Kiichi Higashino stretched out a hand to silence the shrieking alarm clock by his bed.
Groaning, he hauled himself upright, scrubbing the sleep from his face.
Twenty years. That's how long it had been since he'd transmigrated into this world. Two decades as a "reincarnator," a soul reborn into a new life. Unlike the novel protagonists he'd read about, who often woke up in bizarre, high-stakes scenarios and had to fake their way through with award-worthy theatrics, Kiichi's entry had been... gentle. He was a rare "fetal transmigrator," born into this world as an infant. By all accounts, his luck wasn't terrible.
Until he realized where he'd landed.
It started innocently. A few years into his new life, he heard about a rising mystery novelist named Yusaku Kudo. Then he learned his elementary school was none other than Teitan Elementary—the epicenter of chaos in this universe.
Beika Town. We're toast.
Well, maybe not toast toast. Sure, some fans jokingly called Beika "Tokyo's Gotham," but it wasn't that dire. Compared to transmigrators stuck in high-fantasy worlds with world-ending tyrants or comic-book universes where planets got vaporized by moody supervillains, this was just a modern city. A city with a murder case every other day and the occasional blockbuster-level explosion, sure, but not the worst hand to be dealt in the transmigration lottery.
Let's be honest: unless you got dropped into a cozy Pokémon world or a low-stakes urban slice-of-life, what transmigrator had a guaranteed shot at survival?
Returning to his old world? Pure fantasy. That was beyond this universe's rules.
Kiichi wasn't totally clueless about Detective Conan. As a '95 kid, the series was woven into his childhood. Grainy, pirated DVDs from a shady rental shop, devoured obsessively during elementary school. But by junior high, who had time for anime? Life took over—school, exams, the grind. By college, with a backlog of new shows and games, Conan sank to the bottom of his priorities.
It was nostalgia, nothing more. Every so often, he'd skim a fan-made timeline or catch a main-plot episode to keep up with new characters or major arcs. But the details? The culprits of specific cases? Those evaporated the moment the credits rolled. Even the hundreds of episodes he'd binged as a kid were a haze now, except for a few cases that had spooked him senseless back then.
Thinking about it always sparked regret. If he'd known he'd end up here, he'd have memorized all thousand-plus episodes, even if it meant burning out completely.
Kiichi envied those mythical transmigrators in fanfiction. The ones who somehow recalled every culprit from cases aired decades ago. The ones who strutted into this world as Black Organization hitmen, red-team seers, or puppetmasters manipulating both sides like chess grandmasters. And him? He got zilch. No cheat codes, no eidetic memory. Just fuzzy plot points and a smattering of Conan memes.
Still, life had to go on. This wasn't a world where one mistake could get your entire lineage erased by a vengeful god, but Beika's residents were... enthusiastic about their "paths to doom." Survival was priority one.
Survive.
Survive with a decent quality of life.
Climb the social ladder and live with respect.
Those were his three-tiered goals as a transmigrator.
So, the question was: in the Detective Conan world, how do you survive?
First, eliminate the obvious traps. No CEOs, celebrities, or professors. Those roles were cursed—practically begging for a murder case to come knocking.
But a guy's gotta work, right? Either Gosho Aoyama or the main plot would eventually wrap up, and when the world normalized, Kiichi would need a way to pay the bills.
Here's the twist: in the Conan universe, with its astronomical murder rate, one job stood out as bizarrely safe—if you could survive the pre-Conan era.
Be a police officer.
Make it past the timeline before Shinichi Kudo shrinks into Conan, and congratulations: you're practically untouchable. Gunshots, stabbings, kidnappings, bomb blasts—you'll face them all, but you won't die. You might not even get a scar that doesn't heal.
Thank you, Conan-nii-san!
And the benefits didn't end there. In this world, the police could be incompetent, even clueless, and still thrive. All you had to do was hitch your wagon to the right "big shot" and coast to promotion. Just look at Officer Yamamura. The guy was proof that Conan's influence could turn a fumbling cop into a rising star.
Some fans called Yamamura a "career-track" officer in fanfiction, but that was pure headcanon. Career-track officers started as assistant inspectors. Yamamura? He wasn't one. Yet Conan had dragged him from a dead-end post to a promotion trajectory that defied reason.
Who could argue? Shinichi Kudo was the neon-lit savior of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department.
If Kiichi played his cards right—worked hard, started as a career-track officer, and clung to Conan's coattails—he'd soar. Forget Inspector Megure hogging all the "little brother" perks. There was plenty to go around.
Plus, everyone knew Detective Conan was secretly a romantic comedy. Get on Conan's good side, play the reliable sidekick, and he'd practically orchestrate a love story straight out of a police drama. A government-assigned wife. In a world of murders and mayhem, what other job offered that?
No contest. Even in his old world, nothing came close.
The goal was clear: join the First Investigation Division.
What about the Second Division, chasing Kaito Kid? Pass. Sure, working with Kid was low-risk—maybe a bruised ego from his father-in-law's teasing at worst—but where was the future? The romance? A few bullets, a couple of stabs, or a bomb or two were worth it for the payoff. With Conan's "grim reaper" aura shielding him, Kiichi was untouchable.
The plan was set: ace the entrance exam for Tokyo University's law program, grind his way into the career-track "gold watch" group, and let Conan carry him to glory.
Sure, after his mandatory rotation internship, he might not land in his first-choice department. But if he excelled, his preferences and skills would carry weight.
And there was another reason to lean into the police path. His father in this life was a career-track officer—a gold watch group member. Not long after, Kiichi learned his dad had a close friend from Tokyo U named Hakuba.
Holy crap. My cheat code was right here!
He was a second-generation elite in this life. Who'd have guessed?
Then, in second grade, tragedy struck. His parents were killed in a car accident caused by a fugitive. The culprit was arrested on the spot, but the loss stung. Darkly ironic, though—it only stacked his "protagonist buffs" higher.
After that, his grandfather took him in, raising him in Yokohama. Japan's education system was brutal, but Kiichi had been a grinder in his past life. More importantly, the dream of surviving until the series' finale and living a fulfilling life fueled him like nothing else. Step by step, he executed his plan.
Just when he thought he was golden—stay cautious, wait for Conan to appear, and coast to victory—something unexpected happened.
Why was there no detective at the crime scene when he went out with Inspector Megure?
No matter. The culprit wasn't too convoluted, and Kiichi fumbled through solving the case.
The next time? No detective again.
Where's Shinichi Kudo? Save me, Shinichi!
During his months-long internship with the First Investigation Division, Kiichi handled hundreds of cases. Not once did he cross paths with Shinichi Kudo. At first, Megure guided him, but soon the inspector realized Kiichi was a "little brother" prodigy in his own right and let him work solo.
But why did he never get a detective? Whenever Megure led a team, a high school sleuth was guaranteed to pop up like clockwork.
What the hell? Does the savior only save Megure?
Where could he buy some of that "little brother" luck? Send him the link.
And so, Kiichi earned a nickname.
The Ace of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police.
What followed was... odd. Normally, career-track officers moved to the National Police Agency's administrative office after their rotation internship. When Kiichi heard he was headed there, he nearly broke down. How was Conan supposed to protect him if he wasn't in the First Investigation Division?
But just as he packed his bags for the administrative office, something inexplicable happened. Right after reporting, he was reassigned for a "short-term dispatch" back to frontline work.
It was rare but not unheard of. Depending on organizational needs or personal development plans, officers could be sent to divisions like the First Investigation for more field experience. Still, Kiichi wasn't a naive rookie anymore. He couldn't shake the feeling he'd ticked someone off.
Then Hakuba—the Hakuba—visited him personally. He explained that he'd pulled strings with the National Police Agency to keep Kiichi on the frontlines for more practical training. No need to worry about his future, Hakuba assured him.
Kiichi had his suspicions. The First Investigation Division was full of dead weight. Hakuba probably couldn't bear to let a competent detective slip away.
Good news: he'd somehow achieved his goal of joining the First Investigation Division and even got promoted to inspector. Bad news: Hakuba's promises about his future felt like a potential empty check. Kiichi could only hope Hakuba wouldn't screw him over, for his late father's sake.
But it didn't matter anymore. The higher-ups had spoken, and he had to roll with it. Besides, Shinichi Kudo was in his second year of high school now. The timeline was about to freeze—Conan's thousand-episode "six-month" saga was looming. Kiichi's "short-term dispatch" as an inspector would likely stretch on indefinitely. With Japan's seniority-based promotion system, he could kiss further advancement goodbye until Conan's true identity was restored.
The higher-ups had decided: he'd be a frontline workhorse.
Looking back at his "glorious record," one thing was clear—Beika Town was cursed, Conan or no Conan.
And his name? Kiichi Higashino. A nod to Keigo Higashino and Kiichi Mihara, no doubt.
Well played, universe. I'm on this pirate ship now.