"Thank you for riding the Tokyo Metro. This train is bound for Shibuya Station."
The soft, monotone voice of a female announcer pulled Karasawa from his slumber.
Still groggy, his eyes fluttered open—and instantly, his back tensed. A surge of alertness washed over him.
This wasn't his bedroom. Just a moment ago, he was still nestled beneath his warm blankets.
The realization made him instinctively slow his breathing. He lifted his head at a natural pace and glanced around.
A packed commuter train, shoulder to shoulder with people. The walls lined with ads and public notices. The faint sway of the carriage and the rhythmic clatter of wheels on track. Sunlight streamed through wide windows, casting golden patches across his body.
A train. A running Japanese train. And he...
Karasawa looked down at himself, studying his outfit.
A crisp, light-blue blazer, white shirt, and a dark green tie—some sort of school uniform. His arms were wrapped protectively around a black commuter bag.
He unzipped the bag and peeked inside: umbrella, glasses case, planner, tissues, pencil pouch, wallet—pretty standard stuff for a student.
There was also a black folder tucked into an inner pocket. Glancing around at the passengers, all silently immersed in their phones, he chose not to take it out. Instead, he used his fingertips to flip through the papers inside.
Then he saw the title on one document—and felt a jolt shoot through him like electricity.
"Notice of Expulsion" and "Protective Probation Documentation."
Wait a minute… Hadn't he just saved his third playthrough of Persona 5 before falling asleep?
Then that would mean—he was now living as the protagonist of Persona 5?!
This was literally the animated intro scene!
Karasawa's emotions surged with complex, conflicting feelings.
Excited? Yes. Confused? Absolutely. Technically he should be thrilled—after all, he knew the plot like the back of his hand—but it was hard to be happy knowing how miserable the protagonist's starting point really was.
But something felt off. Wasn't the P5 protagonist supposed to wear black? What was this school uniform, then?
He pulled out his wallet, hoping to find more clues about his identity.
Inside were a few crisp ten-thousand-yen bills and a student ID card tucked behind a clear pocket.
And when his eyes locked on the card, Karasawa's brain buzzed—his pupils dilated in disbelief.
"Teitan High School Student ID
Class: 2-B
Name: Karasawa Akira (唐泽昭)"
On the left side was a standard ID photo: a handsome teenage boy with light brown hair and striking blue eyes, staring ahead with a blank expression.
It was a good-looking face, sure—but the sharp tilt of the eyes and upward-angled brows gave it an oddly aggressive aura.
Weird. Really weird. It looked like a mix of his face and the Persona 5 protagonist's. Honestly, if those two had a kid, this would be it.
Karasawa stared silently at the boy in the photo.
A sharp, stinging sensation radiated from the back of his skull, and disjointed fragments of memory flickered through his mind—
A dark alley. Blinding headlights. A woman's desperate cry for help. A drunken man with a flushed face stumbling in an argument, crashing headfirst into a roadside planter.
Then came the flashing red and blue of police sirens, the cold glare of interrogation lights, the judge's gavel echoing through a hushed courtroom…
No doubt about it now. This was the P5 setup. He was now the falsely accused teen sentenced for assault, forced to live in Tokyo under probation—his yearlong behavior under strict observation, the outcome determining whether he'd end up in juvenile detention.
But hold on a second—what's with Teitan High School?!
If this was the Conan universe, and their timeline lasted one full year forever, how long was he supposed to be on probation?! Decades?!
Tragic. Absolutely tragic.
Only years of facial control stopped Karasawa from pulling a twisted expression. He just pressed his lips together tightly, took out his phone, and opened the front camera to check his face.
Maybe it was the cat-like eyes, but the kid in the camera looked even younger than expected—fifteen or sixteen at most. Tousled brown hair brushed his cheeks, and his big blue eyes almost seemed to glow.
He was frowning now, a scowl pulling his cheeks up into soft, pouty curves.
"Well. I guess I'm kind of cute. Just… maybe a bit too cute."
Karasawa, now mentally older by an entire cycle of life, sighed and closed the camera. There was no turning back. What was he supposed to do—throw himself off the train?
Nope. Gotta live.
Back at the home screen, he spotted it immediately—an app icon with the red-and-black design of the Metaverse Navigator. Graffiti lines formed the background, with a single red eye peering out, like it was staring straight at him.
He tapped it. Nothing.
Tapped again.
Tapped it seven times in a row before finally giving up and locking the screen.
Useless app. Can't open it, can't delete it. Just great. Let it all burn.
He wasn't sure if this was connected to his saved third playthrough. If it didn't carry over his boosted stats, could it at least bring over the Personas he spent so long fusing? Please? He stitched the plot together with his own hands—was it too cruel to make him regrind in the Velvet Room for all eternity?
Right then, everything around him fell silent.
A masked thief slapped his glove against the screen—and the familiar P5 system menu appeared before his eyes.
Karasawa blinked, stunned. He reached out and instinctively tapped the "Items" tab.
"Whoa!" he gasped at the sight of a fully packed inventory.
In P5, your New Game+ didn't carry over levels—but it did carry gear, cash, and fused Persona records from previous runs.
Incredible. He was fully loaded from a maxed-out third run! He was rich! He could survive this!
He had hit the money cap in his last save—this was his god-tier run!
Many of the options were still grayed out, but he felt far more secure.
His golden finger had arrived.
Closing the interface, the background noise of the train faded back in. No one had even looked at him funny. Finally at ease, he leaned back and exhaled.
Now he could finally inspect the phone in detail.
Whether it was a new device or a side effect of the crossover, there was barely anything in it. The gallery was empty. The contact list had only two names—Mom and Dad. It was unclear whether he really had no friends, or if his criminal record had shattered his old social life.
There was just one email in his inbox—from his father.
The tone was cold, formal. It briefly explained that he'd arranged a place for him to stay in Tokyo: an attic apartment above a shop run by an old friend, currently overseas. The place was empty, and he could live there for a year. It was close to his new school.
No encouragement. No warmth. Just two curt reminders: "Report to your probation officer regularly," and "Don't cause trouble this year. If something happens, no one will protect you."
"…Seriously?" Karasawa muttered, scrolling down the message, his hands tightening. "A father actually wrote this?"
It wasn't just distant. It felt downright hostile. Like his dad thought he was a dangerous criminal.
Karasawa took a few deep breaths to suppress the rising anger, continuing to read until he reached the final line.
His destination address:
5-39, Mibe-cho, Tokyo—Café Boro.
Karasawa stared at it in silence.
Of course. Sleeping in a café attic was apparently a universal constant.
How convenient—right under the Mouri Detective Agency, there was a café.
If he remembered the plot right, Bourbon would start working there during the Bourbon arc.
Which meant—
He was about to become Ran Mouri and Shinichi Kudo's classmate. Ran's neighbor. Bourbon's… co-worker?
What the hell is going on?
Given how Conan worked, he was pretty much guaranteed to end up as either a suspect, victim, or murderer. Not fulfilling at least one of those roles would be almost disrespectful.
And looking at his current background… wrongfully convicted, abandoned, no support system, he was the perfect murder suspect. Practically born for it.
As for becoming a victim… that depended on whether the people who framed the original version of him wanted to silence the past. There was a long, dirty chain—politicians, the woman he saved, the cops and prosecutors—all with something to lose.
And as a suspect? Easy. With that record, it would be shocking if the police didn't interrogate him every time someone sneezed within a ten-meter radius.
While Karasawa's thoughts spiraled, the train's speakers snapped him back to the present.
"Next station: Shibuya. This train terminates here."
Shibuya Station. Time to get off and transfer to his new life in Mibe-cho.