The air burned cold and clean, slicing through laughter and chatter as tourists bustled at the base of the Alps. Snow shimmered under the morning sun, every flake glinting like powdered glass.

Then, a sound—low, sleek, mechanical perfection—ripped through the calm.

Heads turned. A McLaren 720S Coupé, its body an elegant shade of silver-blue, shot into view like a living storm. It slid into a parking spot with predatory grace, engine humming to silence.

From the driver’s side, Fuyuka Hattori stepped out.

Long crimson waves spilled free, catching the light in violent contrast to the white world around her. Her eyes—steel-gray, cutting and clear—swept across the crowd with soldier’s precision. Her outfit was made for movement: a pale blue and white insulated ski jacket, dark blue pants with lighter panels, black gloves, and white snowboard boots locked into her board. Ski goggles rested on her head; earmuff-style headphones pressed softly against her hair. Around her neck, a thin silver chain glinted.

And on her wrist—an innocent black hair tie, the kind a child might give. “Fuyuka-neesan!”

Three small shapes blurred from the crowd—Ayumi, Mitsuhiko, and Genta—and flung themselves into her arms.

Fuyuka caught them effortlessly, the corner of her mouth twitching into the faintest smile. “Careful,” she murmured, steadying Ayumi’s scarf. “It’s slippery.”

Professor Agasa chuckled behind them. “You made quite the entrance, my dear. I think even Takagi forgot how to breathe.”

Takagi flustered, turning to Sato, who smirked. “Focus, Detective. We’re here for security, not scenery.”

Across the slope, Heiji Hattori groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tch… she’s gonna outshine me again, ain’t she?”

Beside him, Kazuha grinned. “Like she doesn’t already, Heiji.”

“Shut up, Kazuha!”

“Yo, Fuyuka.” The calm, low voice belonged to Subaru Okiya, leaning against a railing, breath misting in the cold. His disguised eyes met hers briefly—something unreadable flickered between them. Mutual understanding. Shared history.

Conan stood at her side, ski helmet slightly askew. His childish face belied the sharp mind beneath. “You’re late.”

“I paid for everything,” she replied dryly. “You’re welcome.”

Ran giggled softly behind him. “You haven’t changed, Fuyuka-san.”

“Neither have you,” Fuyuka said. Her tone softened for a moment—only Ran could draw warmth from her voice like that.

The slopes loomed ahead—white veins of ice stretching toward the clouds. Skiers lined up for the lifts, chatter filling the air with color. Fuyuka clipped her snowboard to her boots, eyes narrowing slightly as the cold bit her cheeks.

“Alright, team,” she said, her voice sharp as the mountain air. “Let’s move.”

Minutes later— Snow exploded around them as Fuyuka shot down the slope. She moved like liquid light—precision incarnate, every shift of her weight cutting clean arcs through the powder. Her speed was breathtaking, unnatural almost; a dancer with military discipline.

Heiji tried to keep up, shouting over the wind, “Hey! You think this is a race?!”

Fuyuka’s voice drifted back—calm, faintly mocking. “It was. You already lost.”

Behind them, Ran and Sonoko laughed, wobbling slightly as they descended together. “She’s insane!” Sonoko cried.

Ran smiled. “No—she’s free.”

Conan and Haibara, smaller shapes darting through snow, glided behind. Haibara’s eyes tracked Fuyuka’s movements carefully. “Her balance… that’s more than skiing experience.”

Conan nodded. “She calculates trajectories subconsciously. Old habits die hard.” From a higher vantage point, Subaru watched through polarized lenses. Beside him, Jodie Starling muttered, “You really think she can just switch off the soldier part?”

“She doesn’t,” Subaru said quietly. “She just hides it in elegance.”

Megure, nearby, pulled his coat tighter. “Still, I feel safer knowing she’s on our side.”