By the time Karasawa finally stumbled his way to Beika Station, two grueling hours had passed.
He wasn't Japanese, but he'd lived in Tokyo before—he knew how irritating the metro system could be, and he was mentally prepared for Shibuya Station's labyrinthine hell.
He wasn't, however, ready for the Detective Conan universe's funhouse-mirror version of Tokyo's subway system.
Time evaporated on endless transfers and incomprehensible signage. When he eventually found Café Poirot, it was already past two in the afternoon.
He was supposed to handle his Teitan High enrollment today. At this rate, he'd be lucky to get anything done before dinner disappeared from the menu.
Karasawa offered a brief, solemn prayer to his stomach, which was already starting to throb in protest, then pushed open the café door.
The scent of roasted beans hit him first.
There were three customers still seated, chatting quietly. Two employees stood behind the long bar, mid-conversation. When the bell over the door rang, every eye turned toward Karasawa.
He looked up—and froze.
Shit.
The woman on the left was all soft smiles and warm energy, with long hair framing a familiar, kind face—Enomoto Azusa, the café's resident staff member in the manga.
But the man on the right?
Golden-blond hair. Tanned skin. Ridiculously handsome. That face could spark a Pavlovian reaction in any Conan fan.
Tooru Amuro.Bourbon.Why the hell is he already here?!
Karasawa stood frozen in the doorway like a bug under a spotlight.
Enomoto gave him a thorough once-over, eyes flicking from the school uniform to the unique blue eyes and ash-brown hair.
"Ah!" She clapped her hands together, the light of realization blooming across her face. "You must be the high schooler the owner mentioned! Karasawa Akira, right?"
That snapped him out of it.
He bowed automatically, voice smooth but hesitant: "I'm sorry for intruding. Nice to meet you—I'm Karasawa Akira. I'll be staying here from today. Please take care of me."
The perfect bow. Textbook greeting. He was playing the shy, awkward new tenant with precision.
Azusa visibly relaxed, her smile warm. "He's cute, isn't he?" she murmured to Amuro with a conspiratorial tilt of her head.
Amuro was already scrutinizing him—subtle, but unmistakable. Then he returned a charming smile and waved.
"Don't worry, we've been informed. I'm Amuro Tooru. This is Enomoto Azusa. We're staff here. Looking forward to working with you."
Karasawa forced a polite smile. Inside, he was screaming.
Why is Bourbon working here already?!In the canon timeline, Amuro didn't show up at Poirot until after Shuichi Akai faked his death and took on the identity of Okiya Subaru. That's way ahead.
And Karasawa just saw a newspaper headline on the train—"High School Detective Kudo Shinichi Cracks Another Case!"
Shinichi was still active. The plot hadn't even kicked off yet.
So what the hell was Amuro doing here?!
Karasawa's first day of his new life was already spinning out of control.
Azusa gestured toward the stairs at the back. "Your things arrived yesterday—we put them upstairs. Feel free to rest or unpack whenever. If you need help, just ask."
She assumed he was a shy introvert, and wanted to give him a graceful exit from the room.
But Karasawa hesitated. He'd already lost precious time on the commute.
"I'm sorry, but I was delayed on the way here. I still need to finalize my school transfer. Could I get the proof of residence first?" He used the term "residence" carefully—not sure how much they knew about his situation.
What he actually needed was a legal statement of custody—required for ex-juvenile offenders under probation. It needed a guardian to act as a volunteer supervisor, someone who'd vouch for him, stay in touch with the school, report on his behavior.
This wasn't a casual roommate deal. It was paperwork hell.
Azusa blinked. "Proof…?"
Amuro, unsurprisingly, picked up the thread. "Ah, you mean your residence certificate? Don't worry—I've got it. The owner already spoke to me about it. You're transferring to Teitan High, right? It's close—I'll walk you over."
Karasawa turned to meet those gray-lavender eyes.
Amuro knew. He definitely understood what Karasawa had actually asked for.
Glancing around at the other customers, Karasawa dropped his voice. "Is it okay? The café's still open."
Azusa waved them off. "It's fine—I can handle things here. Go on, Amuro-san, help him out."
Karasawa waited obediently by the counter as Amuro slipped off his apron and pulled on a jacket.
Outwardly calm. Inwardly gnawing holes in the commuter bag with his grip.
You've got to be kidding me.
Azusa probably thought he just needed a document confirming his living address.
But Karasawa knew.
He needed a legal guardian to liaise with the school. This wasn't something a stranger could volunteer for casually.
So.
So the mysterious café owner wasn't his supervisor. Wasn't even here.
It was Amuro Tooru.Bourbon.Black Org spy.
Karasawa ducked his head behind him, watching the man's shadow. Every muscle screamed stay normal, don't slip. One wrong twitch, and this human lie detector would shred him like wet paper.
Kudo Shinichi hasn't even been knocked out yet, and the Organization's already in my business?!
There's no mistake. This is the Org's influence.
Whatever Bourbon's deeper mission was, the moment he acted under the "Amuro Tooru" alias, he operated from the Organization's shadow.
In canon, Bourbon started working here specifically to investigate Kogoro Mouri.
He wouldn't suddenly babysit a random student.
Which could only mean one thing—
Something about Karasawa Akira was already tied to the Black Organization.
"…You seem nervous, Karasawa-kun?" Amuro's voice snapped him out of it. Karasawa looked up instinctively, startled.
"Y-Yes. Sorry." He kept his voice small, tucked into his chest, eyes fixated on Amuro's sleeve rather than his face. Perfect anxious teenager act.
Truth be told, he had no clue what the original Karasawa Akira had been like. His memories were a scattered puzzle. Just fragments. Not even names for his parents.
But Amuro probably knew.
Bourbon wouldn't act unless he'd already dug deep. Birth certificate, medical records, maybe even dental impressions.
Which meant—Karasawa could only improvise. Carefully. He went all-in on the "traumatized social recluse" angle.
Falsely accused. Branded a criminal. Rejected by society. Even a once-golden socialite would retreat into a shell.
Amuro's expression softened. "It's alright. I understand your situation. The owner's rarely in the country. So for the next year, I'll be handling your supervision."
There it is.
Karasawa didn't respond immediately. He stayed quiet, not taking the bait.
Letting Amuro lead the conversation gave him control. Better to redirect.
"So, Enomoto-san. And the others here. They all know, don't they?"
His tone was flat. Not a question—an assumption stated like fact.
Amuro's brow twitched. He heard the hurt behind the words.
Despite being a spy, Amuro wasn't heartless. Beneath that Organization badge beat a very red-blooded moral compass.
"No," he said gently. "Only I know. The owner didn't share your circumstances with anyone else. Your privacy is safe here."
In the short walk from Poirot to Teitan High, Karasawa's mind was on fire. Theory after theory. Adjusting plans. Recalibrating his entire persona.
Time to go full method actor.
He chuckled darkly—just once. A bitter, self-mocking sound.
"Of course. No one wants people knowing a juvenile convict lives above their café. It'd ruin your reputation. Bad for business."
Amuro's frown deepened. "That's not—don't think like that, Karasawa-kun."
"I'll make sure I don't cause any problems. I'll behave. I just have to make it through the year, right?" Karasawa's eyes were lowered again, lashes casting shadows over his irises.
"I won't be a burden."
That shut Amuro up.
Clearly, the kid wasn't in a place for casual conversation anymore. He dropped the interrogation and changed tack.
"Teitan High's a great school. Good reputation, high university placement rate. Honestly, transferring in might even be a step up for your future."
His tone shifted—less like an adult talking to a teenager, more like an adult coaxing a child. Soft. Cheerful. Almost condescending.
"The students here are great. You'll fit in just fine."
Karasawa finally looked up.
Their eyes met.
He didn't speak. His lips parted, like he might protest, but instead he just closed them again. Tight.
Fit in, huh?In Beika Town?
Sure. Let's all pretend that's realistic.
This was the city of polite smiles and public executions. One wrong sneeze and you'd end up on a slab in Dr. Agasa's lab.
He didn't say any of that. Just pressed his lips tight, cheeks puffed slightly from the effort of holding back.
That expression made a return—he'd worn it on the train. Stern, severe, but the baby fat in his face rounded his cheeks, making him look more like a sulking kitten than a delinquent.
He wasn't trying to look cute. Just hadn't figured out how to control this new face.
But Amuro—
Amuro couldn't resist. He reached out and ruffled Karasawa's hair.
"Relax. You'll be fine. That building over there? That's Teitan High."
Karasawa followed his finger.
Across the street: the carved stone sign—
Teitan High School.
Fate laughed from the rooftops.
P5's Shujin Academy was a pun—shūjin, meaning "prisoner," for the protagonist's doomed fate.
Teitan High?
A phonetic reverse of tantei—"detective."
Of course.He was doomed to spend his life trapped in goddamn pun-based schools.
Karasawa sighed—internally—and followed Amuro across the street, stepping into the heart of one of anime's most cursed postal codes.