Transmigration
From the string of hints Conan casually dropped—"Uncle Mouri is a private detective," and "High schoolers are still technically minors"—Karasawa got the message loud and clear: if he had something unspeakable going on, they were open to helping.
Well, it wasn't his reputation being quietly dragged through the mud, so… sure.
Conan now looked at Amuro Tooru like he was actual human garbage, but Karasawa's conscience remained unbothered.
Fake booze is still booze. It's probably for the best that Conan kept his distance right now.
Karasawa remembered how Conan used to be in the early days—such terrible acting, he swore Mouri Ran suspected him of being someone else at least five times a week.
Better not get outed at lightspeed in front of Bourbon.
After seeing off the Grim Reaper Trio, Karasawa mentally rehearsed his next conversation.
The setup was perfect. If Bourbon could hold back from probing, he wouldn't be Bourbon. There was no avoiding the performance ahead.
Fortunately, Karasawa had something he needed Amuro Tooru to test for him anyway.
"Your dinner."
Amuro set the plate of seafood pasta in front of Karasawa, who had been zoning out, then placed a cup of hot cocoa by his hand.
Startled—he hadn't heard a single footstep—Karasawa thanked him while silently marveling at the spy-grade stealth skills. Out loud, he tried to decline politely. "Thanks, but I could've just—"
"The owner said your room and board are all covered by the café. I assume your parents already paid the fee, so don't worry about it." The man with multiple cover jobs and a double salary said all this with a straight face—planning, no doubt, to file every receipt under "organization expenses" and milk the reimbursement for all it was worth. "Also, feel free to use the kitchen anytime. You really shouldn't keep living off cold rice balls. It's not good for your health."
Karasawa froze just as his chopsticks were about to stab into the pasta.
…So you really did install surveillance in a minor's room, huh? Does Public Safety have any moral boundaries left?
"…Ah, sorry," he said, picking up a strand of noodles, his voice quieter now as he considered a more innocent explanation. "Did Miss Enomoto tell you?"
Amuro's conscience, fully intact and bouncing with moral vitality, hadn't actually planted any hidden cameras. He nodded. "She said she made you a sandwich this morning, but you left after eating two rice balls. Try not to stress too much, Karasawa-kun."
Karasawa stuffed a roll of pasta into his mouth before answering, "Got it."
"How is it? Not bad, right?" Amuro smiled as he playfully poked at Karasawa's head, which was nearly buried in his plate by now. He half expected the kid to either choke or freeze like a spooked rabbit.
Why was Karasawa so jumpy around him? From their first meeting until now, he'd done nothing but act like a gentle big brother. Amuro started wondering—was it trauma from a harsh interrogation? Or had someone warned him before coming to Tokyo?
Sure enough, as soon as he found out Amuro had cooked the pasta, Karasawa's chewing ground to a halt. He looked up, dumbfounded.
But what Karasawa was actually thinking was: Why does this guy keep poking my head? Does it just look unusually squishable or something?
Avoiding Amuro's gaze, he mumbled, "It's good. Thanks."
Gotta admit—Amuro's cooking was really something. The pasta had that perfect chew, and the fish roe sauce was rich and fragrant. A true jack-of-all-trades like him didn't get hired everywhere by accident.
Karasawa grabbed another bite.
"I'm glad you like it. By the way, you don't need to be so formal with me. Do I really seem that scary? You're always walking on eggshells around me, like you're afraid of setting me off. I'm not that temperamental, you know—we're going to be living together for a while."
He'd noticed Conan's laser-eyed suspicion too—like a kid who'd figured out the adult in the room wasn't who he said he was.
Sure, Bourbon wasn't a "good guy," but Rei Furuya wasn't a bad one either. His approach was sincere, even kind. There was no reason for Karasawa to be this guarded.
First step: rule out whether Karasawa had noticed the organization's surveillance. If his nervousness came from seeing Amuro as a threat, that meant Karasawa already knew the organization was after him.
Karasawa caught the veiled probe instantly. He decided to pin it on the original body's social collapse—something he didn't know in detail, but Amuro certainly did.
So he gave a dry little laugh. "I didn't mean to offend you, sir. I just… don't really know how to…"
He made a show of trailing off, eyes misty with unspoken trauma, hesitating yet again as if lost in the memory of something painful.
In short: those who get it, get it. Fill in the blanks yourself.
And with a single beat of silence, Amuro did.
After the incident, Karasawa Akira's school had posted his expulsion notice in public view. Soon after, rumors spread—he'd beaten someone half to death, committed manslaughter while drunk, or maybe even sexually harassed a middle-schooler. Every version ended with someone dying.
Someone was deliberately destroying his old life—and it worked.
Classmates and neighbors avoided him like the plague. His home was defaced with hateful graffiti, his locker trashed.
He was exiled to Tokyo only because he couldn't function in his old community anymore.
What a cruel, unlucky kid, Amuro thought, softening.
"You thought I'd mistreat you because of your 'record'? Is someone bullying you?"
Karasawa didn't reply.
But the question brought up more memories—not his, but the boy's.
The boy curled under the blanket, hands over his ears, couldn't block out the endless ding of phone notifications.
He knew what they were.
At first it was concern, then suspicion, then open hatred. Now his inbox was full of "Murderer," "Go die," and worse. The friendships he once had were obliterated like they'd never existed.
His silence only made things worse. The rumors fed on the void.
Someone had taken his photo, turned it black and white, slapped "Killer" on it, and posted it online. Strangers he'd never met now came to judge him too.
He flinched at every gaze on the street, each one feeling like a dagger of contempt.
He'd had enough.
Grabbing his phone off the pillow, Karasawa Akira hurled it across the room with all his strength.
"…Wouldn't you, Amuro-san?"
Karasawa's voice was soft, almost calm—but tears were silently sliding down his cheeks.
Damn it. Every last one of those online trolls deserved to rot.
Damn it, he was losing it. Crying now would be embarrassing.
In his past life, Karasawa was a master of emotional control. But now? His tear ducts felt like they belonged to someone else. The sorrow and anguish of the boy—of Karasawa Akira—washed over him like a tidal wave. He could barely stop himself from sobbing aloud.
This was the unbearable grief of a teenager who had been wronged beyond repair. Raw, pure, overwhelming.
Karasawa fought to keep his composure.
But to Amuro, it looked like all the color had drained from him. The silent tears, the trembling—he looked utterly small and helpless.
"…Of course not. Here." Amuro couldn't take it anymore. He turned away and slapped a towel into Karasawa's face. "Your tears are going to fall into your pasta. I'm your guardian now. I'll protect you."
Karasawa's tears didn't stop, but something inside him shifted. That line—"I'll protect you"—got his attention.
"Really?" he asked, voice muffled behind the damp towel.
"I don't lie to kids. Try trusting me, even just a little." Amuro patted his head. "I'll keep my promise as your guardian. That's what grown-ups do."
Bourbon might have his secrets—but what did that have to do with Rei Furuya?
With a perfectly clear conscience, the spy made his vow.
"…Okay." Karasawa scrubbed his face, then protested through the towel, "But seriously, stop touching my head already!"
Right on cue, the voice came.
That deep, magnetic tone echoed in his ears—
"I am thou, thou art I…"
"From this moment, a new bond is forged."
"This bond shall become thy wings of rebellion…"
"With it, thou shalt soar toward the truth."
"I am the first mask of the Magician Arcana, born under the wind's blessing."
"To reach the final act, I offer my aid…"
A screen flashed before Karasawa's eyes.
[Operation: Amuro Tooru (?)]
[Arcana Rank: Magician - Rank 1]
[Truth or lie, illusion or fact—beneath layer after layer of masks, someone smiles at you. Just like you smile through your own. To see the truth, and the heart behind it, you'll need insight… honesty… and maybe a flexible moral compass?
The Mille-Feuille of Deception Cooking Show is about to begin. Ready, go!
[New Skill: Close Combat Learned]
The original draft had considered the Justice Arcana, but after a deep dive into the lore, Magician felt far more fitting. After all, the Magician is the guide to the Persona protagonists—just as Amuro was fast becoming to Karasawa.
…Though during that research, the discovery that every Magician Arcana in the Persona series seems cursed with "hopeless love" made the choice even more ironic.
A perfect fit for our overqualified, underpaid café prince with a doomed first crush.
And as for the actual contract chant in Persona 5—it sounds way cooler in Japanese. Too bad the Chinese subtitles don't quite do it justice. Go watch a clip; it's seriously badass.