Up in the attic, Karasawa remained blissfully unaware that the entire Organization was rippling with tension thanks to his little family. He lay back, completely at ease, off to get drunk in his dreams.
It had been a real performance earlier. Not exactly exhausting, but still—it was cathartic to trade meta-commentary with a fellow script-leaker like Leon.
Tonight, the Velvet Bar played host to two dream-drunks clinking whiskey bottles like they couldn't black out in their sleep.
Karasawa slapped the counter with the base of his bottle. "What do you mean I didn't get 'Driving'? I don't agree with this. Something's off, isn't it?"
"Quit it. Do you even have a license?" Leon shoved his head back with a palm. "You got 'Combat'—that's a solid skill. Stop being picky."
"As if Conan has a license to fly planes." Karasawa grumbled. "Besides, I haven't even been inside a Palace yet. Jumping straight to an OP side mission? Feels like the devs are phoning it in."
Leon shook his head. "Fishing for spoilers won't work on me. I'm not authorized to leak main story content. You're on your own."
"So you do have intel," Karasawa said, completely unashamed. "Let me think…"
He'd already sketched out a mental list of potential Confidants.
If Amuro Tooru was in, then not including Akai Shuichi would just be rude. Red-side detectives like Conan and Hattori were probably a given. But the Black side? That was murky.
Then there were the wildcards—Kaito Kid, Kyōgoku Makoto. Were they fair game?
And if those two were available, and he picked Kyōgoku's Arcana… hoo boy.
"So tell me," Karasawa pivoted, "should I try infiltrating the Organization?"
"Odds are, it's more than just a suggestion."
"True. I still don't get why they're interested in Karasawa Akira in the first place." He flicked his bottle and sighed, troubled. "Bourbon definitely knows, but I never asked where he stands. What am I supposed to do—march up and say, 'Furuya Rei, you're compromised'?"
Leon chuckled, lifting his own bottle for a long swig, eyes narrowing in satisfaction. "Now you get the problem with holding the script. It's like knowing the final twist of a mystery but pretending you don't—"
"Right? And I've got scripts from multiple timelines!" Karasawa could already feel the migraine of a future where he'd have to be in actor mode 24/7, whether blending with the Red side or the Black. "If I really matter to the Organization's plans, I'm probably under constant surveillance. And if I ever use the Metaverse's power in front of them, I'm toast."
The P5 villains—minus that traitor Akechi Goro—were all just regular humans. And he alone had helped unleash a society-wide disaster using that power.
If the Organization got their hands on that…
"No way I can stay passive. I've gotta find a way to infiltrate them. Still… there is something nostalgic about it all."
Karasawa looked down at his legs, currently intact.
"Nostalgic for what?" Leon rolled his eyes and thwacked Karasawa on the head, snapping him out of his spiral. "In the Conan-verse, being a fake agent is safer than a real one."
"Ow—hey!" Karasawa glared. "I get the logic, but why are you hitting me too?"
"Just wanted to see what it's like." Leon rubbed his fingertips, nodded in approval. "No wonder Amuro can't stop ruffling your hair. The texture's excellent."
"Morning. Didn't sleep well last night? Try to rest more in the evenings," Amuro Tooru said, gently patting Karasawa slouched in a chair.
He'd meant to ruffle his hair again, but recalling yesterday's protest, downgraded to a shoulder pat.
"Morning." Karasawa replied listlessly, then glanced at Amuro's dark circles. "Don't lecture me—you're not looking too well yourself, Mr. Amuro."
Karasawa, truth be told, had slept fine.
He'd just drunk a lot in his dream. His past experiences with alcohol had conditioned his brain to expect a hangover, but his dream-self body felt fine, and that dissonance threw him off.
Amuro, however, was a different story. With his many roles and Karasawa's info dump yesterday, his workload had likely spiked. Whether he'd slept at all was debatable—those dark circles were practically tattooed on.
"I have insomnia. I'm used to it," Amuro said with a straight face, solemnly adding, "It's only after losing sleep that you realize how precious it is."
More like "never done working," Karasawa thought sympathetically.
Yawning, Amuro's gaze landed on Karasawa's outfit. "Why are you wearing your uniform on your day off?"
Good question. Karasawa sighed. Because he hadn't known today was a day off when he got up!
Why does one school day get followed by a random break? Don't ask him. If the logic made sense to these Conanverse residents, it was lost on him.
If he hadn't checked his phone calendar on a whim, he'd have shown up at school.
"I didn't bring many clothes with me," Karasawa lied smoothly. "The uniform's not bad. Looks fine."
"Is that the issue—whether it looks fine?" Amuro rubbed his forehead. Still, this was a minor. One who'd been living alone for years under domestic care. Basic self-management couldn't be expected. "I'll ask Enomoto-san to cover for me and take you shopping."
"No need, no need," Karasawa waved him off. "Just tell me where the nearest mall is. I can go myself. You, on the other hand, should go upstairs and sleep. You look awful."
A rare chance for unsupervised action—best to let the insomniac undercover cop rest.
"Is it that bad?" Amuro checked his reflection in the café's full-length window. The fatigue was plain as day. He looked up toward the attic. "That room's your personal space now. Are you okay with me using it?"
"It was a break room before I moved in. It's fine. I don't have much stuff—just locked in the drawer. Honestly, I'm already causing enough trouble staying here."
Karasawa sounded so considerate that insisting on going along would've been too much. And this was a good chance to thoroughly search his things anyway. Amuro nodded.
"I'll nap for two hours, then. I'll reset the bed afterward. You can head to the northern shopping street—there's a big department store on the opposite end: Mii Department Store." He gestured toward each direction, then noticed Karasawa had only brought his slim commuter bag. "Got any cash on you?"
Even half-dead, Amuro still remembered to worry about the public. Karasawa, guilty about being the cause of this man's sleep deprivation, was moved for half a second.
So he decided to toss him a small piece of real intel in return.
"Don't worry. I have a bank card my parents left me. They transfer living expenses every year—it's more than enough."
Amuro paused just before turning toward the stairs. "Good. Be careful out there."
Karasawa glanced at the hand buried in Amuro's coat pocket. Judging by the slight twitching, he was probably texting under his breath.
Looks like poor Amuro wasn't going to get much rest after all.
Feeling only mildly bad about adding to his overtime again, Karasawa left the café in a cheerfully guilty mood.