Under Conan's vigorous recommendation, the Public Security informant whom the police had unfortunately picked up and brought back to the Metropolitan Police Department had actually already woken up.
The moment he regained consciousness, he jerked in fright, thinking he was still in that demon's clutches. But after taking a closer look, he realized he had already been taken out of the box. Judging by the decor of this hall, he was at the Metropolitan Police Department.
The moment he realized that, the informant went limp as though he had returned home. The Metropolitan Police Department was great. The police wouldn't kill people, nor would they lock people in tiny boxes and knock them out every time they woke up...
"Wait, come to think of it, that Great Detective should be the same, right?"
But why was that detective who had turned the tables on him so terrifying? When the man had suddenly appeared behind him with a collapsible baton in hand, he had already composed his Last Will and Testament in his head. Unfortunately, before he could write it down, he was knocked unconscious and stuffed into a box.
At that thought, the informant silently closed his eyes again.
"How humiliating. I'm an experienced veteran, yet today I actually let a high school student trapped in a box turn the tables on me..."
If a police officer came over to question him later, what was he supposed to say?
The more he thought about it, the more he felt it would be better to focus on staying unconscious and wait for his handler to arrive. That should also better serve his superior's interests. More importantly, he would not have to recount his embarrassing failure in every detail, thus avoiding the agony of social death.
While the police were trying