress.
Shinichi could make out their disdainful, hushed voices muttering about dirty orphans rummaging in their forest.
It seemed that proper clothes were in order if he didn't want to be mistaken for and treated like a miscreant.
Once he was safely inside the shack, he wasted no time collecting his belongings.
He gathered his coin pouch and messenger bag. He collected his annotated maps and his badge. Shinichi grunted as he hoisted his sword, now spanning across his entire body, along his back.
Giving the shack a last sweep over, Shinichi shoved open the creaking door and let it shut heavily behind him.
Finding the seamstress’ shop wasn’t hard in the small town, but entering it was a whole other matter.
He grasped the handle with two hands and pulled it open, the door jingled sharply as he slipped in through the crack. The door slammed shut.
Shinchi entered the shop with dusty footprints and ragged, torn fabric for clothes.
The seamstress, seated on a chair by the display window, looked up from her book.
“How can I help—you—...” The seamstress trailed off, her eyebrows rising to her hairline.
He nonchalantly brushed off the strange look she gave him, and instead went to scan the array of mannequins that stood along the wall. Where the shop specialized in breadth in sizes for all ages and genders, it lacked variety with colors and styles.
This modest town, being on the outskirts of the capital, was a little outdated with the capital’s current trends.
Though Shinichi couldn’t afford to be too picky with his clothes now.
Shinichi’s eyes settled on a clothing set: a boy’s gray tunic, charcoal pants, and rugged brown boots. It was plain, but it was practical.
The seamstress’s stare swiveled between Shinichi and the mannequin he pointed at. Her warm, brown eyes scanned up and down his figure, and his finger wilted slightly in doubt.
She closed her book and got up from her chair.
“Is it for you?”
Shinichi blinked and then nodded.
Her eyes creased into a warm, understanding smile.
“Then I think it’ll be too big. Those are for older senior school boys, at least year 5,” the seamstress said kindly. She gestured to Shinichi to follow her to the back of the shop.
Shinichi frowned as he glanced back at the tunic he pointed at. Year 5? Then how old was this body then?
He scampered behind her as she pulled out some boxes, and started digging through them.
“You’re lucky that I still have these. I haven’t been able to sell these since boys nowadays in our town grow so quickly.” She pulled out something from the old box. “Ah ha! These will fit you better. Want to try them on?”
The lady flourished a—much laughably tinier set of clothes in dusty red and blue.
Shinichi balked, eyes widening as he cringed at the clothes. Those— those were for babies!?
Ignoring his state of shock, the lady unfurled the tunic against his body to show him the fit.
“Well, since these are from years ago, I’ll sell them on a discount—only fifteen coppers for the set with boots! They were very popular designs back then. Perfect size for you, see?”
The lady stepped aside, revealing a mirror that was behind her. The tiny tunic was still pressed against his body, but now— he could see it on him .
Shinichi suppressed a double take when he saw his reflection for the second time that day—except it was much clearer this time.
His cheeks were full and round.
He had a small nose and thin shoulders.
Scrawny arms, scrawny legs, knobby knees that looked like they'd keel over.
No wonder the floor felt so jarringly close to his face—he looked tiny .
So tiny, that his tuft of hair only came up to the seamstress’ waist, and the tunic held in her hand overlapped his figure in a seemingly perfect fit.
Shinichi coughed sheepishly.
“Oh, I see—”
He gasped as he clapped a hand over his lips. Why was that unexpectedly high pitch coming out of his own mouth?
“Yes, go try them on! Do you need help getting dressed?”
“N-no thank you! I can do it!” he squeaked, voice cracking a little.
Before the lady could insist on helping him, he snatched the tunic and made a dash to the fitting room, locking the door swiftly behind him.
“Oh, my! You look so handsome when you’re properly dressed.”
The lady lit up when she saw him, looking quite pleased with her own pick.
“You even managed to tie the shirt lace so nicely. You have quite the clever handiwork for your age, don’t you?”
Shinichi scrunched his nose as he shifted in these— impossibly stubby boots of his.
He's a grown adult— it'd be sad if he couldn't even lace up his own shirt.
Shinichi couldn’t help the flash of offended look on his face, and it was even worse when she cooed and pinched his cheek.
“Your mama must’ve sent you here to buy your own clothes! Did you come from the village over the mountains?”
Gently— or as gently as he could, he flicked off her hand with a disgruntled noise. Now that she had a proper look at him, the seamstress seemed bent on engaging him in nosy conversation.
“Um, I’ll take these, then,” he muttered, fishing out a few coins from his pouch. Shinichi desperately wanted out of the patronizing coo over how he was even able to pull on his boots correctly.
His eyes pointedly avoided the mirror looming next to him. He didn’t need to see it again—the image of a lanky child was already seared into his mind.
Just what the hell did these bastards poison him with, that turned him into this sad thing?
After making payment, Shinichi swiftly turned to leave, grasping his bag strap close to his chest.
“Oh, hold up, before you leave—”
The seamstress grabbed his wrist, and shoved something into his palm.
“ —here you go!”
Shinichi looked down at his hand in confusion.
It was a hard candy, wrapped in a cheerful red and white striped wrapper. It sat squarely and strangely full in his tiny palm.
Shinichi dumbly stared at it, and then back at the seamstress, bewildered. “Um…?”
The seamstress winked. “I only give those to good children, you see. You got brand new clothes now, so you have to treat it preciously. Don’t play in the mud anymore, all right young man? It’ll cause too much mischief to your mama.”
Mud? Playing in the mud?
He was clobbered on the head with blunt force for crying out loud.
Shinichi sputtered, heat rushing to his cheeks, caught between wanting to laugh and cry.
Before he could shove the candy back into the seamstress’ hand, the door chime jingled loudly behind them.
The door swung open, and a gaggle of town girls poured in, stealing the seamstress’ attention away.
“We saw this lovely chiffon dress from the window, and we had to come in! Mayumi-san, is this one new?”
The tallest of the ladies tugged at the corner of a dress on the display by the window.
Like a flash storm, the seamstress’ attention shifted away from him and to her new customers.
“Yes, yes! I just finished it this morning. I also have it in deep green color at the back—”
“Oh, wonderful. Please show us!”
Shinichi stumbled back as a rush of skirt hems pushed past him, and the excited squeals grew fainter as the girls disappeared into the back of the shop.
Their lively chatter quickly faded to an indistinct hum, and a quiet stillness settled in the empty display room.
Leaving him standing alone, awkwardly, with the hard candy, still sitting on his outstretched palm.
It seemed that the seamstress wouldn’t be returning anytime soon.
Not sure what else to do, Shinichi pocketed the candy with a long sigh, and pushed the door open to leave.
Finally fitted with new clothes and boots, Shinichi set off to the capital.
He needed to make an urgent report to the crown prince— about the weapons caravan, about the shady characters in the forest, and most importantly, this so-called toxin that turned him into this.
If in a rush, Shinichi was capable of pushing past his bodily limits to shorten the journey.
However, he learned one important thing as he made his trek back: his walking pace was much slower now with his smaller gait.
He also realized that he couldn’t walk for too long. He was easily tired; his calves strained and the soles of his feet ached.
Shinichi had to take multiple sitting breaks to recover strength in his legs.
In retrospect, children’s bodily constitutions were weaker.
That was common sense.
And while Shinichi was not a child—his body was sadly as frail as a child’s now.
To make matters worse, on day four of his supposed three day journey, his sword, along with his coin pouch, was stolen in an ambush by a band of thieves near Beika village.
(He'd heard Hattori's occasional complaints about the pesky thieves near Beika forest before—a pity that he didn't remember early enough to avoid the path altogether.)
With his small body, there was little he could do to fight off the gang. Not that he didn't try, but all he had to show for his efforts was a busted lip and bruised leg where he got kicked away.
Clothes dusty after knocking against the ground, he bitterly clenched his teeth as he watched his precious sword get chucked into the wagon full of stolen loot.
"How did a street rat like you get your hands on a high grade weapon like this?"
The thief squinted at him.
"He probably stole it, duh," Another thief shrugged. "Not that it matters, it's ours now. It looks fancy as hell, don't it? You reckon them merchants at the capital's gonna buy it for fifty coppers?"
Shinichi bristled, as he pushed himself up from the dusty ground.
That sword was a priceless gift from the crown prince's royal armory, definitely worth more than just fifty measly coppers!
"Oh, look at the brat. He looks like he'll bite you any moment now."
"Ha! I'll make him piss himself in tears before he can even try."
Their obnoxious laughter grew fainter as they leisurely pushed their wagon along.
Shinichi angrily glared at their retreating figures.
He'll hurry back to the Capital, grab Hattori and his men, hustle to Beika village, throw them in jail, and reclaim his sword.
With newfound resolve, Shinichi left a trail of dust as he gunned down the rocky path to the Capital. (with frequent breaks, of course.)
By mid-morning of day five, Shinichi finally found his way to the familiar sights of the bustling Capital.