Karasawa took a satisfied sip of his coffee, looking quite pleased with himself as he watched Conan's grim expression.
Finally—finally, coffee.
He'd been crashing at the café for days and hadn't gotten a single cup. Was this really how a person was treated? Amuro Tooru had insisted that "children shouldn't drink coffee, they need sleep," and kept serving him hot cocoa instead.
Tch. Whatever. If the man won't make it, he'll just drink it himself.
But to Conan, Karasawa's leisurely enjoyment looked less like simple delight and more like the smug poise of a textbook villain—which only deepened the frown on his face and gave his young features an oddly adult severity.
"No one would believe a ridiculous story like that," Conan said coldly.
"True," Karasawa replied, smiling devilishly. "Everything I just said is pure speculation. I have no proof. But I imagine someone might be very interested in what I've deduced." His words dripped with veiled threat, as though he were a villain trying to coerce the hero into a shady deal. He reached for the untouched slice of Black Forest cake sitting in front of Conan. "You're not eating that? I'll take it then."
Conan clenched his jaw. That implication—he was obviously talking about Ran…
Damn it. As soon as he got back, he'd call the Professor and demand tighter security protocols on his tech!
Not that this was Agasa Hakase's fault—Karasawa wasn't just pulling wild guesses out of thin air. He'd clearly come prepared. After rummaging through his "four-dimensional pocket" for a while, he'd pulled out several leather armbands—probably something inherited from Shinshima-senpai or someone like that—and at the moment, Karasawa had six of them wrapped snugly around his right upper arm beneath the sleeve of his school blazer, forming what could only be described as makeshift leather armor.
What else could he do? Karasawa had no desire to test that famous knockout dart firsthand. In the entire Conan canon, only that silver-haired Organization executive could take a hit and stay standing. Karasawa was under no illusions—he wasn't built that tough. Best to armor up.
Sure enough, the tranquilizer meant for the back of his neck failed to penetrate. Karasawa had never actually passed out to begin with.
"Who said I'm not eating it!" Conan snapped, grabbing the cake plate with a kind of childish indignation. He picked up the fork and jabbed off a corner of the cake, stuffing it into his mouth. "...So what do you mean? And for the record, this situation I'm in—it was an accident."
"Obviously," Karasawa said, resting his chin in his hand, eyes twinkling. "Kudou Shinichi. You're one hell of a detective. So—how about we make a deal?"
"What are you planning?" Conan stared back, sharp and wary, his bright eyes locking with Karasawa's, which seemed to shimmer with reversed light.
…Ran had said Karasawa was gentle and easy to get along with. But this guy? He was just plain nasty.
"I'll keep your secret," Karasawa said smoothly. "I'll help you maintain your cover—and maybe even help you find a way to turn back. You don't seem like you're cut out for being a kid, anyway. In return…" His smile vanished, replaced with a rare seriousness. "I want you to take on a case for me. Investigate the truth, and track down everyone connected to it."
Conan's cheeks bulged as he worked through the cake. That was a tempting offer. He swallowed and asked, somewhat garbled, "What kind of case?"
"Eat slower. If you like it, you can order another one." Karasawa pushed the juice closer to him, then tapped his own chest. "It's my case."
"...Huh?" Conan blinked. It took a few seconds, but he finally registered the subtext in Karasawa's tone—and his eyes went wide.
Karasawa slid a sheet of paper from his work bag and placed it in front of him. "I'll give you everything I know. For me, this case is already a dead end. But you—Kudou Shinichi—might be able to find a breakthrough. You might be able to clear my name."
Conan looked down at the document.
It was a Protective Custody Notice for Karasawa.
"Oh yeah," Karasawa added lightly, "Ran mentioned you're from Kyoto."
Conan hadn't even noticed. Karasawa spoke without a trace of a Kansai accent.
"You didn't transfer here, did you? You were—"
"Sent here on probation," Karasawa finished for him, a melancholy expression settling across his features like a stage cue. "I'm a juvenile offender, convicted of aggravated assault."
Conan instinctively frowned.
Karasawa might be sharp-tongued and a little sly, but he didn't seem like the type to commit a violent crime. In fact, he was downright timid around certain people—like Amuro Tooru, the café's barista.
…Then again, maybe it wasn't Amuro he was afraid of. Maybe it was the supervisor of juvenile offenders. It all connected now.
The logic clicked into place. Conan reached for the document again and scanned it thoroughly. "You're right—it's suspicious. This doesn't even list the nature of the crime. And there's no prosecutor's signature…"
"I was framed," Karasawa said simply. "But there's nothing I can do. The entire case was handled in Kyoto, and without the approval of the authorities, I'm not even allowed to leave Tokyo. Funny thing is—I don't even know the name of the person who accused me. I can't appeal. I can't fight it."
He tucked the notice back into his bag and looked directly at Conan. "But the 'Savior of the Japanese Police'—he might stand a chance, right?"
Conan's brow remained furrowed. His gaze sharpened. "Are you saying the police—and maybe even the prosecutors—are involved?"
"I have no one left I can trust." Karasawa's voice dropped into something soft and haunted. "I'm a victim of a corrupt and broken system. All I can do now is hope someone outside the system can save me."
"...You said you'd help me keep my cover," Conan muttered, turning his head slightly so Karasawa wouldn't see the concern in his expression. He wasn't good at hiding his feelings—Karasawa had him there. "Thinking about it, having someone downstairs to help out wouldn't be the worst thing. It's not easy being a grade-schooler who can't do anything."
Karasawa had clearly lost faith in the justice system. He was teetering on the edge—and as someone who lived to pursue the truth, Conan couldn't stand by and watch him fall.
"So," Karasawa said, light returning to his eyes, "do we have a deal?"
"...Add a slice of chiffon cake," Conan grumbled, biting his fork. "This one's too sweet."
Karasawa laughed and held out his hand to the tiny detective. "Then it's a deal."
"I am thou… Thou art I…"
"From this day forth, a new bond is forged."
"A contract it is—"
"The wings of freedom born from broken chains."
"I, who wear the mask of Death, am blessed by the winds of fate—"
"To soar ever closer to the endgame."
Wait, wait, wait—Death Arcana? Seriously?!
Karasawa trembled and reached out in horror like a melodramatic soap actor.
Too bad Leon completely ignored his existential panic. With a resonant crack, the interface materialized before him.
[Operation: Edogawa Conan / Kudou Shinichi]
[Arcana: Death — Rank 1]
[Though your body may be small, your mind remains sharp—nothing escapes your keen eye. For the truth is always… only one!]
About time. The protagonist's delayed entrance speech.
(What? You want to ask him? If you need someone to explain the sheer legend that is this main character, maybe it's time you /reake out of here—you won't last three episodes.)
[New Skill Acquired: Stealth Presence Lv1]