Conan: O Deus da Morte Está de Olho em Mim
"A Morte Chegou", mas parece que eu também sou a Morte? Gao Mo renasceu no mundo dos pequenos estudantes da Morte, e por ter escapado do plano da morte, acabou sendo perseguido pela verdadeira Morte. Boa notícia: agora é imortal e ainda ganhou um sistema de profissões contra o destino. Ator, detetive, mestre do kenjutsu... todas as profissões podem evoluir, quebrando a visão de mundo. Má notícia: sempre tem alguém querendo me matar. "Vovó, por que você quer me matar?" "Maldito! Por sua culpa não consegui comprar ovos em promoção!" "???"
Conan: O Deus da Morte Está de Olho em Mim
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“He’s dead. Does he have any family?”
“No one we can contact.”
“Drip.”
The intermittent sound of water dripping echoed in Gao Mo’s ears.
His body was paralyzed, as if pinned down by a ghost, unable to move; even breathing was unbearably difficult.
Cold, darkness, the stench of rot and decay...
Saltwater kept flooding down his throat, the faint light from the water’s surface drifting ever farther away.
It was as if some force was dragging him down, pulling him relentlessly into the blackest abyss of the sea.
What was happening?
Who had died?
Gao Mo jolted awake, struggling, wanting to scream but unable to make a sound. All he could hear was the distant noise of a television.
Broken fragments.
“Shinichi Kudo, the Holmes of the Heisei era, reveals the secrets of crime! The Roller Coaster Decapitation Case...”
“The Chairman’s daughter kidnapping case, Mouri Detective Agency...”
“Ah—!”
Clutching at hope like a drowning man grasping straw, Gao Mo shot upright from the floor, eyes wide, gasping for air.
Alive!
He was still alive!
Wiping sweat from his face, he looked around, still shaken, his complexion pale, bewilderment gradually overtaking his features.
This wasn’t his room.
The small bedroom was plastered with posters and newspaper clippings, and medals lay scattered on the desk.
It seemed like the room of some idol or entertainer, yet the person in the posters was unmistakably himself.
Long, tousled hair, a melancholy, intellectual air...
Another version of himself?
Touching his cheek
