The attic of Café Poirot was, in all honesty, better than the one above Leblanc.
Karasawa Akira, in the midst of unpacking, felt genuinely grateful.
It wasn't spacious and lacked windows, but it had a proper bed and a private bathroom—and those two alone were enough to satisfy him.
Fun fact: in Persona 5, the protagonist's bed is literally a few plastic drink crates with a wooden board slapped on top.
His predecessor's belongings had been packed into three cardboard boxes and shipped to the café in advance. Inside were a couple sets of Teitan High uniforms, clothes for various seasons, shoes, some homewear, and a few stationery items. And… that was it.
...That's weird. Did his predecessor have no hobbies? No personal items at all? Nothing to hint at a life once lived?
Then there was that brand-new, fresh-out-of-the-box phone.
Don't tell me all his original stuff got confiscated?
Now that he thought about it… it was entirely possible. With Bourbon around, chances were every piece of electronics, every scrap of paper Karasawa Akira once owned had been seized.
With that thought in mind, Karasawa opened his commuter bag and pulled out his planner.
Sure enough, it was a blank, unused notebook.
He sighed and tossed it back in. Great. Just perfect. Whoever did this was extremely competent. Not a trace left.
Oh well, he thought. A long year lay ahead. No need to rush.
His stomach growled. He hadn't eaten lunch or dinner. There was a kitchen downstairs, but it didn't seem right to just raid the café's food without asking.
And he didn't have any—
Wait. Actually, he did.
At that thought, Karasawa sat up straight. Right! Should I give my "four-dimensional pocket" a try?
Just in case Bourbon had installed hidden surveillance in the attic, he casually reached into his bag, pretending to rummage.
Then, mentally flipping through a long list of in-game props, he selected the cheapest rice ball available.
A moment later, his hand closed around the chill of plastic packaging.
...It worked. Damn, it really worked.
Karasawa held the cold rice ball up to eye level and gave it a squeeze. It was springy and firm—definitely the real deal.
Still, food with no expiration date felt a bit… dicey. Not gonna lie, he still had a tub of that ultra-spicy Leblanc curry, aged two years in game time. Even in the game, he'd hesitated to eat it, let alone in real life.
But his stomach was cramping from hunger. He tore open the wrapper, shut his eyes, and took a bite.
No strange flavor. The rice was slightly sweet, full-bodied. Honestly? It was pretty good.
He scarfed it down, then glanced at the size of his commuter bag. It definitely had room for one more. So he scarfed down a second.
This is powerful. He'd have to test whether the pocket could also store things. If it worked both ways, then he was already halfway to invincible. Nothing to be afraid of anymore!
Four-dimensional pocket, yyds. (Forever the GOAT.)
Once he relaxed, the exhaustion crashed over him like a wave. The sheer mental strain of the day had been overwhelming.
He pulled out some homewear and trudged slowly toward the bathroom.
He was done. Time to sleep.
Blue. Endless blue stretched before his eyes.
The crisp chime of wind chimes and the creak of a door followed. Karasawa blinked awake—he was standing in front of a softly lit bar.
Dark blue checkered tiles underfoot. Walls lined with a pattern of interlocking blue diamonds. A long counter draped in Klein blue fabric, lit by spotlights above—all of it pointed to one thing...
"Welcome to the Velvet Room, honored guest," said the bartender behind the counter. He turned around, took a wine glass from the rack, and gestured for Karasawa to take a seat.
"A bar, huh…" Karasawa raised an eyebrow, bemused. Still, he chose a high stool and sat down. "So this is my Velvet Room? A bar? I haven't touched alcohol in ages."
"A perfect bit of irony, isn't it?" The bartender, golden-haired and golden-eyed, leaned casually on the counter.
Karasawa studied him. From his deep blue fedora down to his matching bow tie and vest, the man looked sharp.
He was handsome. His golden hair slicked back neatly, and though his face was soft and clearly Asian, the sharp angles of his features gave him a mature air. Most people would guess he was around twenty-seven or twenty-eight. The vintage jazz bar setting suited him perfectly.
But—
"Isn't it kinda inappropriate to let a minor into a bar?" Karasawa leaned forward, emphasizing his youthful face.
"I'm not the one who gets to decide that," the bartender said with a smile. "The Velvet Room reflects the guest's inner world. Ordinary minors don't conjure up bars."
That made Karasawa pause.
"I'm Leon," the bartender said, adjusting his hat and bowing slightly. "Your guide and assistant."
Ah. Here it was—the part where they had to go through the motions.
Karasawa blinked quickly. "So… are you gonna say it? You know, the 'this is a realm between dream and reality, mind and matter' thing?"
Leon chuckled. "No need. You already know all that, don't you? Let's not waste time."
So he really did get the subtext. That meant Leon knew Karasawa's real situation.
Leon nodded. "That's right. Whatever you know, I know."
Karasawa let out a breath of relief. This was actually great.
The Persona series was built on Jungian psychology, steeped in occult symbolism. Most characters who knew the truth acted like cryptic gatekeepers, always talking in riddles.
This was much better.
He relaxed into his seat, resting his head on one hand. "Whew—thank god. I hate listening to riddles in my dreams. Since you get it, let's cut to the chase. No Igor, huh? Is it because this world is stitched together weirdly?"
Igor—Velvet Room's long-nosed, white-haired master. In P5, he's not just a mysterious guide but also a key player in the plot. His absence said a lot.
Leon shrugged. "Not sure. Maybe that's it. Doesn't really matter though—we're 'off the roster' now anyway."
That phrase—off the roster—made Karasawa's face darken.
"…No need to rub it in."
"Sorry, didn't mean it that way," Leon said with a shrug and a lopsided grin that said otherwise. "It's all in the past now, right?"
"Don't make it sound like I've been here for ages. I was still living the comfy NEET life just yesterday. One blink later, boom—past life." Karasawa clutched his chest dramatically. "I didn't even finish Zelda 2, man!"
He'd had it all—food, shelter, the freedom to laze around until retirement. Then life hit the fast-forward button.
"But you're enjoying this, aren't you?" Leon didn't indulge the theatrics—he just cut straight to the truth.
Karasawa choked on his words. He coughed twice and slouched back down. "...You can really see everything, huh?"
Yeah. The sudden isekai twist? For someone like Karasawa, it wasn't a tragedy.
His old life was calm to the point of stagnation—a future he could see all the way to the grave. Going with the flow was just resignation, not satisfaction.
As he thought this, his hand drifted to his knee—whole, smooth, unscarred.
"I'm your assistant. Your mirror. Your partner-in-crime," Leon said, tipping his hat. Then he gestured to the empty glass in front of Karasawa. "Now that the bar's open, care for a drink?"
"I told you, I don't drink anymore…"
"I know. So, do you want one?"
"…Yes."
Leon wasn't surprised. He pulled out a bottle and poured.
Amber liquid with a red sheen filled the glass. Karasawa sniffed it—rich, malty fragrance. He raised an eyebrow. "Bourbon whiskey? Is that a hint?"
"Not a hint." Leon turned slightly and pointed to the nearly empty liquor cabinet. Only one bottle remained.
"Because I ran into Bourbon?" Karasawa clicked his tongue. "That's so on the nose."
Still, he raised the glass and took a sip.
Smooth, mellow, and sweet. The alcohol warmed him instantly. His eyes squinted with pleasure; the corners of his lips curled upward.
"This is terrible. If I get hooked again, I can't even buy beer—I'm still underage." He took another sip, grumbling all the while.
"Don't worry. It won't affect the real world. Consider it… a bonus feature."
"A bonus? You trying to tempt me into befriending the Black Organization for more booze?" Karasawa scoffed. "That's kinda insulting."
"Just an easter egg," Leon replied, knowing exactly how to push Karasawa's buttons. "Think of it like an achievement."
As a 100% platinum completionist, Karasawa felt thoroughly validated. He dropped the complaint and got to the point.
"Alright then. What's my mission? Am I supposed to fight in the Metaverse and stop it from merging with the real world?"
He understood Persona 5. He understood Detective Conan. But mashed together? That was harder to wrap his head around.
Persona was supernatural—psychological metaphors turned real. Conan pretended to be realistic, even as it punched satellites. It was a detective story rooted in logic and spycraft...
"The main focus of the story is the battle of wits between the red and black sides, with a lot of 'I predict your prediction' moments, combined with the winery's decoding three-choice competition. Step by step, it pushes the protagonist to understand the Black Organization and ultimately defeat it.
So what will these two elements combine into?
It's kind of strange.
Leon shook his head, denying Karasawa's thoughts, and gave the answer for tonight.
'No need for that. In this world, they've already merged together.'