"Thank you for riding the Tokyo Metro. This train is bound for Shibuya Station. This train is down for… Shibuya…"
The soft, mechanical voice of a female announcer nudged Karasawa out of sleep like a gloved hand pushing gently against his shoulder.
The moment his eyes cracked open, a reflex tightened his back muscles—like a cat sensing danger mid-nap. He snapped fully awake in an instant.
This wasn't his bedroom. He was sure of it. A moment ago, he'd been cocooned under his own blanket, warm and safe.
He adjusted his breathing—light, even—and tilted his head up at a natural angle, eyes sweeping the space.
A packed train car. Shoulders brushing, elbows jostling. Walls lined with ads and public service posters. The rhythmic click-clack of metal wheels on track. The light sway of motion. Harsh daylight blasting through the large windows, carving long pale stripes over his legs.
A Japanese commuter train. And he…
Karasawa looked down at himself.
Crisp light-blue jacket. White dress shirt. Deep green tie. A school uniform, clearly. He was hugging a black commuter bag tightly to his chest.
He unzipped the bag slightly to inspect the contents. Umbrella. Glasses case. Pocket planner. Tissues. Pencil pouch. Wallet. The standard student toolkit.
Inside a hidden compartment: a black document folder. He darted a glance to either side—passengers buried in their phones, not paying attention. Instead of pulling it out, he used a fingertip to part the sheets inside.
His breath hitched as he read the bold letters at the top of the first form.
"Notice of Expulsion."
"Juvenile Probation Agreement."
He blinked hard. His brain stuttered, then spun its gears.
The save file. He'd just saved his third New Game+ run last night. The game world he'd been neck-deep in. The documents. The uniform. The setting.
No doubt about it.
He'd somehow become the protagonist of Persona 5.
This was the opening scene from P5's intro cinematic.
Karasawa's emotions spiraled—a volatile mix of excitement, dread, and sheer confusion. He knew the plot backward and forward. His memory of events was frame-perfect. But what the hell was he supposed to feel here? Celebration? Despair?
But wait… shouldn't the protagonist's uniform be black? This one was different.
Frowning, Karasawa took out his wallet and searched for identity confirmation.
Inside: a wad of yen notes, and behind the transparent ID slot, a student card.
He froze as he read the text.
Teitan High School Student ID
Class: 2-B
Name: Akira Karasawa
The ID photo was clean and sharp. A boy with ash-brown hair and vivid blue eyes stared straight at the camera, expression neutral. A very handsome face, but sharp-eyed, feline, edged with danger. Those cat-like pupils and upturned brows gave the face an eerie, aggressive aura.
It was like someone had taken his face and mashed it together with the P5 protagonist's—if they had a kid, this would be the result.
Karasawa stared at the photo, dead silent.
Then came the sting—a sharp, blooming pain in the back of his skull, followed by flashes. Visual static. Disjointed memory fragments stitched together in chaos.
An empty alleyway cloaked in night. Headlights blinding like execution lights. A woman screaming. A drunken man, red-faced and swaying, shoved into a flowerbed with a sickening thud.
Red and blue lights. The interrogation room's cold surgical glare. The echo of the gavel in a sterile courtroom.
No mistake. He was definitely in P5.
A falsely accused boy sentenced for doing the right thing. Labeled violent. Tossed out. Sent to Tokyo for a year-long probation under a "rehabilitation observation program"—his future dependent on playing by the rules. Screw up, and it's off to juvenile hall.
But…
Teitan High?
Karasawa's jaw clenched. If this was Detective Conan's world…
If this was Conan's world with Persona's mechanics slapped on top—
Then by Teitan High's insane "eternal school year" logic, his probation would last forever. Eternal. Unending.
Tragic. Absolutely tragic.
It took every ounce of expression management he had to keep his face from twisting into something feral. He just tightened his lips, pulled out the phone from his bag, and tapped open the front camera.
His new face blinked back at him.
Brown hair, fluffy and loose around his cheeks. Big, glassy blue eyes. The soft glow in his irises made them almost seem to shine. He looked maybe fifteen, sixteen at best—cuter than he'd like to admit.
"...Well, damn," he muttered, sighing, "I'm good-looking. Just a little too damn adorable."
The real Karasawa—the one from before, older by a solid decade—groaned and killed the camera app. Fine. He was here now. Might as well live.
What's he gonna do? Jump off the train and respawn?
Back on the home screen, his gaze locked on an icon dead center.
Black-and-red graffiti background. A red eye peeking through jagged strokes. The Metaverse Navigator app.
He tapped it.
Nothing.
Again.
He jabbed at it six more times before giving up, locking the screen in disgust.
Garbage app. Can't delete it, can't open it. Let it burn.
He prayed silently—Please, at least let me keep my third-run Persona compendium. Even if I lose all stats. At least the masks. The skills. Don't make me grind in the Velvet Room forever, man…
As if the universe heard him, the train's soundscape vanished.
A black-coated Phantom Thief swirled into view, slapping across his vision like a title screen. The P5 UI bloomed open in front of him.
Karasawa blinked, stunned, then reached for the inventory tab on instinct.
"Whoa!" he yelped.
His item inventory was packed to the brim.
P5's NG+ rules didn't let you keep your level—but your items, money, and Persona compendium entries carried over. All of them.
He still had his full third-run file.
He was rich. Stocked. Armed. Dangerous.
The only bummer—some tabs were still grayed out. But still—he had a safety net. A golden parachute.
He had his cheat file.
The UI faded. Reality's audio bled back in. No one around had even blinked.
Karasawa slouched back into the seat, exhaling relief, then started flipping through his phone for more context.
The phone was nearly empty. Freshly reset? Or a result of the body-jump? Either way, there were no contacts except Dad and Mom. No classmates. No messages. No photos. A digital wasteland.
One email.
From his father.
The message was cold. Robotic.
It explained his new lodgings—a room above a café in Tokyo, arranged by an old friend now living overseas. The café was still operational, run by the family and a few staff. The loft apartment was unused. He could stay there for the year. It was close to his new school.
The rest of the message?
"Report regularly to your probation officer. Follow the rules. Don't cause trouble. You won't get a second chance."
"…Seriously?" Karasawa muttered, fists clenching. "Did Dad actually write this? Or an automated guilt-bot?"
No warmth. No care. It felt more like exile. As if he were truly a monster.
Swallowing his rage, he scrolled down.
At the bottom: the address.
39 Fifth Block, Beika Town, Tokyo — Café Poirot.
Karasawa stared.
Oh. Oh no.
He should've guessed. The café loft was a locked trope at this point.
And now, of course… it had to be Poirot—right below the Mouri Detective Agency.
Which meant—
He was going to be classmates with Ran Mouri and Shinichi Kudo.
Ran's next-door neighbor.
And… possibly a coworker of Tooru Amuro once the Bourbon arc rolled around.
This was a crossover from hell.
With Conan's timeline logic, there was no escape.
Given the nature of Detective Conan, he'd probably end up as a victim, a murderer, or a suspect. Maybe all three in one arc.
Let's be real—his current setup? Screams killer. Wrongfully accused. Thrown out. Cut off from society. Simmering with betrayal. He was a villain origin story.
Victim? Maybe, if the corrupt bastards who framed him decided to erase the loose end. Politician. The rescued woman. Every cop and prosecutor in the case. Not a clean one among them.
As a suspect? That's just inevitable. With his file, Division One would treat him like a walking crime waiting to happen.
Lost in that spiral, Karasawa was pulled back to reality by the overhead broadcast.
"Next stop: Shibuya."
Time to change lines. Head for Beika Town. Face the madness.