Chapter 29: Here Comes the Dump Truck

"Hey, Ran, it’s me... Oh, I know it’s sudden, but what else could I do?"

Across from him, Karasawa sat boredly, using a spoon to nudge a sugar cube, watching it rise and fall in his coffee as it slowly dissolved. He listened as Conan, using his voice-changing bowtie, spoke furtively on the phone.

"Yeah, the case hasn't made any progress yet, and the investigation is going to take a long time." Conan sighed sincerely, thinking of the two mysterious men in black. "I can't even say for sure how much longer it will take."

It was unclear what Mouri Ran asked next, but Conan’s expression turned troubled as he searched for the right words. Suddenly, he glanced at Karasawa, who was still playing with his sugar, and a lightbulb went off. He spoke into the receiver with an air of grave importance: "It’s a very tricky case... an urgent, secret commission. The connections involved are incredibly complex, and I have to conduct the investigation independently... Yes, it’s a huge headache because it might involve police corruption and other issues. I have to keep it strictly confidential."

As Karasawa listened, he realized something was off. He put down his spoon and glared at the brat sitting opposite him.

"...It’s very thorny, the whole case is shrouded in fog. I can't return to Tokyo yet, or I might startle the snake..." Conan awkwardly shifted his gaze, not daring to meet Karasawa’s eyes, and coughed twice. "Ahem, anyway, I won't be back for a while. Don't worry, I’m doing just fine..."

"Can't come up with a reason, so you just copy a commission and use me to fool Ran?" Once Conan hung up, Karasawa rolled his eyes in annoyance.

What Conan had just described was essentially Karasawa’s own case. With a few classic lines like "if you know, you know" and "you wouldn't understand even if I told you," the excuse sounded perfectly legitimate. After all, involving corrupt cops, dereliction of duty, and even more power-money schemes was indeed a task that required secrecy. It was a perfect cover for Kudo Shinichi to play secret agent.

"Ahahaha, anyway, you said yourself that your case needs me to find a channel to investigate, right? It’s the same thing—all roads lead to Rome!" Conan scratched the back of his head with an awkward laugh, feeling a bit embarrassed to be caught grafting one story onto another right in front of the person involved.

Karasawa gave him a strange look, thinking that Conan’s "prophet" talent was actually quite accurate. If he really dug into the details of the case, it would indeed be "all roads lead to Rome." For all he knew, Gin might even have a hand in the original body’s case. He was the organization’s "model worker," after all; it wouldn't be surprising if he was involved in everything.

"Why are you ordering coffee again?" Conan quickly changed the subject, pointing at the cup in front of Karasawa. "You live in a café, why go out of your way to drink it here?"

They had finished buying books just in time for lunch. Too lazy to head back, Karasawa had brought Conan to a nearby shop to grab a bite.

Karasawa sighed deeply and pointed at Conan, who shared his plight. "Do you even have a chance to drink coffee anymore? Do Mouri and the others let you?"

"I..." Conan was momentarily speechless and withdrew his finger.

"I’m in the same boat," Karasawa said, taking a sip from his cup. "Even though I’m not a child, I don’t know if it’s my looks or something else, but everyone at the shop doesn't treat me like an adult either. It’s terrifying. Yesterday, Mr. Amuro wouldn't even make me cocoa; he just heated up milk for me..."

Conan observed Karasawa’s slightly rounded features and nodded in agreement.

Karasawa’s mixed-race appearance didn't show sharp, defined facial bones; instead, it manifested in his plump, apple-like cheeks. If he hadn't known this person was his new classmate, Conan would have pegged him as a middle schooler.

Middle schoolers were only two or three years older than elementary students, anyway.

"But it’s strange. Why did you end up living in a café?" Conan thought of the Poirot Café and touched the books on the side of the table. "Even if your parents are abroad, shouldn't you be in a proper host family if you need guardians to supervise your schooling?"

That was the core question. It was likely because the organization needed Bourbon to monitor him, but more importantly, it was probably the irresistible force of the plot.

Karasawa thought this to himself, but replied, "I find it strange, too. It seems like the café owner is a friend of my parents. But I can't verify it; I haven't been in touch with my parents for two or three years."

Conan frowned. "Two or three years? That’s way too long."

His own parents lived in the United States and couldn't come to Japan often, but he still talked to them on the phone every week to check in. The only inconvenience was the time difference.

Karasawa stirred his half-finished coffee, reminiscing. "They seemed to be involved in a classified project. A few years ago, contact became sporadic, and their phones were often unreachable. I don't know the details. One day, more than two years ago, I received a call from my mother. She said she and my father were joining a special scientific research project and would be hard to reach, so I should take care of myself. That was the last time I spoke to them."

Karasawa began to drift off, fragmented images flickering by like light and shadow, subtle voices like whispers by his bedside flowing past his ears.

*"Akira—that name means bright and brilliant..."*
*"...Baby, you’re smiling, do it again..."*
*"Mom and Dad have to go now..."*
*"...See you next time, Akira is a big boy now..."*

Chaotic fragments rose and sank. The soft, warm memories made Karasawa feel a sense of melancholy. He took out his phone, reopened his email, and pulled up that cold, stern message. It was definitely not the tone his original parents would have used with their child. This couple, probably...

He closed his eyes gently.

"Are you okay?" Conan saw clearly that Karasawa had zoned out and looked dejected. He wasn't the type with high emotional intelligence, and for a moment, he didn't know how to comfort him.

Before Karasawa could speak, their conversation was interrupted by an argument at the table across from them.

"Are you done yet?" A scruffy young man pushed the papers on the table away with disdain. "I don't want to spend my life drawing these flyers. If I keep wasting my time at your company, my inspiration will be destroyed."

Across from him, a middle-aged man with streaks of white in his hair pinned down the design drafts that had flown off the table, struggling to contain his rage. "Aihara! Business doesn't pick up in a day! If we don't take these small orders, how will clients notice us? Haven't we already secured bigger contracts?"

"Ha! You know perfectly well whether they’re coming for your company or for me," the young man said, his tone showing no sign of softening. "Could you have finished this job without me? They’ve already contacted me directly. Consider this order my severance pay."

"You...!" The middle-aged man ignored the papers, stood up in fury, and knocked a pencil off the table; it rolled over to Karasawa and Conan’s table.

Karasawa, Conan, and the other two or three customers in the shop were drawn by the commotion and looked toward them.

Realizing he had disturbed the other patrons, the middle-aged man suppressed his anger, bowed to apologize, and said, "I’ll be going to the restroom," before leaving his seat, looking like he needed to cool off.

"What strange people. Why would they come to a café to talk about work?" Conan looked curiously at the design drafts on their table. Weren't they worried about leaking project details?

Karasawa glanced at the young man, who had his back to the floor-to-ceiling window and was impatiently checking his phone, then looked at the steep, long slope outside the shop.

Because he was planning to use a truck to ram his disobedient employee, of course... Karasawa gave Conan a meaningful look.

Truly, wherever the god of death goes, the simple folk of Beika are destined for a trial...