Chapter 36: The Art of the Coquettish Voice

After having his fill of fun, Karasawa left the Kudo residence. His bag was stuffed with high-tech gadgets sponsored by Dr. Agasa and a signed copy of Yusaku Kudo’s latest novel. Most importantly, his phone was brimming with videos of Conan, forced by Yukiko to practice acting, calling out "Big Sister" in a coy, whiny voice while on the verge of tears. He felt he had returned with a bountiful haul.

At Karasawa’s curious request, Yukiko Kudo had demonstrated the near-magical arts of disguise and voice mimicry. Karasawa was so enthralled that he was ready to cheer for an encore.

*Just you wait, Kid. Send out that heist notice soon—I’ve definitely got my eye on your disguise skills!*

Having agreed to drop Conan off at the Mouri Detective Agency tomorrow under the guise of a boarding arrangement, Karasawa declined the invitation to dinner, leaving the space open for the rarely reunited Kudo family to enjoy their time together, and walked back to the cafe.

It was twilight once again. Karasawa pulled his trench coat tighter and gazed at the crimson horizon, reminded of the evenings before he had crossed into this world. He spun the wheels of his wheelchair, rolling over the quiet neighborhood streets toward the flaming sky, and suddenly felt that dying at this very moment wouldn't be so bad.

The world was tranquil, like the ending of an old film, walking into the scorching afterglow just to have "The End" flash across the screen.

With that thought, Karasawa picked up his phone to take a photo. He looked at the sunset through the viewfinder and pressed the shutter.

The moment he clicked it, he noticed a thumbnail in the corner of his photo gallery: a very unfamiliar image.

Karasawa paused and opened the gallery.

When he first obtained this phone, Karasawa had checked it thoroughly; it had been brand new and completely blank, with no residual content from its previous owner. Now, it contained only traces of his own usage—there was no reason for something he hadn’t seen to appear.

He tapped it open and realized it was an email attachment that had been downloaded automatically. Yet, his inbox showed no notifications of new messages today. Karasawa realized the situation was grave. He quickly stiffened his expression to avoid revealing his emotions, his heart skipping a beat.

The photo was a schematic diagram. It used simple geometric shapes to draw a bag, with a red circle highlighting a specific spot on the handle.

When the original owner had arrived from Kyoto, all his personal belongings had been taken from him, and he had even changed into his school uniform beforehand. The only thing that truly belonged to the original owner was the commute bag he kept at his side.

At the time of the incident, the original owner had been on his way home from school, carrying this bag when he was arrested. After he was put in prison garb, the bag and his clothes were locked in a locker, and it was returned only after he left the detention center once the case concluded.

The contents had certainly been meticulously searched and inspected. However, because everything had happened so suddenly for Karasawa, the people behind it clearly hadn't expected him to keep important items on his person. It was a case of "the darkest place is under the candle"—the contents had been swapped, but the bag itself had followed Karasawa to Tokyo completely undisturbed.

Karasawa tightened his grip on the bag without changing his expression. With a flick of his thumb, he deleted and shredded the image from his gallery.

He guessed that the original owner probably hadn't known about it either; otherwise, such an image wouldn't have appeared so abruptly only now.

"Is this what a psychology scholar is like? Everything is just a calculated prediction?" Karasawa thought of the professions of the original owner's parents and let out a soft sigh.

If this was indeed a secret prompt left by his parents for Karasawa Akira, what would have been the trigger for such an email to be sent? They were likely never coming back...

Karasawa’s fingers traced the handle of the commute bag, secretly probing the spot marked in the diagram. Tucked between several layers of stiff fabric, his fingertips felt a hard object—a square, flat piece about the size of a fingertip.

It was no more than 1cm in length and width. If one didn't press down deliberately, it would be impossible to notice. Karasawa had been holding it for so long and hadn't even realized it was there.

It seemed this was the item the organization had been searching for all along.

Karasawa narrowed his eyes slightly. His plan to wear the "Black Organization" coat had originally been a rough idea—a way to turn passivity into initiative—but now, the other half of the possibility had been delivered right into his hands.

"I will make good use of it." Sincerely wishing that their family could reunite in another world, Karasawa pressed his palms together and whispered a word of thanks.

***

The next day, along with Conan, came the stout-looking Fumiyo Edogawa and a check for ten million yen.

She gave so much that, naturally, the brat officially moved into the Mouri residence.

As for the results of Yukiko’s special training?

"Karasawa-nii-san!" Conan Edogawa, wearing a brilliant smile, charged into the cafe clutching a novel. His tone was so high-pitched and sugary, so sickly sweet that Karasawa felt an urge to cover his ears. "I’m here to read with you!"

The innocent little boy trotted past Amuro Tooru, who was serving drinks. Amuro gave a gentle, "Don't run in the shop, you might bump into something," and let the child pass without a hint of suspicion.

Excellent. Highly effective. Karasawa deeply suspected that the secret manual Yukiko had taught him was simply to grin, shout, and be as nauseatingly cutesy as possible. It made Karasawa’s skin crawl.

However, he still had to maintain a kind and gentle smile as he caught Conan, who had dove into his arms. "Don't disturb the business, okay? I'll take you upstairs to read."

*Ah, that hurts!*

The headbutt landed squarely on the softest part of Karasawa’s abdomen, making him feel as though his entire body had been rattled.

This brat was definitely taking revenge. *Damn, it was just two videos of you embarrassing yourself!* He gritted his teeth in secret while keeping his smile plastered on, feeling his facial muscles grow stiff as he quickly led Conan up to the loft.

"That hurts like hell!" Karasawa hissed through his teeth.

Conan leaned his head in. "Are you going to delete the videos or not?"

Karasawa secretly rubbed his stomach. "Not a chance. I’m going to make two backups and send them to Ran later."

Conan wasn't about to be intimidated. Although the videos didn't expose his relationship with Yukiko Kudo, the background of the Kudo house was suspicious enough. Karasawa might tease him with the videos, but he wouldn't actually gamble with Conan’s safety.

So, Conan smiled with complete confidence, showing all eight of his front teeth.

Karasawa, understanding his little scheme, gave a sinister smirk and pulled out his phone, playing a specifically cropped audio clip.

"Beep—Sis～ter～ Hi～"

Conan’s expression twisted instantly.

Karasawa tapped play again.

"Beep—Sis～ter～ Hi～"

*Did you think you were safe just because the video couldn't be sent? Naive!*

Karasawa held his phone high, using his height advantage to stop the furious Conan from destroying the evidence. He thought with genuine pleasure that when a certain "Old Ganma" character appeared in the future, this precious recording might prove even more valuable.

"Stop it, don't play it anymore! I was wrong! I was wrong!" Having suffered another defeat, Conan finally gave up and surrendered. He sat on the edge of Karasawa’s bed and muttered, "I knew Ran was misjudging you. You're a nasty guy."

Karasawa grinned broadly. "Do you still want to read, Conan-kun?"

"Hmph." Conan turned his head away in annoyance, was silent for a moment, and then whispered, "Thanks."

"Hm?" Karasawa blinked, confused.

"I said, for yesterday, thanks." Conan said quite awkwardly. "Even though it turned out to be a false alarm, still... thanks."

Having learned some peripheral information about the organization from his father the day before, Conan understood more and more what it meant for Karasawa to step forward without hesitation. If they had been facing actual members of the organization, Karasawa’s actions yesterday would have been no different than a moth flying into a flame.

He had already suffered such a heavy loss from one act of chivalry, watching his entire life get ruined... honestly.

"Although I don't know why you're busy moving yourself to tears, you're welcome." Karasawa laughed, ruffling Conan’s hair until it was a fuzzy, tangled mess.

The smile, much like an old farmer patting a corn cob, was full of paternal affection.

*Keep it up, little detective. Level up faster, get me some skill drops or support buffs—the more, the better!*