Leaderboard

Some reports about "Let's talk with Aoyama Gosho-sensei day 2014" Source: http://weibo.com/p/1005051635084282 (柯南动态); alternate link: http://tieba.baidu.com/p/2796474978 Of course, since this is fan report as usual (and it's in Chinese too), the accuracy may not be 100%, so believe them at your own risk! So here it is: 【情报第一波】由美和佐藤警官是高中时代的好友！苗子身上会有大事件发生！ Yumi and Sato has been good friends since high school. There will be a major case/incident involving Neako! 【第二波】有人问和叶和小兰谁胸部大谁胸部小~大叔说和叶的胸部比兰要小！！ Someone asked between Kazuha and Ran, who has... bigger breasts; Gosho said Kazuha's are smaller than Ran's!! 【第三波】安室透幼年时候的描绘，安室透黑色皮肤的意义，安室透不擅长的秘密（73：讨厌纳豆么？）Gin对吃的东西没什么喜欢不喜欢的呢~安室透爱吸烟~~ There will be a depiction of Amuro's childhood [bD note: This part doesn't appear in any other sources other than the original Tweet]; the meaning of Amuro's dark skin; a secret about something Amuro's not good at (Gosho: "Does he hate Nattō?"). Gin has neither a favorite nor a non-favorite food. AMURO LOVES SMOKING. [This seems to be a mistranslation.] 【第四波】异次元的狙击手中青山刚昌老师原画的赤井秀一将先在原作漫画中展开，然后才是电影版！！名人战杀人事件中秀吉会再次登场！！ Aoyama's original character Akai Shuuichi from "The Sniper from Another Dimension" will first be dealt with in the original manga, then the movie after that!! Akai Shuuichi's story in the manga will be dealt with AFTER the movie, not before. [The writer has just made a correction.] Shuukichi will make another appearance!! [bD NOTE: The writer's wording was pretty vague, hence "dealt with". It's NOT clear whether Akai will show up in person in the manga or not, so I didn't use "appear" or similar words.] 【第五波】青山在回答与以后的与运动有关的情节的提问的时候表示，毛利兰所擅长的空手道的全国大赛篇以后肯定会描写！ There will be a case about a national Karate tournament, a sport that Ran is good at. [bD NOTE: The way she wrote this made it unclear whether it would involve Ran. Also, this report doesn't show up in any other source, so be cautious!]

Another source with more questions, but most of them don't seem to have an answer: http://akamisomemo.blog.fc2.com/blog-entry-1.html Thanks for the translation by the way. Q東都現像所の事件の時のメガネと帽子の2人組は？ FBI。 赤井の部下。 あの2人は無視していい Who were the 2 guys with hats and sunglasses during the Toto developing plans case ? (episode 335-336 I think) The answer was apparently two subordinates of Akai.

This is how I’d translate the Japanese: 1. I will draw about Amuro’s childhood. 2. There is a reason behind Amuro’s dark color. 3. What Amuro doesn’t like is a secret (Gōshō says: “If it were that he doesn’t like nattō you wouldn’t like it, right? lol”). 4. But Gin has no favorite or disliked food. 5. The rivalry between Amuro and Akai has no relation to Akemi. 6. Sera-chan’s character design was hard (tn: to make, I presume). 7. The last boss (tn: BO boss) has already appeared (if the face appeared or only the name is unknown). Comment by the Twitter girl: Vague(⌒▽⌒) Can’t find anything else on her Twitter. Edit: the Japanese: ・安室さんの幼少期を描く ・安室さんの色黒には意味がある ・安室さんの苦手なものは秘密(先生「納豆嫌いとかだったら嫌でしょ??w」)でもジンは食べ物の好き嫌いがないらしい ・安室さんと赤井さんのライバル関係に明美は関係してない ・世良ちゃんは(剛昌先生は世良ちゃん呼び)キャラクターデザインが難しかった ・ラスボスは既に登場している(顔か名前オンリーかは不明。何回も言うが阿笠博士ではない) 曖昧(⌒▽⌒)

yep, Conan x Ai-chan, if she wasnt Ran, Conan will actually fall in Ai-chan

The direct cause of death was still heart attack. The culprit tied him up so he couldn't use his medicine, thus leading to his death.

I like ShinRan, of course, because it's just pure love. No cheating, polygamy,etc... Kogoro and Eri. I like seeing how Kogoro changes because or Eri! Takagi and Sato! I just do. Umm, Heiji and Kazuha? It's another just-pure-love thingy. Shiratori and Kobayashi! Never would have thought of these two. (For some reason, I like the police ships, but the two here are my favorites!)

I have an odd habit a friend recently picked up on, a habit I developed about a year ago. He noticed that when I enter a room, any room, and shut the door, I turn my face away from it and close my eyes until I hear the lock click. Only after the door is fully closed will I open them. He gave me a hard time about it until I told him where it started. I work for a water-seal company in St. Paul. We produce sealant for exposed wood - decks, boats, that kind of thing. You hear about sealant being a dirty word in the Ashland-Ichor Falls-Ironton area, but not all those companies were part of the infamous “Ethylor summer” that wiped out the local economy in the ’50s. I got sent to an industrial park outside of Ichor Falls on business. I checked into this dismal hotel, the Hotel Umbra, that looked like the decor hadn’t been changed since 1930. The lobby wallpaper had gone yellow from decades of cigarette smoke, and everything had a fine layer of dust, including the old man behind the front desk. I hoped that the room would be in better shape. Mine was on the fourth floor. Being an old place, the hotel had a rickety cable elevator, the kind with the double sets of doors: one of those flexing metal gates, and a solid outer pair of doors. I shut the gate and latched it, and pressed the tiny black button for my floor. Just as the outer elevator doors were about to close, I was startled by the face of a young woman rushing at the gap between them. She was too late; the doors shut, and after a moment the elevator ascended. I thought nothing of it, until I needed to take the elevator back down for one of my bags. I entered, pushed the button for the lobby, and pressed my tired back to the elevator wall opposite the doors. They had nearly completely shut when again I was surprised by a woman’s face moving towards the gap, staring into the elevator through the gate, too late to place her hand in to stop the doors from closing. This time I sprang forward and held the “Door Open” button, and after a moment the doors lurched and slid open. I waited a moment. From the opening I could see partly down the hallway: no one in sight. Still holding the button down, I slid open the metal gate and craned my head into the hallway to look down the other direction. No one. No trace of the girl, no recently shut hotel room door, no footsteps, no jingle of keys. I released the button, but did not lean back against the wall. I stood directly in front of where the gap in the doors would be, in the center of the elevator. After a pause, the outer doors again began to slide shut, to move towards each other until the space between them was the width of a young girl’s face. In that quarter-second several fingertips appeared, followed immediately by her face again, rushing from around the corner, staring at me as the doors met. I had been watching the gap where I thought she might be, so I saw her - she was about thirteen years old, and very plain, almost homely, with a pale complexion and neck-length dark brown hair that looked mussed or slightly dirty. I did*’t have time to glance down at her visible shoulder, to see what she was wearing; from her behavior I wondered if she was a runaway or a homeless person who had gotten into the building. She had had a glassy, blank expression, tinged with a little desperation, some distant desire or need. A look that could easily be accompanied by the words “Please help.” The next time I passed the front desk, I asked the old man if he’d seen a young girl running through. “Heard the stories, then,” he said between throat-clearings, rocking gently in his seat. “Young Maddy has been here a long time. Takes a liking to gentlemen guests. Always been shy. Never says a word, not a word. Just curious.* I told him I hadn’t heard any stories, and that there had been a girl taking the stairs and standing in front of my elevator on every floor. “That’s our Maddy,” he said. “She likes you then. Sweet on you. She just wants to see, that’s all, just to see. All she ever does. Curious little thing. Just wants to see.” I stayed at the Hotel Umbra for three nights. It was a four-night business trip; the last night I tried sleeping in my car. It did*’t help. Let me tell you about Young Maddy. You only catch glimpses of her, of a face with a resigned look of quiet desperation, dominated by a pair of wide, dark eyes. Locked doors, barricades, nothing made a difference; she gets inside. I never saw her longer than half a second. Every time I laid eyes on her she retreated instantly, only to appear again an hour or two later. An hour or two if I was lucky. Let me tell you about where I saw Young Maddy. Every time I shut the door to my bathroom, in my hotel room, I saw her. If I watched as I shut it, at the last possible second I’d see the crescent of her face moving fast at the gap. I’d throw the door open to find nothing. Every time I closed the closet door I saw her. If I watched that gap, she’d suddenly be inside the closet, leaning her head to watch me just as it shut. It’s as if she knew where to go, where to be, so that my eye would meet hers. But there was never an impact, never a moment when she’d make contact with the door or the wall. I did spend that last night in my car, but like I said, it did no good. Tossing and turning on that rental car seat, the back ratcheted as flat as I could get it, I’d have to open my eyes sometimes, and if there was a place for her to dart from my view when I opened them, she did. In the side-view mirror, or peeking over the hood of my car - once upside-down, at the top of the windshield, as if she was on the roof. I’m back in St. Paul again, and I’ve been back for a year. But Maddy hasn’t stopped. If I keep my eyes open long enough, if I watch a place long enough, I’ll eventually catch sight of movement - near the copier in my office, a pile of boxes in an alley, a column in a quiet parking lot - and my eye will get there just in time to see her eye retreating from view. There’s never anything there when I go to look, so I’ve stopped looking. That’s how I’ve had to change things since the Hotel Umbra. I’ve stopped looking. I keep my eyes shut when I close doors, when I shut drawers and cabinets, fridges, coolers, the trunk of my car. Not all spaces. Just ones that are big enough. At least, that used to work. I was getting ready for bed a few nights ago, standing in front of my bathroom mirror, door shut, cabinets shut. Watching myself floss. I opened up wide to get my molars. I swear I saw fingertips retreat down the back of my throat. _____________________________________________________________________ Have you ever heard the expression “an apple a day keeps the Doctor away”? Most assume, with no reason to think otherwise, that it is simply an easy-to-remember rhyme that stresses the importance of eating healthily to young children. But the saying did not originate as a harmless reminder. It was born in a frontier town in the early years of the gold rush, where food was scarce and money even scarcer. One August, when a bad drought had struck the region, a series of bloody killings swept through the town. Every night, a single house would be broken into, and anyone who saw the invader would be swiftly, brutally slain. Nothing was ever stolen, save for a few scraps of food. After two weeks of this, the local grocer set out a few apples and a glass of milk in the town square overnight. He then hid in the tower of the church, hoping to catch a glimpse of anyone who came by. Fighting fatigue, the grocer waited for any sign of life below. Just after midnight, he was rewarded by a chilling sight; a man, carrying a black bag stuffed with dully shining metal tools and covered from head to foot in cloth bandages, staggered into view. He paused at the sight of the apples and milk, and then whipped his head around, as if looking for the one who dared to patronize him. Seized with fear, the grocer ducked out of sight, staying hidden 'til sunrise. The strange man had only taken one of the apples, and didn't even touch the glass of milk. No houses were broken into, and no one was killed. For decades, the town continued to place out an apple or two every night, even long after a single apple stopped disappearing. _____________________________________________________________________ There are stories about a certain kind of hitchhiker - they only ever appear at night on quiet roads, seeming to flicker into existence in the very edge of headlights, never carrying a sign, always with an expression of deep despondency on their faces, swathed in a heavy coat and long pants, usually with gloves. If you stop, they will seem cordial enough, polite, but hardly chatty. They will assure you that the next town or city along your route will be a fine spot to leave them. Normal enough. Unless you try killing them. They die easily enough. But look underneath their clothes, and you will see that their skin is marred with lines of scars, forming repeating patterns that are unsettling to look at, and even more unsettling in the context of their skin. They have no wallets, no identification. If you slice their belly open, however, they're different inside. There's no blood, no muscle, only a hollow cavity containing a single object. The object varies. Examples include a single coin, heavy and golden and engraved with runes nobody could ever decipher. A diamond gem with fractal edges that slice bare flesh to ribbons. A small vase, quite unbreakable, that smells of the ocean and is always damp... Once you possess a Hitchhiker's object, you'll find yourself always driving the quiet roads at night. You'll never mean to, but somehow, you just will. The lure of possessing a second one will hum quietly in your head. You'll strain to catch sight of a figure appearing in your headlights, try to resist the impulse to stop, and sometimes you might. But sometimes you won't. You'll try telling yourself that this is just a normal person on an adventure, someone who ran out of petrol. The logical part of your brain will scream at what you're doing. You'll smile and nod and they'll get into the car and you'll slowly, casually, reach under the seat or across to the glove box... _____________________________________________________________________ This morning, I stepped out of the shower and this bathroom was fine: white walls, white tiles, sink and counter with toothpaste crusted all over. Three out of the four light bulbs over the mirror were still good - 100 watt, clear bulb, blinding bright in the small white room. Like always I was late, so I skipped shaving. She liked it when I did*’t shave, anyway. I was thinking about doing mutton chops. She'd get a kick out of that. I passed the mirror and noticed I was grinning. I didn't even know I was grinning. I’m in the bathroom tonight before bed and there’s something wrong with the lights. All three are on again but they glow kind of brown, and don’t really light up the rest of the room. I should get more bulbs from the kitchen. I should, but I’m busy. The date was garbage and she shut her apartment door on me. You’d think that that would wipe off the stupid grin from this morning. But I came back in the bathroom and, in the mirror, my face was still doing it. If I touch my face, it doesn’t feel like a grin, but there it is in the mirror. In the brown light it’s hard to make out but - have you ever actually counted how many teeth show when you smile? I lean in close. One, two, three, four - I did*’t know my mouth was so wide - nine, ten, eleven - I can’t do mutton chops after all. The corners of my lips are out to my ears. It still doesn’t feel like a grin. But I keep counting, for curiosity. Thirty-six - thirty-seven - thirty-eight... _____________________________________________________________________ During the summer of 1983, in a quiet town near Minneapolis, Minnesota, the charred body of a woman was found inside the kitchen stove of a small farmhouse. A video camera was also found in the kitchen, standing on a tripod and pointing at the oven. No tape was found inside the camera at the time. Although the scene was originally labeled as a homicide by police, an unmarked VHS tape was later discovered at the bottom of the farm's well (which had apparently dried up earlier that year). Despite its worn condition, and the fact that it contained no audio, police were still able to view the contents of the tape. It depicted a woman recording herself in front of a video camera (seemingly using the same camera the police found in the kitchen). After positioning the camera to include both her and her kitchen stove in the image, the tape then showed her turning on the oven, opening the door, crawling inside, and then closing the door behind her. Eight minutes into the video, the oven could be seen shaking violently, after which point thick black smoke could be seen emanating from it. For the remaining 45 minutes of video, until the batteries in the camera died, it remained in its stationary position. To avoid disturbing the local community, police never released any information about the tape, or even the fact that it was found. Police were also not able to determine who put the tape in the well, or why the height and stature of the woman in the video didn't come close to matching the body they'd found in the oven. _____________________________________________________________________ I was through hiking the Appalachian Trail last year, when I got lost and found myself off the trail, in a strange, dark hollow with heavy moss and one running stream. It was getting dark, and starting to rain. I found a cave just above the creekbed, and there were no bear-tracks, so I went in for shelter. Sometime in the night, a bear did come, right into the cave, and I had no way out! Keeping my head, I crawled deeper into the cave and found a passage too small for the bear to fit. It led to a long crawlway ending in a little alcove. I had no light, and was terrified. But the sound of the bear in the bigger room faded away. This new room was cozy, with what felt like mounds of soft moss and crackly leaves all over the floor. A breeze blew through, and the leaves, though I couldn’t see them, seemed to move all over, they tickled me all night long, making it hard to sleep. The next morning I crept back out to see if the bear was gone - he was. So I exited back into the hollow. I had a terrible rash all over my body from the itchy bedding I had slept on, and couldn’t stop scratching as I gathered my stuff and went down the creek looking for a road and some directions back to the trail. I found another trail along the creek, and in a few hours, it ended at a dirt road. There I rested, trying to decide which way to walk for help. My skin was bleeding in spots now, and pustules were forming at the itchiest places. I thought I might need some cream or something. A game warden Jeep came around the bend, and when the Warden saw me sitting at the trailhead, he stopped. “You planning on going up there?” he asked, gesturing up the trail I had come down. “No, actually -- ” I began, but the itching on my skin made me stop short to scratch. “I wouldn't if I were you, especially that cave.” “Why?” I asked. “They call it Spiders-Nest Cave.” ____________________________________________________________________ An elderly man was sitting alone on a dark path. He wasn't sure of which direction to go, and he'd forgotten both where he was traveling to...and who he was. He'd sat down for a moment to rest his weary legs, and suddenly looked up to see an elderly woman before him. She grinned toothlessly and with a cackle, spoke: “Now your third wish. What will it be?* *Third wish?* The man was baffled. “How can it be a third wish if I haven’t had a first and second wish?” “You’ve had two wishes already,” the hag said, “but your second wish was for me to return everything to the way it was before you had made your first wish. That’s why you remember nothing; because everything is the way it was before you made any wishes.” She cackled at the poor man. “So it is that you have one wish left.” “All right,” he said hesitantly, “I don't believe this, but there's no harm in trying. I wish to know who I am.” “Funny,” said the old woman as she granted his wish and disappeared forever. “That was your first wish...”