6-10

*Chapter 6: You're Really Getting into Character!*

Suzuki Sonoko—a true, consistent face-lover, inside and out.

She would eagerly travel to a far-off mansion in the mountains to glimpse a handsome guy, only to end up embroiled in a blizzard-driven murder case. Or she’d cross Japan with her best friend just to meet an online friend, only to… well, get caught in another snowy murder case.

Despite the similar outcomes, her dedication to judging by looks remains unwavering.

So, when Conan finally came down from the detective agency after waiting forever for Ran to come home, the scene he saw was Sonoko sitting with Ran in the booth of Café Poirot, chatting sweetly with a boy across the table.

Ran knew Sonoko all too well, so she was helplessly listening to the awkward chatter. Spotting Conan through the glass with his eyes wide, she quickly motioned for him to come in.

It was so awkward—too awkward. Sonoko was babbling on from family background to local customs to celebrity gossip. If someone didn’t stop her, she might even start discussing international crises and financial downturns.

Karasawa, the boy across from them, seemed polite enough, keeping the conversation going with “oh” and “huh” and “really?” But for Ran, who had to sit through this, her toes were curling so hard they might crack the tile floor.

“This is Conan, the child staying with my family. Isn’t he cute?” Ran caught Conan as he ran over, cutting Sonoko off before she could launch into a new topic.

“Ran-neechan! Who are these big brothers and sisters?” The pretend elementary schooler piped up in his cutest voice, but a side glance at Karasawa’s handsome face made alarms ring in his mind.

He’d only shrunk a couple of days ago—where did this handsome guy at Teitan High come from?! And Sonoko, seriously? Couldn’t she go on a date without dragging Ran along? Be a little more independent!

The two high school girls didn't react much, but Karasawa shivered a bit at Conan's entrance.

Thinking of how countless suspects, detectives, and police officers would soon be surrounded by Conan’s cute, sugary "huh?" gave Karasawa the chills.

“This is Suzuki Sonoko, and this is Karasawa Sho—both are my classmates. Say hi, Conan,” Ran introduced them.

Conan nodded loudly, keeping his eyes on Karasawa.

Judging by his uniform, he also attended Teitan, but Conan had never heard of him before.

“Oh, so this is the kid you mentioned? He’s cute, but…” Sonoko bent down to look at Conan’s face, narrowing her eyes. Despite his cute little face, something about him was oddly familiar. “Why does he look so familiar?”

“Uh-oh. Sonoko’s seen me as a kid!” Conan thought, feeling a pang of worry as he clutched his glasses, praying Sonoko wouldn’t get any ideas to take them off—exposing him further.

Then, suddenly, a voice that felt like music to Conan’s ears broke in.

“Are these your classmates, Karasawa?” Amuro Tooru, dressed in an apron with a warm smile, approached their table carrying a tray.

“Yes, Mr. Amuro. This is Mouri Ran, and this is Suzuki Sonoko. We’re all in the same class.”

Conan’s attention shifted back to Karasawa as he noticed the boy lower his voice. When he turned his head, he saw Karasawa, who had seemed relaxed a moment ago, now sitting tensely, his fingers digging into his knees.

He looked nervous—but why?

The young detective instinctively looked between Karasawa and Amuro, trying to figure it out.

“Nice to meet you both,” Amuro said with a practiced smile, placing a hand on Karasawa’s head. “I’m Amuro Tooru, and for now, I’m looking after Karasawa here. He’s a bit shy and doesn’t talk much, so if anyone bullies him, you’ll tell me, right?”

Karasawa nearly broke character as Amuro firmly patted his head.

“Was that one time I hid such a big deal? Do you really need to hold a grudge over it, Bourbon? Quit messing with my hair; it’s going to get flat!”

Karasawa, committed to his role, put up with the hair ruffling, glaring at the table in silent frustration.

Conan's suspicions grew.

Did Amuro say something alarming? Karasawa seemed frozen, like a cat caught by the scruff of its neck. But Amuro was just saying polite, friendly things—no reason to scare anyone like that.

Unless, in Karasawa’s ears, those words had another meaning.

Statements like “I’m looking after him” and “you’ll tell me” sounded like a warning—like Amuro was telling Karasawa he knew his every move and that he shouldn’t act recklessly.

Their relationship seemed more like a guard and a prisoner.

If Karasawa could read Conan’s mind, he might be touched to tears.

Finally, finally, someone was picking up on the character he’d been working so hard to convey!

“Would you like to order anything to eat or drink?” Amuro asked the group, remembering his job. “It’s on me, as a thank-you for watching over Karasawa.”

After some polite refusals, the two high school girls started excitedly looking over the café menu.

Karasawa took the chance to glance up at Amuro.

His blue eyes were hazy and moist, paired with a slight frown that conveyed an air of helplessness and pain.

Karasawa mouthed the words onegai (please).

Amuro nodded and smiled, indicating he wouldn’t say more.

It seems Karasawa was genuinely scared of his juvenile record getting out. Amuro quietly mused, starting to think about how he might use that to gather information on Karasawa’s case.

This was getting strange. Conan, peering over the table, now saw Karasawa and Amuro’s relationship as more like a hostage and captor.

Seeing that all the main players were now on the scene, Karasawa relaxed his expression, casting a caring look toward the two girls excitedly studying the menu.

They’re so helpful, he thought.

*Chapter 7: “The Magician”*

On the second day after his arrival, Karasawa successfully got the contact details for Suzuki Sonoko, Mouri Ran, and even Edogawa Conan.

With Conan’s series of hints, like "Uncle Mouri is a private detective" and "High schoolers are still minors," Karasawa sensed Conan’s goodwill, suggesting he could reach out if he had any unspoken troubles.

Well, whatever people think of his reputation isn’t really his problem.

Right now, Conan looks at Amuro Tooru as if he were scum, but Karasawa’s conscience feels fine.

Bad wine is still wine, and having Conan keep his distance for now is just as well.

Karasawa remembered early Conan, whose acting was honestly lousy—he felt like Mouri Ran would be suspicious of him five times in three days.

Better not have Bourbon slip up so quickly.

After bidding farewell to the “Grim Reaper” gang, Karasawa started rehearsing his upcoming conversation in his mind.

The setup was already complete; it wouldn’t be Bourbon if he didn’t come to test him. A grand performance was inevitable.

It was perfect timing since Karasawa had something he needed Amuro Tooru to help him test, anyway.

“Your dinner.”

Amuro placed a plate of seafood pasta in front of Karasawa, who was lost in thought, and a cup of hot cocoa by his side.

Startled, Karasawa hadn’t heard any footsteps. Regaining his composure, he thanked Amuro, marveling at his skill as an undercover agent, but still attempted to decline politely: “Thank you, but I can actually handle—”

“The boss said your food and lodging are covered by the shop; your parents must’ve paid for it, so don’t worry.” Amuro, earning a dual salary from multiple places, said with a straight face, planning to expense as much as possible to the organization. “Also, you’re welcome to use the shop’s kitchen anytime; eating cold rice balls all the time isn’t good for your health.”

Karasawa froze, his chopsticks just piercing the pasta.

So you really installed surveillance in a minor’s room? What happened to public morals?

“Ah, sorry,” Karasawa slowly picked up a bite of pasta, thinking of another possibility. His voice grew softer. “Did Enomoto-san tell you?”

In fact, Amuro, who hadn’t actually planted surveillance, had a clear conscience. He nodded and said, “She mentioned she’d made you a sandwich this morning, but you left for school after just eating a couple of rice balls. Don’t worry too much, Karasawa-kun.”

Karasawa stuffed a forkful of pasta into his mouth and, after swallowing, replied, “I understand.”

“How does it taste? Not bad, right?” Amuro cheerfully nudged Karasawa’s head as he was practically buried in the plate, guessing he’d either choke on the pasta or freeze up like a startled rabbit.

Why was Karasawa so afraid of him? Amuro prided himself on acting as a considerate older brother since they met, yet couldn’t stop wondering.

Did something violent happen during a case interrogation? Or had someone threatened him before he came to Tokyo?

Sure enough, upon hearing that Amuro made the pasta, Karasawa paused mid-chew, looking up at him in surprise.

What he was thinking, though, was: Why does he keep poking my head? Does it look that grab-able?

Karasawa averted his eyes in mild exasperation. “It’s good. Thank you.”

In fairness, Amuro’s cooking skills were impressive. The pasta was soft but firm, with the caviar adding a delightful taste and texture. A working man like Amuro was no doubt skilled in all his jobs.

Karasawa took another bite.

“As long as you like it. There’s no need to use so many formalities with me; am I that scary? You always seem worried about upsetting me. My temper isn’t that bad, so don’t be afraid. We’ll be spending a lot of time together,” Amuro hinted gently.

He had definitely noticed Conan’s wary look, as if he’d found a “bad guy.”

Though Bourbon wasn’t a good person, Rei Furuya wasn’t truly bad, and it didn’t make sense for his harmless interactions to make Karasawa feel so wary.

Amuro decided to rule out the possibility that Karasawa had sensed the organization’s surveillance. If Karasawa’s caution was due to him seeing Amuro as a danger, it’d be worth considering that “Karasawa Akira may be fully aware that the organization is persecuting him.”

Karasawa picked up on Amuro’s subtle probing and decided to pin it on the original Karasawa’s isolated background. Although Karasawa didn’t know it well, Amuro certainly did, so he responded with a faint, pained smile, “I didn’t mean any offense. Sorry. It’s just… I’m not sure…”

He gave a sad, reflective look, as if he were recalling painful memories, leaving it at that.

Those who understood would understand; he’d leave it up to Amuro’s imagination.

Amuro, blessed with an active imagination, immediately pieced it together.

After the incident, Karasawa Akira’s expulsion notice was posted publicly. Soon, rumors spread that he’d severely injured someone, committed manslaughter while intoxicated, or even assaulted a junior high student, all to the point of death.

Someone was deliberately destroying Karasawa Akira’s social ties, and it was working well.

His classmates and neighbors avoided him; his house was defaced with slurs, and his personal items in his school locker were deliberately vandalized.

Because he could no longer live normally in his former environment, he’d been relocated to Tokyo.

What an incredibly unlucky and pitiful child, Amuro thought with a sigh, his demeanor softening. “Are you worried I’d treat you poorly because of your past? Have people been bullying you?”

Karasawa said nothing, reflecting on more memories of his past.

Huddled under a blanket, the child clutched his ears, but he couldn’t block out the persistent notifications from his phone.

He knew exactly what they were.

At first, they were questions and concern, then doubts and rejection. Now, his social media and email were flooded with messages like “Murderer” and “Go die.” All the friendly connections he’d once had seemed completely forgotten.

Even his silence hadn’t eased things; everything only intensified. People edited his photos in black and white, labeling him as a murderer and posting them online, sparking judgments from strangers he’d never met.

He became terrified of the world, avoiding everyone’s gaze. Every person on the street seemed to stab him with looks full of hatred.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

Grabbing his blaring phone, Karasawa Akira threw it with all his might.

“Wouldn’t you, Amuro-san?”

Karasawa took a deep breath, his tone steady but tears streaming down his face.

Damn it, those cyberbullies deserved worse.

Damn it, he was barely holding it together—breaking down crying would be embarrassing.

Thanks to his past, Karasawa had developed excellent emotional control, but right now, it felt as though his tear ducts had a mind of their own. The grief from “Karasawa Akira” flooded him, making it hard even to stop himself from sobbing.

On Amuro’s end, this was a different picture: he saw a fragile, sorrowful young man who suddenly seemed small, silently crying with convincing vulnerability.

“Of course not. Wipe your face; your tears are going to fall into your pasta.” Amuro, feeling a pang of sympathy, turned away and handed Karasawa a towel, covering his face. “I’m your guardian now. I’ll protect you.”

Karasawa’s tears were still flowing, but his mind had calmed, and Amuro’s words gave him a spark of hope.

“Really?” Karasawa muttered from behind the towel.

“I’m not one to lie to kids. You can trust me a little more.” Amuro patted his head. “I’ll fulfill my duties as your guardian. It’s a promise.”

Bourbon’s intentions? They had nothing to do with Rei Furuya.

The undercover agent, free of guilt, made his promise without hesitation.

“...Fine.” Karasawa took the towel and wiped his face, grumbling from beneath it, “But stop messing with my head!”

Just then, Karasawa heard a familiar voice echo in his mind.

"Thou art I... I am thou..."

"Thou hast forged a new bond..."

"The bond shall become the wings of rebellion, to break the chains of captivity."

"I, the Magician Arcana, have blessed you with power to aid your journey..."

A window popped up in front of Karasawa.

*[Cooperation: Amuro Tooru (?)]*

*[Arcana: Magician, Rank 1]*

*“Truths and lies, layers of masks, a figure smiling behind them all, much like yourself. To pierce through it, you need wisdom, honesty, and perhaps… a flexible moral compass? The upcoming layered game is about to begin, ready… go!”*

*[Skill Learned: “Martial Arts”]*

*Chapter 8: The Trolley Dilemma*

Cooperation is a key theme in the P5 system, symbolized by the Tarot Major Arcana and linked to the protagonist's journey. Some connections are part of the main story, while others are optional side quests. Through deepening bonds with cooperative allies, the protagonist’s abilities grow stronger.

Though he’d anticipated this significant character to appear, Karasawa was surprised at how quickly and effectively the event triggered.

Still... the first skill he learned was freestyle combat? Karasawa tossed his towel aside, glancing quizzically at Amuro Tooru.

Was it because his role leaned toward a guardian? Teaching self-defense first made sense, but wasn’t Amuro Tooru’s standout skill supposed to be driving?

After all, with his driving skills, even Newton would have fainted watching him defy gravity.

Amuro smirked, noticing Karasawa’s reddened cheeks from the towel rub, and nudged a plate toward him. “Hurry and eat. If you start crying after a few bites, people might think my cooking’s awful.”

With red eyes and a reddened nose, Karasawa looked particularly childlike. Even though Amuro knew he was already 18, it was hard not to think of him as a “kid.”

Karasawa pouted, wanting to retort, but one glance at the pasta made him pick up his chopsticks instead.

You can’t bite the hand that feeds you. Plus, Amuro’s cooking was pretty good.

Feeling Karasawa gradually relax, Amuro, oblivious to his own subtle manipulation, decided to press on: “When the boss told me to take in a juvenile delinquent, I imagined someone tough to handle. You don’t seem like a criminal. What happened? Serious assault is no minor charge—was it accidental?”

It was a slightly leading question, implying even if Karasawa was at fault, it wasn’t that serious, a common technique to gain trust.

Mentally scoring Amuro’s interrogation skills, Karasawa tilted his gaze as if recalling, and summarized the entire case.

The incident was bizarre, the details absurd, and the outcome even more so.

Not only was the victim so drunk it was unclear if his head injury was from Karasawa’s alleged hit or his own stumbling, but even if it had been a fight, taking him into custody immediately after the report left Karasawa shocked for an entire year.

Then, he was detained with delinquents in a shared cell, where he endured multiple beatings.

The trial was intense. The victim didn’t appear in court, and since Karasawa refused to confess, he was repeatedly pressured to plead guilty for a lighter sentence, which would allow him to continue school. Otherwise, he’d be sent to a juvenile detention center.

After two months of pressure, Karasawa eventually wrote a confession.

Expressing compassion for his past self, Karasawa recounted the story calmly, finishing his plate of pasta.

In contrast, Amuro was livid, clenching his fist as he listened. “…They’re breaking the law! Where were your parents? Did you report them to anyone?”

Exactly what he was hoping for—a strong reaction. Karasawa watched Amuro’s clenched fists with satisfaction and reminded him, “My parents were abroad. As for others… juvenile trials are completely closed.”

The implication was clear, and Amuro understood.

When the verdict came, confidential case details had already spread, and with no evidence to his name and a signed confession, Karasawa’s reputation had fallen to rock bottom. No one would listen to him.

Karasawa took a sip of hot cocoa, watching Amuro’s twitching eye in amusement. His barely concealed fury was somehow… appetizing.

Amuro was truly angry—not only at Karasawa’s ordeal but also at the severe misconduct of his colleagues. Suppressing his usual persona, he gritted his teeth and muttered, “Bastards! A bunch of useless tax thieves!”

Excellent! Just a bit louder! Eager to fuel the fire, Karasawa suggested, “Maybe the drunk guy is someone important… a high-ranking official the police can’t refuse…”

Amuro’s rage intensified.

That would be even worse. If powerful politicians manipulated the police, they’d effectively become enforcers at the beck and call of private interests.

Outraged, he vowed, “I’ll need to inform Kazami and get to the bottom of this!”

---

Their conversation was observed from afar.

On the edge of a rooftop, hundreds of meters away, a long-haired man in a knit cap shifted his eyes from the sniper scope and checked his vibrating phone.

“Shu, what’s the status?”

“Everything’s stable. ‘Bourbon’ is in contact with the target.”

“Should we approach him?”

Akai Shuichi looked through the scope at Karasawa, sipping a drink and chatting with Amuro Tooru.

“Not yet—no sudden moves. Karasawa’s parents have been missing for two months and may already be dead. If the Organization went to such lengths to capture him, they wouldn’t move now. He’s safe for now.”

“What about the plan to apprehend Gin?”

“Postpone it again. Karasawa’s parents’ departure probably alerted Gin; he won’t take the bait easily. The priority now is Karasawa and the safety of the Miyano sisters.”

“The Miyano sisters are in a highly secure facility. Camero has had no breakthroughs. Shu, we’re running out of time—they won’t hold off forever, and if this continues, we risk losing both.”

Shu remained silent.

The person on the other end also stayed quiet, understanding the implications.

They knew this choice meant sacrificing one side.

“The switch is in his hands, and the speeding trolley is about to reach the junction. Shu must decide which path to divert it onto.”

“Shu…” came a sigh. “We have no other options…”

The Akai family and the Miyanos both held deep meaning for Shuichi.

Gripping his sniper rifle steadily, without a hint of wavering, he said, “Tell Camero to pull back. I’ll find an opportunity to contact Karasawa.”

“Are you sure? Maybe we could—”

“No second-guessing once the decision’s made. Have him come back; we need to prepare for Karasawa’s extraction.”

“…Understood.”

A sharp click ended the call.

Shuichi stayed low, pulling out his phone and typing:

*Target and Bourbon in contact. No suspicious individuals detected nearby.*

A few seconds later, a response pinged.

*Remain vigilant. If the target exhibits abnormal behavior, permission granted for tranquilizer deployment.*

Clearing his inbox, Shuichi closed his eyes briefly before refocusing through the scope on Karasawa’s smiling face as he spoke with Amuro.

Images of the others flashed through his mind as he held his weapon steady.

They’d already lost Karasawa’s parents.

There was no room for further hesitation.

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 9: Are You Asleep? I Can’t Fall Asleep*

In the attic, Karasawa lay peacefully, oblivious to the storm his family’s actions were stirring in the organization. He was already off to dreamland, unwinding with a glass of dream-whiskey.

After a dramatic day, Karasawa wasn’t exactly exhausted, but it was refreshing to joke around with Leon, a fellow spoiler-savvy companion.

Tonight, the Velvet Bar hosted two dream-drunk troublemakers chugging whiskey as if they couldn’t get drunk.

Karasawa slapped his hand on the bar counter, gripping his bottle: “Why didn’t I get ‘Driving’? Not that I’m asking for much—is there something I’m missing here?”

“Come on, do you even have a license?” Leon nudged his head back, “They gave you combat skills, isn’t that practical enough?”

“Like Conan has a pilot’s license or something,” Karasawa muttered. “And I haven’t even cleared a single palace yet, and they’re already throwing me into a co-op side quest. That’s kind of half-hearted, isn’t it?”

Leon shook his head, “Fishing for spoilers? Not happening. Co-op content is confidential; you’re on your own there.”

“So you do know something.” Karasawa wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about being caught, grinning, “Let me think...”

He already had a mental draft of the potential co-op allies list. Since Amuro was involved, it’d be a slight to leave out Akai. Conan, Hattori, and other red-aligned detectives were sure to be included, but as for the black side, that was harder to say.

And then there were the wildcard characters like Kid and Kyogoku, who might also count as co-op options. If Kyogoku got involved, maybe he’d just swipe the Tower Arcana outright...

“So, do you think I need to try infiltrating the organization?” Karasawa switched gears.

“More than just ‘need,’ actually.”

“True, I still don’t know why the organization’s interested in ‘Karasawa Zhao,’” Karasawa tapped his bottle, looking troubled. “Bourbon probably knows, but I can’t exactly ask outright. Should I just say, ‘Rei Furuya, you’ve been found out’?”

Leon chuckled, taking a long swig and squinting in amusement. “Now you understand the challenge of having a script? It’s like knowing the ending of a mystery novel from the start and pretending it’s all a big, suspenseful reveal.”

“Yeah, and my script’s all jumbled up, too,” Karasawa winced at the thought of constantly having to act convincingly, whether in the red or black camps. “If I’m critical to their plan, I’ll be under constant surveillance. If I use my cognitive powers and the black side finds out…”

The P5’s antagonists, except for traitor Akechi Goro, were just ordinary humans. Yet Akechi alone managed to orchestrate a plot that plunged society into chaos.

If the organization learned of this power...

“I can’t be passive; I need to infiltrate,” he resolved, glancing down at his intact legs with a faint nostalgic glint.

“What are you even nostalgic about?” Leon swatted him on the head, bringing him back. “Pretending to be a fake agent in the Detective Conan world is safer than being a real one.”

“Ow!” Karasawa looked up, scowling, “I get it, but did you have to hit me on the head too?”

“I just wanted to try it out.” Leon rubbed his fingertips as if testing the sensation, “I get why Amuro always ruffles your hair now. It’s surprisingly satisfying.”

---

The next morning at the café, Amuro found a sluggish Karasawa, who had spent the night wrestling with Leon until he’d rolled out of bed.

“Good morning! Didn’t sleep well? Make sure to rest properly tonight,” Amuro said, patting Karasawa, who was slouched in his seat.

He’d wanted to pat his head, but since Karasawa had complained about it, he settled for a shoulder pat instead.

“Good morning,” Karasawa replied, tiredly looking at Amuro’s dark circles. “Don’t lecture me. You didn’t sleep well either, did you, Mr. Amuro?”

Actually, Karasawa was fine; he’d gotten plenty of sleep. It was just that he’d had so much to drink in his dreams that his drinking history made him feel like he should be hungover, even though his body was in perfect condition.

Amuro, on the other hand, must have been swamped with work due to the case info Karasawa had shared, and he looked exhausted.

“I have insomnia. I’m used to it. I tell you to get rest precisely because I can’t,” Amuro lied without missing a beat, looking genuinely concerned. “Good sleep is invaluable; I only realized it after losing it.”

Always can’t sleep? More like you’re overloaded with work, Karasawa thought sympathetically, noting Amuro’s weary face.

Amuro noticed Karasawa’s clothes and raised a brow, “Why are you in your school uniform on a day off?”

Good question. Karasawa sighed; he hadn’t even realized it was a day off until he looked at his phone.

“I didn’t bring many clothes with me and didn’t know what else to wear. Plus, the uniform’s decent,” he shrugged.

“It’s not just about how it looks.” Amuro rubbed his forehead, reminding himself that Karasawa had been living alone with minimal housekeeping skills. “I’ll take a day off with Miss Enomoto and bring you to the mall.”

Karasawa quickly refused, “No, it’s fine. Just tell me where the closest mall is. You should rest upstairs; you look really tired.”

He wanted some time to himself, and Amuro needed the rest.

“Is it that bad?” Amuro glanced at his reflection and saw how worn out he looked. “The attic’s your room now—is that okay?”

“It was always a resting space, and I don’t have much stuff; it’s all locked up anyway. I’m already imposing by staying here so long.”

With Karasawa sounding so considerate, it felt overkill to press further. And since he could use the time to do a more thorough search of Karasawa’s things, Amuro agreed.

“Two hours then. I’ll tidy up after I’m done. You can go to the shopping district in the north; there’s a department store on the other side, the Beika Mall.” He gestured toward the directions and, seeing Karasawa’s slim bag, asked, “Got money?”

Moved by Amuro’s thoughtfulness, Karasawa decided to slip him a bit more intel.

“No worries. My parents left me a bank card. They transfer me enough for my expenses every year, so I have more than enough.”

Amuro paused, glancing back naturally. “Good, then. Stay safe.”

Karasawa noticed Amuro’s hand in his pocket, apparently tapping away on his phone.

Looks like poor Amuro wouldn’t get that rest after all.

Having loaded Amuro with another night’s worth of work, Karasawa left, grinning.

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 10: Launching the Otherworld Navigation*

Karasawa looked around Mihua Shopping Street and took a photo with his phone.

After all, it was a well-known spot; this peaceful street was unaware of the chaos it would face in the future.

He shrugged it off, reminding himself that he was staying at Café Poirot, so he wasn’t in any position to criticize the dark aura elsewhere.

With a sigh, Karasawa casually picked a clothing store to browse.

He did need some new clothes, considering the unpredictable seasonal shifts here. It couldn’t hurt to stock up on everyday outfits.

His inventory did have plenty of clothes, but most were attribute-boosting gear, which felt awkward to wear casually and didn’t really match his usual style.

Since he wasn’t an actual high schooler, his style leaned more toward refined casual—he preferred khaki, dark gray jackets, trench coats, and black, white, or gray basics.

Unfortunately, his youthful appearance didn’t quite suit the mature style.

After hastily completing his shopping mission, Karasawa headed toward a newsstand to buy a couple of newspapers. He wanted to look into recent criminal cases, see if Shinichi Kudo had made any progress, and consider where he might "accidentally" run into the kid detective.

Just then, someone from a nearby antique store stumbled toward him.

Karasawa instinctively stepped back and assumed a defensive boxing stance, only to realize it was a skinny middle-aged man who had been shoved out of the store, stumbling backward.

“Careful.” Realizing it wasn’t an attack, Karasawa steadied the man before he fell backward.

“I told you not to bother us anymore!” The store manager, a chubby man following the employee out, shouted at the man. “The buyer has already reserved the blade. It’s not going to you, no matter how many times I tell you!”

“But the pledge period I agreed on with Marutsuna Taro hasn’t expired yet. You have no right to sell ‘Kikuchiyo’!” The thin-faced man with a thin mustache protested angrily, his face flushed. “This is a breach of contract!”

“You pawned it to him, not me! Not my problem!” The manager's voice was even louder. “Set foot in here again, and I’ll call the police!”

With that, the manager turned around and slammed the door shut.

The man Karasawa had helped stood there, clenching his fists, his chest heaving with barely-contained fury.

Seeing the man stand upright, Karasawa let go.

The man, noticing Karasawa’s curious gaze, forced a smile and murmured a thanks before turning toward the street. Karasawa watched him walk away, his shoulders hunched, hands clenched tight, his rage simmering beneath the surface.

“Marutsuna Taro…” Karasawa murmured, pinching his chin in a classic detective pose. “That name rings a bell. Was he a victim… or maybe a murderer?”

Before he could recall the details, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Strange, he thought—wasn’t his ringer on? He pulled out his phone, and his pupils narrowed.

On his home screen, the red and black "Otherworld Navigation" app was glowing, a window having popped up.

*“Name: Marutsuna Taro”*

A palace? Marutsuna Taro actually had a palace?

No, he needed to move to a hidden spot; if this actually transported him into another world right on the street, it’d be a real spectacle.

Scanning his surroundings to make sure no one was paying attention, Karasawa slipped into a narrow alley between two stores.

The Otherworld Navigation app was, as the name suggested, a navigation tool for entering an alternate world.

In the Persona 5 concept, humanity’s collective unconscious harbors an isolated space, which individuals can connect to if they harbor strong enough desires that distort reality, forming a unique "palace."

Such individuals often visualize a certain place as something else, and based on that perception, the location appears twisted in the cognitive world. This app couldn’t just be launched on a whim; you had to provide the correct coordinates: who the palace owner was, and which place they had distorted into what form.

If Marutsuna Taro’s name triggered a reaction, that meant he had a palace.

Karasawa mentally searched his memory for the name, recalling the dispute he had just witnessed between the man and the store owner, and soon pinpointed the case.

Marutsuna Taro was the owner of a company, one of the most high-risk professions in Detective Conan.

Despite his wealth, he had an odd habit of loan sharking and would sell off collateral before borrowers could even default. The man who had just erupted in anger should be Suwa Koji, a kendo expert whose family sword, Kikuchiyo, was sold off by Marutsuna Taro, leading Suwa to stab him in a fit of rage.

But in Detective Conan, it’s not just the crimes that are bizarre—it’s the flamboyant death clues.

For instance, Marutsuna Taro, after being stabbed in the back, still managed to carve the culprit’s name onto a cabinet with the blade. And that cabinet was as tall as a person! If he had that much strength, he could’ve probably struck the attacker or crawled out of the room for help!

Calculating his limited time, Karasawa knew he had to act before Kogoro Mouri was called in, and the Grim Reaper aura sealed the palace owner’s fate beyond salvation.

Recalling the general case details, Karasawa hesitantly typed a location in the second input box.

*“Location: Maru Residence”*

No error—it was indeed this case.

Only one question remained: What did Marutsuna Taro see his home as?

Karasawa tested a few guesses in the location field: bank, vault, safe—none succeeded. Then he tried some entertainment venues like clubs and bars but received the same “location not found” response.

“Hmm, it’s harder to guess blindly than I thought,” Karasawa muttered, recalling more details.

Right, he remembered that this family was wealthy because they lived in a Japanese-style house with a courtyard and several servants, suggesting the owner was quite affluent.

But since it was a Japanese-style house, perhaps he saw it as a traditional Japanese structure?

Switching angles, Karasawa tried a few more times, then had an idea.

*“Location: Daimyo Residence”*

As he entered the final character, an electronic voice sounded from his phone’s speaker.

“Location confirmed. Navigation initializing.”

His vision subtly wavered, and Karasawa exhaled as he peered cautiously out of the alley.

Sure enough, the bustling street outside was now completely deserted, with absolute silence. Observing for a moment, he stepped out of the alley and finally spoke aloud.

“A loan shark who sees himself as a daimyo… shameless, Marutsuna Taro,” Karasawa muttered, clicking his tongue as he looked at the glowing route on the Otherworld Navigation app and began heading toward the destination.

Unbeknownst to Karasawa, a hundred meters away in a nearby building, Shuichi Akai was watching the alley he had entered, his brows furrowing as no one came back out.

With the confidence of a top sniper, Akai confirmed that the shadowy alley was empty.

*“Target has left our sight. Are there others stationed nearby?”*

*“Yes, but they’ve all lost sight as well. The target likely has strong anti-surveillance instincts and may have spotted the surveillance.”*

*“Have them withdraw. If he’s detected us, further tracking is meaningless. I’ll handle the monitoring myself.”*

Akai issued the command, his brows remaining furrowed.

How did Karasawa completely shake off everyone, including him, the sniper with a vantage point, in just a few minutes?

(Chapter End)

*Chapter 10: Launching the Otherworld Navigation*

Karasawa looked around Mihua Shopping Street and took a photo with his phone.

After all, it was a well-known spot; this peaceful street was unaware of the chaos it would face in the future.

He shrugged it off, reminding himself that he was staying at Café Poirot, so he wasn’t in any position to criticize the dark aura elsewhere.

With a sigh, Karasawa casually picked a clothing store to browse.

He did need some new clothes, considering the unpredictable seasonal shifts here. It couldn’t hurt to stock up on everyday outfits.

His inventory did have plenty of clothes, but most were attribute-boosting gear, which felt awkward to wear casually and didn’t really match his usual style.

Since he wasn’t an actual high schooler, his style leaned more toward refined casual—he preferred khaki, dark gray jackets, trench coats, and black, white, or gray basics.

Unfortunately, his youthful appearance didn’t quite suit the mature style.

After hastily completing his shopping mission, Karasawa headed toward a newsstand to buy a couple of newspapers. He wanted to look into recent criminal cases, see if Shinichi Kudo had made any progress, and consider where he might "accidentally" run into the kid detective.

Just then, someone from a nearby antique store stumbled toward him.

Karasawa instinctively stepped back and assumed a defensive boxing stance, only to realize it was a skinny middle-aged man who had been shoved out of the store, stumbling backward.

“Careful.” Realizing it wasn’t an attack, Karasawa steadied the man before he fell backward.

“I told you not to bother us anymore!” The store manager, a chubby man following the employee out, shouted at the man. “The buyer has already reserved the blade. It’s not going to you, no matter how many times I tell you!”

“But the pledge period I agreed on with Marutsuna Taro hasn’t expired yet. You have no right to sell ‘Kikuchiyo’!” The thin-faced man with a thin mustache protested angrily, his face flushed. “This is a breach of contract!”

“You pawned it to him, not me! Not my problem!” The manager's voice was even louder. “Set foot in here again, and I’ll call the police!”

With that, the manager turned around and slammed the door shut.

The man Karasawa had helped stood there, clenching his fists, his chest heaving with barely-contained fury.

Seeing the man stand upright, Karasawa let go.

The man, noticing Karasawa’s curious gaze, forced a smile and murmured a thanks before turning toward the street. Karasawa watched him walk away, his shoulders hunched, hands clenched tight, his rage simmering beneath the surface.

“Marutsuna Taro…” Karasawa murmured, pinching his chin in a classic detective pose. “That name rings a bell. Was he a victim… or maybe a murderer?”

Before he could recall the details, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Strange, he thought—wasn’t his ringer on? He pulled out his phone, and his pupils narrowed.

On his home screen, the red and black "Otherworld Navigation" app was glowing, a window having popped up.

*“Name: Marutsuna Taro”*

A palace? Marutsuna Taro actually had a palace?

No, he needed to move to a hidden spot; if this actually transported him into another world right on the street, it’d be a real spectacle.

Scanning his surroundings to make sure no one was paying attention, Karasawa slipped into a narrow alley between two stores.

The Otherworld Navigation app was, as the name suggested, a navigation tool for entering an alternate world.

In the Persona 5 concept, humanity’s collective unconscious harbors an isolated space, which individuals can connect to if they harbor strong enough desires that distort reality, forming a unique "palace."

Such individuals often visualize a certain place as something else, and based on that perception, the location appears twisted in the cognitive world. This app couldn’t just be launched on a whim; you had to provide the correct coordinates: who the palace owner was, and which place they had distorted into what form.

If Marutsuna Taro’s name triggered a reaction, that meant he had a palace.

Karasawa mentally searched his memory for the name, recalling the dispute he had just witnessed between the man and the store owner, and soon pinpointed the case.

Marutsuna Taro was the owner of a company, one of the most high-risk professions in Detective Conan.

Despite his wealth, he had an odd habit of loan sharking and would sell off collateral before borrowers could even default. The man who had just erupted in anger should be Suwa Koji, a kendo expert whose family sword, Kikuchiyo, was sold off by Marutsuna Taro, leading Suwa to stab him in a fit of rage.

But in Detective Conan, it’s not just the crimes that are bizarre—it’s the flamboyant death clues.

For instance, Marutsuna Taro, after being stabbed in the back, still managed to carve the culprit’s name onto a cabinet with the blade. And that cabinet was as tall as a person! If he had that much strength, he could’ve probably struck the attacker or crawled out of the room for help!

Calculating his limited time, Karasawa knew he had to act before Kogoro Mouri was called in, and the Grim Reaper aura sealed the palace owner’s fate beyond salvation.

Recalling the general case details, Karasawa hesitantly typed a location in the second input box.

*“Location: Maru Residence”*

No error—it was indeed this case.

Only one question remained: What did Marutsuna Taro see his home as?

Karasawa tested a few guesses in the location field: bank, vault, safe—none succeeded. Then he tried some entertainment venues like clubs and bars but received the same “location not found” response.

“Hmm, it’s harder to guess blindly than I thought,” Karasawa muttered, recalling more details.

Right, he remembered that this family was wealthy because they lived in a Japanese-style house with a courtyard and several servants, suggesting the owner was quite affluent.

But since it was a Japanese-style house, perhaps he saw it as a traditional Japanese structure?

Switching angles, Karasawa tried a few more times, then had an idea.

*“Location: Daimyo Residence”*

As he entered the final character, an electronic voice sounded from his phone’s speaker.

“Location confirmed. Navigation initializing.”

His vision subtly wavered, and Karasawa exhaled as he peered cautiously out of the alley.

Sure enough, the bustling street outside was now completely deserted, with absolute silence. Observing for a moment, he stepped out of the alley and finally spoke aloud.

“A loan shark who sees himself as a daimyo… shameless, Marutsuna Taro,” Karasawa muttered, clicking his tongue as he looked at the glowing route on the Otherworld Navigation app and began heading toward the destination.

Unbeknownst to Karasawa, a hundred meters away in a nearby building, Shuichi Akai was watching the alley he had entered, his brows furrowing as no one came back out.

With the confidence of a top sniper, Akai confirmed that the shadowy alley was empty.

*“Target has left our sight. Are there others stationed nearby?”*

*“Yes, but they’ve all lost sight as well. The target likely has strong anti-surveillance instincts and may have spotted the surveillance.”*

*“Have them withdraw. If he’s detected us, further tracking is meaningless. I’ll handle the monitoring myself.”*

Akai issued the command, his brows remaining furrowed.

How did Karasawa completely shake off everyone, including him, the sniper with a vantage point, in just a few minutes?

(Chapter End)