Chapter 23: How Can Someone with a Conscience Ever Hope to Defeat Me!

Although the Tarot card he was given felt somewhat predetermined, and the ability that came with it was rather bizarre, Karasawa’s plan had, all things considered, been a resounding success.

Not wanting to linger outside any longer, he packed two chiffon cakes for Conan—a peace offering, of sorts, for the trap he had sprung on him—and escorted the little detective back to the Mouri Detective Agency.

School let out at four, and between being delayed by the murder case at the art museum until past five, he risked being accused of leading a child astray if he didn’t get the primary schooler home soon.

"Karasawa, is it alright if I call you that?" Despite the tumultuous events of the past two hours, and the jarring experience of having his cover blown so easily, Conan felt a strange sense of relief walking beside Karasawa, who knew the truth about his real identity.

These past few days had felt inexplicably long, yet it hadn't been that long since he was attacked by the men in black at the amusement park and shrunk into a child.

With one sudden crisis after another, forced to adapt to his new identity while scrambling to keep the truth from Ran and Uncle Mouri, he was truly not a person suited for lying. Just as Karasawa had said, his acting skills were terrible, yet he was forced to weave lies constantly. The pressure was immense, with nowhere to vent. Being able to speak in his true state, as he was now, made Conan feel at ease.

"Of course, Conan-kun," Karasawa replied, humoring his newly acquired "thigh"—or rather, his collaborator.

"Aren't you curious about why I shrunk? You haven't asked me once."

"I don't need to ask to know it's a troublesome situation. I can barely take care of myself as it is; better not to be curious about things I can't help with. It only brings trouble to others." Karasawa said this aloud, but to himself, he thought that there was really no need to ask. Once the all-knowing detective began investigating the case of Karasawa Akira, he would naturally stumble upon traces of the Black Organization, and everything that needed to be said would inevitably come to light. "More than that, I’m more curious why you ended up at Mouri’s house. Suzuki-san said you two are childhood sweethearts, so she and her father must know what you looked like as a child, and she knows you quite well. Is that really okay?"

Conan pushed up his glasses. Recalling the plan suggested by Professor Agasa, he said with little confidence, "Well... someone suggested that I could make Uncle Mouri into a famous detective, and once he’s famous enough, I could use his channels to find the people who did this to me..."

Conan’s voice trailed off under Karasawa’s silent, sympathetic gaze.

"Is this plan not feasible?" Conan asked in a tiny voice.

Karasawa replied with high emotional intelligence: "It’s imaginative. It’s the kind of story people would be willing to pay to hear."

Being hit with such subtle sarcasm, Conan finally felt the reality that Karasawa was indeed from Kyoto. He scratched his temple awkwardly. "It’s still feasible, right? Like today... well, today was a mistake, but I have successfully helped Uncle Mouri solve several cases. He’s already starting to gain a certain level of fame."

Karasawa rubbed his right arm with lingering fear. "If you insist on trying this method, I’m in no position to object. But next time, if you want my cooperation, just ask. I’d rather not be on the receiving end of a tranquilizer dart out of nowhere."

"Ahaha..." Conan gave a dry laugh, sensing that whatever was running through Karasawa’s mind was definitely not polite. He changed the subject. "Uncle Mouri becoming a famous detective is a good thing for you too, isn't it? Your case also needs channels to be investigated."

"Hard to say." Karasawa tactfully expressed his stance. "If I have to name an advantage, it’s that I don't have to step forward myself. My situation is delicate. If I get involved in cases by drawing attention to myself, the mastermind behind the scenes won't just stand by. Keeping a low profile is safer for me, and besides, I’m a juvenile delinquent. Once that’s exposed, the media will hunt me down relentlessly..."

Conan remembered the scene at the art museum when Karasawa leaned in to ask Inspector Megure not to mention him to the public, and he nodded in understanding.

The sunset painted the clouds a fiery red, and the twilight bathed them in a warm glow, reminding Conan of the day Ran Mouri held his hand and walked him to her home. What was he feeling back then?

"Don't be too pessimistic, Karasawa." Conan raised his hand, reaching only as far as Karasawa’s elbow, and patted him in a gesture of comfort. "As long as you're alive, there’s hope. No matter how bad the situation is, don't give up."

Karasawa looked down at the child who was trying so hard to express his sympathy, and patted his shoulder in response.

At that moment, Karasawa was thinking: *Let’s walk faster, get him back quickly. This kid has zero concept of keeping secrets. Who knows when Akai Shuichi or Amuro Toru might spawn behind him again. Cover your fragile secret identity, Conan-kun.*

The two of them, completely out of sync, walked into the orange sunset in a friendly, harmonious manner.

***

Returning home late, Karasawa walked into the cafe and hadn't even put down his bag when his guardian pulled him aside, spinning him around to check for injuries.

"Amuro-san..." Karasawa said, feeling a mix of amusement and frustration, raising his hands in surrender. "I just went to the art museum with a classmate after school. I didn't get attacked."

Amuro Toru, confirming that Karasawa hadn't added any new injuries, let go of the high schooler he had been inspecting and walked back behind the counter. "And then you stumbled into a murder case?"

Karasawa spread his hands innocently. "Yeah, we were the first on the scene and were kept by the police to assist with the investigation, which is why I’m back late. I really didn't run into any other trouble."

Amuro Toru thought of this and felt an even greater headache. "You don't, by any chance, think detectives like Mr. Mouri are cool and want to try your hand at being one for the thrill of it, do you?"

As an intelligence operative with extensive channels, Amuro Toru naturally knew the true role Karasawa had played in this case. The police had been largely fooled by the killer's misdirection and were on the verge of arresting a scapegoat. Once the real killer left the scene, they could have disposed of the pen they were hiding, making it nearly impossible to find evidence to pin the crime on them.

As Furuya Rei, seeing Karasawa—who had suffered so much from being falsely accused—choose to clear someone else’s name and become the person who helps others, he felt a deep sense of relief.

The disappointment in justice that Karasawa displayed had not catalyzed into coldness or resentment. Having walked through the rain, and even now still standing in the middle of a downpour, his willingness to hold an umbrella for others was a truly precious quality.

But on the other hand, Amuro Toru knew that Karasawa was in a dangerous position. If he were to show his face in the media like those detectives, Amuro was unsure what methods the Organization would choose to deal with him to prevent Karasawa from attracting more attention and causing complications to their plans.

"Impossible, right? Being a detective and all that." Karasawa pondered for a moment, sensing that the Furuya Rei component of the man before him was more prominent, and said, "My identity isn't suited for the spotlight. If the public found out that the key clues to a case were provided by a criminal, they would only question the validity of the conclusion... I just want to help, not add to the chaos. Don't worry, Amuro-san, I’ve already asked the investigating officers not to disclose my involvement."

This false accusation hanging over his head was like a sharp blade, specifically designed to pierce the hearts of righteous people on the "good" side. It felt like a buff; as long as he wore it, Karasawa could stand on the moral high ground and do whatever he pleased.

Amuro Toru, much like Conan a few minutes ago, was choked for words and could only reach out to pat Karasawa’s shoulder in a reassuring manner.

*It works so well,* Karasawa thought, feeling absolutely no pangs of conscience, and vowed to do it again next time.

If he could participate in a few more cases under the guise of "not wanting others to suffer as I have," his persona would be impeccable.

A teenager who had been driven to social withdrawal by violence and had lost faith in society, yet could still reach out to the unfortunate out of a simple sense of justice and profound empathy—who wouldn't call him a saint?