The middle-aged man deeply regretted letting Gojo Satoru drive.
His reckless yet eerily precise driving left everyone on edge. The tires screeched, the car drifted at impossible angles, and pedestrians leaped out of the way in terror.
By some miracle, they arrived safely at Teitan University.
Inside the university's multi-purpose hall, Conan and Geto Suguru each carried a box of props while Gojo trailed behind, lazily swinging the bloody rubber head.
Geto frowned. "Satoru, why are you making a child carry things?"
Gojo, peering at Conan's suspiciously mature soul, smirked. "Fine. I'll take the box. He can carry the head."
For a brief moment, Geto imagined a small child holding a bloodied severed head.
He shuddered. "Forget it."
The middle-aged man turned to Geto. "During the performance, just react like a normal person when the head gets thrown in. No extra movements."
"Got it." Geto nodded obediently.
Gojo raised an eyebrow.
In public, Geto completely concealed his usual sharp, calculating demeanor.
Instead, he appeared soft-spoken, polite—just a normal student.
Why?
Gojo had seen two versions of Geto before.
The old Geto, the one who had once been his best friend. And the future Geto, who had fallen into darkness.
But this?
This felt like something else entirely.
The middle-aged man handed Geto over to the acting coach for "special training."
Meanwhile, he shoved a stack of background props into Gojo's arms. "You two set up the stage!"
Gojo scowled. "What's Geto doing?"
"I'm training him. He's part of the performance, so he needs to look natural."
Gojo sighed. "Ugh. Fine."
As soon as they were left alone, Conan took charge.
"Big bro, you handle that side. I'll do this one."
Gojo, already annoyed, squinted at him.
"Alright, kid. Let's talk. How exactly did a seventeen-year-old end up in a grade schooler's body?"
Conan froze.
"Huh?"
Gojo leaned down, ruffling Conan's hair. "Come on. Spill it."
Conan's expression hardened, a look far too serious for a child. "Are you… one of them?"
Them?
Gojo had no idea what the kid was talking about, but he decided to mess with him anyway.
"Ah, you got me." He grinned. "Totally one of them."
"No, you're lying." Conan's sharp gaze didn't waver. "How did you see through me?"
Gojo adjusted his sunglasses. "How do you know I'm lying?"
"Because if you were with them, you would've captured me already. Also, your hands don't have gun calluses, so you clearly don't handle firearms. You wear expensive designer clothing—your shirt alone costs hundreds of thousands of yen. You're obviously from a high-class family.
And most importantly—your behavior doesn't match your age. You're seventeen, but I can tell you're much older."
Gojo blinked.
Huh.
This kid's observation skills are ridiculous.
Amused, he dropped the subject.
No need to let anyone know he'd traveled back in time.
Half an hour later, Gojo finished setting up the stage and admired his own work.
"Damn, I'm good at everything."
The music started, and Teitan High's drama performance began.
Gojo, utterly disinterested, leaned back and played on his phone while occasionally glancing at Geto on stage.
When is this gonna end?
Geto still owes me Kikufuku.
Absentmindedly, Gojo's gaze drifted toward the audience.
Then—he froze.
A familiar young man in a blue shirt stood in the corridor, staring intently at a girl in a red dress.
The ghost from the cinema.
Why was he here?
Gojo's eyes flicked to Geto.
Geto had seen it too.
His head tilted slightly, silently acknowledging Gojo's unease.
"Let's thank the actors for their wonderful performance!"
The host's voice rang out as the audience erupted into applause.
The ghost?
Still following the girl.
Gojo watched carefully.
Something about it felt wrong.
Its energy had shifted, its aura darker than before.
Without hesitation, Gojo followed.
At the entrance of the multi-purpose hall, a well-dressed man in his forties waited.
He wore black-rimmed glasses and an expensive business suit.
The girl in the red dress waved excitedly at him.
The man hesitated for a moment—then smiled before turning to leave with her.
The ghost trailed behind them, its pupils beginning to glow red.
Something wasn't right.
"Her name is Kawasaki Riko."
Gojo turned at the sound of Conan's voice.
The kid had appeared beside him at some point, arms crossed.
"Her brother, Kawasaki Shota, was a university student here. He died suddenly at home a week ago. That man is their stepfather, Kawasaki Takuma."
Gojo raised an eyebrow. "How do you know all this?"
Conan shrugged. "Officer Megure asked Kogoro Mouri—Ran's dad—to investigate their family."
"And?"
"No solid evidence yet. But I suspect Kawasaki Takuma accidentally killed Shota. Their mother gave him an alibi, so the police can't touch him."
Gojo's gaze returned to the ghost.
"Was Kawasaki Shota about 175 cm tall? Short black hair? Wearing a blue shirt when he died?"
Conan's eyes snapped wide open. "Big bro, you… knew Kawasaki Shota?"
"No."
"Then how do you know what he looked like?"
Gojo smirked. "Because I'm looking at him right now."
"Conan!"
Three children ran over.
A girl with short brown hair leaned in. "Are you investigating that girl in red?"
A round boy immediately butted in. "You can't act alone! We're the Detective Boys!"
The third boy, skinny and nervous, nodded rapidly.
Conan sighed. "Guys—"
"Uh-huh." Gojo interrupted, unimpressed. "So this is your little detective club?"
Conan shot him a tired look. "Yeah. Ayumi, Genta, and Mitsuhiko."
Gojo rolled his eyes.
He had zero interest in elementary school detectives.
Instead, he kept walking.
The ghost—Kawasaki Shota—was growing darker.
If Conan's theory was right, and Kawasaki Takuma really had killed him…
Then Shota's resentment could turn him into something far worse.
Something like Rika Orimoto.
A cursed spirit.