Three cases in two days—maybe they'd burned through the city's mystery quota for the week, because for the next few days, Karasawa finally got to experience the mythical beast known as "a normal high school life." He went to school without incident, grew more familiar with Ran Mouri and Sonoko Suzuki, and for once, wasn't tripping over corpses on his way to math class.
Incidentally, that little card he'd tossed to Kazuo Ohara earlier? Just one of dozens of prototypes Karasawa had whipped up, assembly-line style, like flyers stuffed through door cracks.
Considering how suspiciously wholesome Beika City was—temples on every street, crimes lurking behind every convenience store, future criminals bumping elbows at the bakery—Karasawa had a few prepped game plans. If there was a Palace and the timeline allowed, and if he felt particularly motivated to intervene, he'd go all out with a custom-made calling card, Phantom Thief-style, just to raise the team's profile and show off a bit. If the crime happened too fast to stop—or if Karasawa just didn't feel like stopping it—he'd lean into the detective role and blend into the scene, trying to get close to any new "Red Team" characters.
And if it was something like that runaway truck case—where the crime either didn't happen or sort of half-happened, and the would-be victim didn't quite deserve to die—he'd step in, save who he could, and leave a Phantom Thief warning note as a gentle nudge toward moral reform.
Didn't matter if they actually reformed—what mattered was that they got nudged!
So far, all these strategies were running smoothly. Thanks to a little trick where he'd more or less yanked down Conan's pants—wait, scratch that, mask—Karasawa's public identity was now solidly tethered to the Red Team. All that remained was to wait for more key players to enter the stage. He still had plenty of Arcana slots to fill. Anyone could be his wings.
But peaceful days, in the world of Detective Conan, are never built to last.
The moment he found out there'd be a three-day break starting that afternoon, Karasawa had a bad feeling.
Sure enough, after a quiet lunch back at the café, he was sitting by the window working on homework when he happened to glance up—and there they were. The Mouri father-daughter duo, leading Conan down the stairs. With them was a plump woman in a sleek black dress suit.
She opened the backseat of a little Beetle, and before he could protest, Conan was shoved inside.
The woman shut the door with polite finality, then bowed graciously to Ran and Kogorou. "Thank you so much for looking after Conan these past few days. We'll be sure to return the favor properly another time…"
Ran beamed and waved cheerfully at the boy behind the window. "Email us lots while you're in America, Conan!"
Inside the car, Conan sat bolt upright, looking like someone being kidnapped in broad daylight. He pounded on the window, face flushed red with frustration.
Ah… yep. Karasawa recognized this one instantly. A very familiar episode.
The Kudous were in town.
Disguised as "Fumiyo Edogawa," Yukiko Kudou looked flawless. No visible trace of a disguise, no off-kilter makeup or wig line. Karasawa stared intently but saw nothing. He was increasingly convinced that, in this world, "disguise" was just a magician's code word for magic.
As the plot advanced, disguise would become unavoidable. It always did. The main storyline would devolve into a masquerade showdown—Black Team had a disguise expert, Red Team had a disguise expert, everyone was disguising as everyone else, and the grand climax would be one giant unmasking free-for-all.
Karasawa made a mental note: get his hands on that skill someday. He wasn't sure if Yukiko Kudou had a Tarot Arcana yet—she and her husband were always abroad, with limited screen time—but she wasn't a priority. Karasawa had his eyes on someone flashier for later: the elusive Kaitou Kid.
But today? Today was a golden opportunity.
As Conan pressed his face against the glass like a moth trapped in a jar, he suddenly felt a pair of eyes on him. He looked past the oblivious Mouri duo… and locked eyes with Karasawa, who wore a look of stunned concern.
Yes! Finally! The one neighbor who knew his secret identity just happened to be watching. Perfect timing! Karasawa, help me! Conan banged harder on the window with all his might.
…Nothing.
How the hell was Karasawa pounding on this car window with his bare hands earlier? Was he a stand user?
Karasawa, unfazed, abandoned his homework on the spot and strode out of the café like a man with purpose.
"Mr. Mouri. Ran-san." Karasawa approached with the confidence of someone who definitely wasn't about to make things weird. "And this is…?"
"This is Conan's mom!" Ran said brightly. "Fumiyo Edogawa. She's here to take him back to America!"
Karasawa gave "Fumiyo" a wary look, then casually walked around to Conan's side of the car. He reached for the handle and pulled, keeping his tone friendly: "So he's leaving already? Shouldn't he come out and say goodbye properly? He hasn't even finished that book I lent him…"
Too bad the woman had already engaged the child locks. The door didn't budge. Karasawa turned back to her, feigning polite curiosity.
"My apologies," said "Fumiyo," glancing at her watch. "Normally I'd love to chat, and I truly appreciate all your help these past days. But we have a flight in four hours, and I'm afraid we're in a bit of a rush. I hope you understand."
She gave Karasawa a once-over—subtle but sharp—and bowed again before slipping into the driver's seat and starting the engine.
Karasawa frowned deeply.
The Mouri duo, satisfied, turned to head home. Seeing Karasawa still standing in place, they tried to offer some comfort.
"You really like kids, huh?" Kogorou chuckled. "Can't say I feel the same. That little squirt drives me nuts. But hey, being with his parents is for the best."
Conan had scrambled to the rear window now, face smushed against the glass.
He saw Karasawa clench his fist and make a firm, determined face.
Then Karasawa—actually—pushed off the sidewalk and began sprinting full-speed after the car.
Conan panicked. He shrank back into his seat and started talking to the strange woman beside him, hoping to distract her.
"Who the hell are you?!"
"Fumiyo Edogawa," she said smoothly, adjusting her glasses so they gleamed and obscured her eyes. "I'm your mother, darling."
"Liar! My mother is—!"
"—Yukiko Kudou," she interrupted calmly.
Conan's expression collapsed.
She rattled off the biography like she was reading a Wikipedia entry: "Famed teenage actress who dazzled international audiences at 19, won multiple prestigious awards, adored for her unmatched talent and beauty. Retired at her peak to marry author Yusaku Kudou, settled overseas. They have one son, who is…"
"…You. Shinichi Kudou."
Conan was reeling—too panicked to process just how embarrassingly self-aggrandizing that intro had been. Was this woman part of the Black Organization? An accomplice of the guy who shrunk him?
Then she pulled a petite, loaded pistol from her purse and pressed it steadily against Conan's forehead. Her tone dropped to a murmur.
"Don't even think about running, little detective. Bullets don't ask questions. Be a good boy and come with me quietly…"
Yeah, right!
Thinking back to Karasawa's reckless tactics earlier in the week, Conan gritted his teeth—and as they neared an intersection, he slammed his foot down on her accelerator.
The little Beetle lurched forward into oncoming traffic. "Fumiyo" barely managed to slam the brakes and avoid a multi-car pile-up.
In that brief chaos, Conan yanked the lock release, flung the door open, and bolted out into the street.