Karasawa bent down, leveling his gaze with the elementary schooler dripping in cold sweat.
Inwardly, Karasawa thought Conan looked pretty ridiculous like this—mouth agape, eyes wide, frozen stiff like a hamster caught mid-theft.
Of course, getting hit with the tranquilizer dart hadn't been an accident. He'd deliberately staged the moment, taking advantage of Sonoko standing nearby to "accidentally" bump into her and trigger it.
Based on his earlier deduction, major characters on the Red Side could all trigger OP events. There was no way Karasawa would pass up a shot at someone as central as Conan. The problem was… his current identity—Karasawa Akira—was a bit of a dead end.
The day he transferred schools had just so happened to mark the start of Shinichi Kudou's mysterious absence. The two had never crossed paths as classmates. And given that Karasawa was still entangled with the Organization, slowly cozying up to Conan wasn't exactly viable either. The current Conan was the kind of reckless lunatic who would crawl into Gin's Porsche just to plant a bug. That was just asking for trouble.
So Karasawa had thought—if the key to triggering OP was a "contract," a "bargain," or some form of "deal"… then maybe blackmail counted too?
And Conan's biggest weakness—the Red Side's most widely-known open secret—was that disguise of his.
It was a clear, sunny day. The perfect weather for peeling back a mask. The murder case hadn't come too early or too late. The timing was impeccable. And so, Karasawa struck while the iron was hot.
"Looks like you've got a little secret of your own, huh, Conan-kun?" Karasawa stood with his back to the others, wearing a sly, unkind smile. He stared at Conan until another bead of sweat rolled down his temple—then straightened up with a pleasant smile.
"Ran-chan!" Karasawa raised his voice.
"No—wait...!" Conan sprang forward in a panic, trying to stop him. But he was barely tall enough to reach Karasawa's elbow, so all he could do was cling to his arm.
"What is it?" Ran looked over, confused.
Please no! Conan latched onto Karasawa's forearm, legs kicking helplessly as he dangled, inner voice full of despair.
"Mind if I borrow this little guy for a bit?" Karasawa rested his chin in his hands and lifted Conan up to chest height like a doll. "He was a huge help with the case today. Super capable, honestly. I promised I'd take him out for cake."
"Did he bother you? You don't have to be so polite." Ran looked at the dazed, stiff Conan, visibly unsure.
"Not at all. He found some crucial evidence today. Really pulled through—like a real little detective, right?" Karasawa set the emotionally rebooting Conan down and gave his round head a gentle pat.
Conan blinked. System restart successful.
In his best childlike voice, he blurted, "Right! I want cake! Big brother's taking me for cake!"
He let out a silent sigh of relief. As long as Ran didn't find out, anything else was manageable.
Karasawa didn't know Shinichi Kudou. Even if he noticed something strange, maybe he wouldn't connect the dots... right?
After all, shrinking into a kid was pretty much the definition of "unthinkable."
Clinging to that shred of wishful thinking, Conan did his best to rationalize.
Ran didn't harbor any suspicion toward the polite, easygoing new neighbor. If anything, she was more worried the mischievous kid might cause trouble for him.
After giving Conan a few parting instructions, she let Karasawa lead the faux elementary schooler away.
Outside, the museum's front gate was swarmed by reporters who'd caught wind of the incident. Inspector Megure was pinned near the entrance, fielding questions. Karasawa eyed the chaotic scene from a distance, then quietly slipped out a side exit with Conan in tow.
True to his word, Karasawa actually brought him to a dessert shop on the shopping street.
"You don't seem all that eager to start a conversation, so I'll go first." Karasawa stirred his warm coffee, chin resting on his palm, eyes on Conan—who was pointedly staring at his plate of cake like it had personally offended him. "So. If there's such a thing as 'Sleeping Karasawa Akira'… then the whole 'Sleeping Mouri Kogorou' bit—that was your doing too, wasn't it? I barely ever saw Mouri-san in the news before. And now, just a few days after you start crashing at their place, he's suddenly everywhere…"
Conan's hands clenched on his knees. He looked up sharply to meet Karasawa's gaze.
"Thought so." Karasawa pinched a sugar cube between two fingers and made a casual peace sign. "Next question: Are you really Edogawa Conan, a first-year elementary schooler? Has no one ever told you you're a terrible actor?"
The whole "Conan identity" debacle was one of those never-ending sore spots in the original manga.
His behavior was absurd—barging into murder scenes like he owned the place, landing planes, kicking soccer balls into orbit. Any halfway intelligent character on the Red Side figured out he was Shinichi after just a few interactions.
Even Mouri Kogorou—whose neck had more dart holes than a pincushion—eventually caught on. That alias of his was basically only effective against idiots.
Conan on the Red Side was essentially running around with his real name as his screen ID. And since he was always popping a temporary antidote to show up in his original body, Gin had to be written into a corner with a bizarre "can't remember faces" quirk just to keep the whole charade going. It was basically mass amnesia at this point.
Conan stared at the sugar cube now dissolving in the coffee cup. He bit his lip, then muttered under his breath, "That's a bit harsh…"
"You can only fool people who aren't paying attention." Karasawa offered an objective critique. "You're still in school, right? Take a good look at your classmates. Then look at yourself. A smart kid, a smart teenager, and a smart adult all act completely differently—even if they're all 'smart.' Let me guess…"
Karasawa picked up another sugar cube and slowly waved it in front of Conan's face. "You're not an adult, but you're definitely not that young… High school?"
Conan's eyes followed the sugar cube instinctively, cat-like in his focus. It was almost... fun.
Karasawa dropped the cube into the cup. It sank straight to the bottom with a splash. Conan watched it dissolve into the coffee, white fading into black. It felt like an apt metaphor for his crumbling disguise.
"High schooler. A detective. A Tokyo high school detective…" Karasawa plucked up another cube, held it above the cup, and tilted his head as though deep in thought. "Hmm. I don't know how you pulled it off… but the recently missing Tokyo high school detective—"
Plop.
The cube fell.
Conan leaned back into the seat, pressing his back to the chair like it could shield him from the words.
Karasawa stopped there. He swallowed the name before it crossed his lips, leaving the rest of the deduction unsaid.
He winked with his right eye, then took a sip of his now-syrupy coffee.
Setting the porcelain cup back down, the ceramic clinked crisply against the saucer.
"Checkmate." Karasawa said.