On the second day after transmigrating, Karasawa successfully secured the holy trinity of contact info: Suzuki Sonoko, Mouri Ran, and—yes—even Edogawa Conan.
Conan, ever the cryptic Samaritan, had carefully hinted: "Uncle Mouri's a private detective," "Even high schoolers are still minors," and other thinly veiled lines that basically translated to: "If you've got a problem, talk to us."
Sure, Karasawa thought, but let's not pretend you're not clocking me already, little death magnet.
Conan's current gaze toward Amuro Tooru could strip paint off a wall. Full-on human scum look.
Karasawa? Slept like a baby.
Fake bourbon's still bourbon. Keep your distance, detective-kun.
Besides, Conan's early-stage acting was hilariously bad—Karasawa remembered the first volumes where Ran could've exposed him with a sneeze.
Better not to throw him into a room with Bourbon yet. Let him stay innocent a bit longer.
After seeing the "Death Trio" off, Karasawa shifted mental gears. The stage was set. No way Bourbon wouldn't bite. A drama was inevitable.
Which worked out—Karasawa had something to test on Amuro too.
"Your dinner."
Amuro's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. A plate of seafood pasta landed in front of him. A cup of cocoa followed.
Karasawa jumped. He hadn't even heard the man approach.
"Ah, thank you. But I could've—"
"The café's covering your room and board," Amuro interrupted casually, lying like only a triple-salaried spy could. "I believe your parents already paid. Don't worry about it."
Not to mention he was definitely billing this to someone. Probably the Organization. Maximum expense report.
"And you're free to use the kitchen yourself. But stop eating those cold rice balls. That's bad for your stomach."
Karasawa froze, chopsticks halfway into the pasta.
Wait… are you monitoring the attic? You installed surveillance in a teenager's bedroom?! What happened to ethics, you undercover bastard?
"Ah—did Azusa-san tell you that?" he asked weakly, adjusting his story.
Amuro nodded, all calm smiles. "She said she made sandwiches, but you only ate two rice balls and left. No need to stress, Karasawa-kun."
Karasawa stuffed his mouth with a roll of pasta to avoid answering.
"Good?" Amuro asked, jabbing a finger into Karasawa's hair like it was a button.
Karasawa nearly choked.
Seriously, what is it with this guy and head-pats? Is my head shaped like a stress ball or something?
Still chewing, Karasawa muttered, "It's good, thank you."
To be fair, it was. Al dente pasta, seafood seasoned just right, fish roe bursting with briny flavor—Amuro might've been a fake name, but the man had real chef hands.
"Glad you like it." Amuro smiled. "No need to be so formal, though. You're always so polite, like you're afraid to upset me. I'm not that scary, right? We'll be living together for a while."
He was trying to gauge Karasawa's tension. Conan's suspicious glare hadn't gone unnoticed.
And while Bourbon was shady as hell, Rei Furuya had no ill intentions. He needed to rule out the possibility that Karasawa knew about the Organization.
Karasawa caught on immediately.
Ah, the test begins.
So he leaned into the trauma card.
"I… I didn't mean to offend you. I just… don't know how to…" His voice cracked into the perfect mix of shame and uncertainty, complete with a pained, wistful expression.
Let him project. Let him fill in the blanks himself.
And boy, did Amuro project.
He remembered the case files: after the incident, Karasawa Akira's withdrawal notice was plastered all over school. Rumors spread—he'd hospitalized someone, he'd killed someone while drunk, he'd harassed a middle-schooler. None of it confirmed. All of it viral.
His classmates cut him off. His home was vandalized. His locker trashed. The bullying was so widespread, he was forcibly relocated to Tokyo.
A perfectly executed character assassination.
A pitiful child.
"No one should treat you poorly for your past," Amuro said gently. "Did someone hurt you?"
Karasawa didn't respond.
But he didn't have to.
Memories—his or the original's—flooded in.
A trembling boy, curled under the covers. Message alerts dinging nonstop.
He knew what they said.
At first, it was concern. Then doubt. Then hatred.
"Die, murderer."
"Killer."
"Freak."
His classmates turned. His inbox turned. Someone edited his photo in grayscale, stamped MURDERER across his forehead. It spread. Strangers passed judgment.
He stopped speaking.
That didn't help.
It got worse.
Eventually, he hurled his phone across the room.
"Would you be different, Amuro-san?"
His voice was flat, distant. But tears slipped down his cheeks, one by one.
Damn it. Internet trolls deserve the electric chair.
Damn it, he was really about to cry on the second night. This was embarrassing.
In his old life, Karasawa had mastered control. Emotional restraint was a skill. But "Karasawa Akira's" pain hit like a flood. His eyes leaked before he even knew what he was feeling.
The grief, the injustice, the sheer helplessness of a teenager crucified by rumor—he couldn't block it.
To Amuro, it looked like a total emotional collapse. Silent tears, vacant gaze, hunched over his dinner like a broken bird.
"I wouldn't," Amuro said quietly. "You'll catch a cold. Here."
He tossed a towel over Karasawa's head to block his face. "I'm your guardian. I'll protect you."
Karasawa's sobs didn't stop, but something changed.
That sentence—
There it is.
"…Really?" he asked, voice muffled by the towel.
"I wouldn't lie to a kid. You can trust me a little, okay?" Amuro patted his head again. "That's a grown-up's promise."
Bourbon can rot. This is Rei Furuya talking.
"I believe you," Karasawa said. "But stop touching my head!"
As if on cue, the air around him shifted.
Leon's rich, velvet voice echoed through his ears:
"I am thou… thou art I…"
"From this moment, a new bond is forged."
"A pact born from the desire for freedom…"
"I, who wear the mask of The Magician, shall walk with you."
"Let our contract be sealed."
A glowing interface burst into being in front of him.
[Cooperation: Amuro Tooru（?）]
[Arcana: The Magician — Rank 1]
Truth or illusion? Mask upon mask, the smiling man across from you mirrors your own layered smile. To see what's real—to see what's true—requires wisdom, sincerity… and maybe a flexible moral code.
A mille-feuille of lies is about to be served. Ready? Go!
Skill Acquired: "Free Combat"
(Author's note: Originally planned to assign Justice Arcana here, but after some research, The Magician felt more fitting. In Persona, it's often the first bond formed, the mentor-friend figure. Also… The Magician tends to come with "doomed romance" vibes. If anyone fits that? It's the Emperor of Side Jobs.)
(Also, P5's contract incantation slaps. Even in Japanese, it's got that chant vibe. "Waga na wa… nanji wa waga na…" Worth checking out a clip. Very cool, very dramatic.)