"Yes, it's him!" Akagi Ryoko glanced at the time on her phone, tears caught in her lashes. "The game's already been on for an hour. If we don't find Mamoru soon… if something's happened…"
Letting her hand fall naturally, she revealed the note in her hand to the vertically challenged Conan. Karasawa followed Ryoko into the apartment complex where the Akagi family lived.
"This is the note Mamoru left…" Ryoko picked up a crumpled scrap of paper from beside the fax machine. "It was on the dining table when I came in this morning. The game, the game's already started…"
Karasawa took the note, seemingly lost in thought for a moment. Then he turned and flipped on the TV.
The sports channel was broadcasting a live match—Tokyo Aoyama's game, to be exact. Karasawa glanced at the time left and murmured, "That means we've got about half an hour. Miss Akagi, do you mind if I look around the apartment?"
Ryoko's eyes were glued to the screen, to Akagi Hideo's face. The commentator was singing the praises of "Lightning Legs Hideo," but the star himself looked grim, brows furrowed. He'd accidentally scored a goal in the first half, but it was clear he was distracted—probably worrying about his missing little brother and whether Mamoru would be hurt because of it.
"If it helps at all…" she said, not even questioning why Karasawa was dragging a grade schooler along for the search.
They quickly found Mamoru's bedroom, now a disaster zone clearly turned over by someone searching for something. Karasawa silently handed the note to Conan and patted him on the back.
"Huh?" Conan was just about to examine the paper seriously when Karasawa gave him a nudge into the middle of the room, flashing a grin that screamed "All yours, detective."
"You want me to check this place alone?" Conan grumbled.
Karasawa leaned lazily against the doorframe, hands up in mock innocence. "You're the detective. I'm just the innocent neighbor helping cover for an unlucky one. Of course it's on you. The client even went so far as to pretend to be your girlfriend just to get Shinichi Kudo's help. That's dedication. Don't let her down."
For some reason, Conan got the feeling this guy really enjoyed watching him suffer.
He shot Karasawa a long, unimpressed glance before turning back to the search.
Karasawa watched with interest as Conan's childlike face twisted through an absurd range of too-grown expressions, then mentally checked out, leaving his body on autopilot.
Sigh. Without Ran here to unleash a jealous rampage, this case feels like it's missing its essential spice. It wasn't even that complicated. The whole plot was supposed to be driven by Mouri Ran's jealousy engine, chasing Conan up the walls and into the dirt. Skipping that part really made it lose flavor.
Maybe I should "accidentally" mention during school that some girl claiming to be Shinichi's girlfriend came looking for him…?
Ehh… too risky. Only two people knew that story—Conan and himself. Conan would come after him later. Not worth it.
Still, no rush. Opportunities to stir the pot would come. Ran's suspicion was a recurring condition, after all.
Meanwhile, Conan was rifling through the wreckage with practiced precision. He pulled out an empty box, rummaging through the mess for the missing game cartridge.
"Stop just standing there—come help me find this game!"
Karasawa sighed and didn't even glance at the pile. Instead, he walked over to the TV, turned on the console, and pointed lazily. "There's a cartridge already in here. This it?"
Conan, suspecting a case of deliberate slacking, grumbled his way over. "Look at the cover, would you? The title's printed right—wait—"
He stopped in his tracks. His eyes locked onto the screen: the game's save menu had loaded, displaying the characters' names, levels, and classes. The Hero character was named "Mamoru" in katakana. The others were "Hideo," "Ryoko," and—
"Naoki!" Conan lunged toward the screen, staring at the last name. He pulled out the note again and re-read it. "That message—! It doesn't say 'Big brother, help Mamoru survive'—the first and last parts were torn off! He's saying that the in-game Naoki is supposed to help Mamoru survive!"
"Naoki… Naoki… That's Kamimura Naoki! Hideo's teammate who joined the club this year with him!" Conan turned sharply to Karasawa.
Karasawa thoughtfully struck the classic "detective chin-scratch" pose. "Then the one who took Mamoru… is probably that guy."
The two of them exchanged a look and nodded in unison.
They found Ryoko in the living room, hands clasped, eyes fixed on the match.
"Miss Akagi, do you know someone named Kamimura Naoki?" Karasawa played his part as the innocent messenger.
"Yeah, he's a close friend of Hideo's. Lives in the apartment building across from here, sixth floor," Ryoko answered, finally tearing her eyes from the screen. "He used to come by all the time to play games with Mamoru. He's really into gaming."
As she spoke, her expression stiffened. She was clearly starting to understand the implication.
"Then we'd better hurry." Karasawa smiled, scooped up Conan like a cat under one arm, and tugged Ryoko to her feet. "We can't let the guy ruin 'Lightning Legs Hideo's' highlight reel."
With that, he dragged Ryoko along and bolted out the door, even remembering to kick it shut behind him on the way out.
"Wait—!"
"Karasawa!"
Neither protest did anything to stop him.
That close-quarters combat training he'd freeloaded off Amuro might have shown some impressive agility and firepower in the Metaverse, but whether it translated to real-world application still needed testing.
One thing was certain—his physical stats had definitely gone up. Carrying one adult and one child at full sprint? That wasn't something the old him could've pulled off.
And if Ran doesn't get to kick in a door today, well…
In just two or three minutes, they were up on the sixth floor of the opposite building. Karasawa gently set the dizzy Conan down and gestured for Ryoko, who was panting hard, to ring the doorbell.
Ryoko glanced in awe at Karasawa's lean frame, marveling at how misleading appearances could be, and pressed the bell.
Ding-dong—ding-dong—
After a couple of rings, the intercom finally crackled with a male voice. "Who is it?"
"It's me, Ryoko!" she shouted, face close to the speaker.
A pause. Then the voice came back, casual. "Oh, Ryoko… What's the rush this early?"
"It's urgent. Just open up, Naoki!"
The intercom clicked off. A long moment passed. Ryoko was just about to pound on the door when the lock finally turned and the door cracked open.
There was a chain on the door! Conan frowned.
"What's going on?" A long-faced man peered suspiciously through the gap. He looked from Conan to Ryoko, relaxing a little when he saw only a high school girl and a kid.
"Can I come in for a second?" Ryoko leaned in, trying to wedge herself through the narrow gap. "Sorry, but could you just open the door?"
"Uh, I—it's not a good time. My girlfriend's inside…" Kamimura gave a nervous chuckle.
Ryoko gritted her teeth and shouted into the apartment, "Mamoru! Mamoru, are you in there? Answer me!"
"Hey, enough already—" Kamimura tried to shove the door back, annoyance flickering across his face.
"Miss Akagi." A hand landed on her shoulder and gently pulled her away from the doorway.
Ryoko turned in surprise.
Conan, suddenly tense, looked up just in time to see Karasawa exhale slowly—and brace his arm.
W-wait a second—was he about to—
Conan's pupils dilated as a reel of violent childhood memories played in his mind. Seriously, is Shinichi the only one in the world who didn't learn hand-to-hand combat?! (If Karasawa heard that thought, he'd probably nod and say: "That's right. You're the weak link on Team Red.")
Karasawa drew in a breath, wound up—and slammed his foot into the door.
BANG!
The entire security door tore off at the hinges. The chain snapped like a hair in the wind. Kamimura Naoki went flying backward along with the metal, crashing hard to the floor.
"Whew." Karasawa leaned in to inspect the aftermath.
The door wasn't too badly warped—just a dent in the middle. The frame hadn't shattered either. But it had definitely been kicked clean off.
Half a Ran, Karasawa estimated. Not bad. Good enough.
He nodded, satisfied.