Chapter Seven: The Magician

By the second day after his transmigration, Karasawa had successfully obtained the contact information of Sonoko Suzuki, Ran Mouri, and even Conan Edogawa.

Amidst a string of Conan’s pointed remarks and subtle hints—such as "Uncle Mouri is a private detective, you know" and "High school students are still minors"—Karasawa tactfully accepted their goodwill, acknowledging that he could turn to them if he ever had any unspeakable troubles.

It wasn't his reputation at stake, after all.

Conan was currently looking at Toru Amuro as if he were a piece of human trash, but Karasawa’s conscience was completely untroubled. Even fake liquor is still alcohol, and it was for the best that Conan stayed away from him for now.

Karasawa remembered that the early-stage Conan had truly terrible acting skills; he felt that Ran Mouri could probably see through him five times in three days. It would be better not to have his own cover blown at light speed by Bourbon.

After seeing off the "Death Group," Karasawa braced himself and began mentally rehearsing the upcoming conversation. The groundwork had been laid perfectly; if Bourbon could resist the urge to probe him, he wouldn't be Bourbon. A dramatic confrontation was inevitable. Coincidentally, Karasawa also had something he needed Amuro to help test.

"Your dinner."

Toru Amuro placed the seafood pasta in front of the dazed Karasawa, then set a cup of hot cocoa by his hand.

Karasawa, who hadn't heard a single footstep, was caught off guard and startled. He steadied himself, thanked him, and while inwardly lamenting the impeccable professional skills of the undercover agent, he didn't forget to politely decline: "Thank you, but I could actually..."

"The boss said your room and board are covered by the shop; your parents should have already paid the fees. Don't worry about it." The double-agent, who was double-dipping on reimbursements from multiple organizations, lied through his teeth while planning to expense the receipts to the Organization as much as possible. "Also, you are free to use the shop’s kitchen. Stop eating cold rice balls; it’s bad for your health."

Karasawa, who had just poked at the pasta with his chopsticks, paused.

*So, you really did install surveillance in a minor's room? What happened to the moral bottom line of the Public Security Bureau?*

"Ah, sorry," Karasawa said slowly, picking up a mouthful of pasta. Recalling another possibility, he added in a lower voice, "Did Ms. Enomoto tell you that?"

Amuro, who hadn't actually installed any cameras, felt his conscience stir. He nodded and said, "She said she prepared sandwiches for you this morning, but you only ate two rice balls before heading to school. Don't put too much pressure on yourself, Karasawa-kun."

Karasawa shoved a roll of pasta into his mouth, swallowed, and replied, "I understand."

"How is it? My cooking isn't bad, right?" Amuro smiled and poked at Karasawa’s head, which was nearly buried in the plate. He guessed that in the next second, he would either choke on the noodles or stiffen up like a frightened rabbit.

*Why is Karasawa so afraid of me?* Amuro couldn't help but wonder. He considered himself to have been a thoughtful older brother since they met. *Was he subjected to violence during a police interrogation? Or was he threatened and warned before he even arrived in Tokyo?*

Sure enough, upon learning that the pasta was made by Amuro, Karasawa stopped chewing and looked up at him in astonishment.

Inwardly, however, Karasawa was complaining: *Why are you poking my head again? Does my head look like it has a good texture to touch?*

Karasawa looked away, feeling speechless: "It's delicious. Thank you."

To be fair, Amuro’s culinary skills were genuinely excellent. The pasta was cooked to a perfect, chewy al dente, and the roe topping added a fresh, savory pop. One had to admit that the "Part-time Emperor" earned every one of his jobs through sheer merit.

Karasawa took another bite.

"I’m glad you like it. Actually, there’s no need to use so many honorifics. Am I really that scary? You always seem worried about upsetting me. My temper isn't that bad. Don't be afraid; we’ll be spending quite a while together." Amuro gently brought this up.

He had certainly noticed the wary look in Conan’s eyes—the "I’ve discovered you’re a bad guy" look. Although Bourbon was indeed not a good person, Rei Furuya was certainly not a villain, and his well-intentioned gestures should not have triggered such alarm in Karasawa.

Amuro decided to rule out the possibility that Karasawa had detected the Organization’s surveillance. If Karasawa’s reticence was due to viewing him as a dangerous person, then he would have to consider the possibility that "Akira Karasawa" knew exactly that the Organization was persecuting him.

Karasawa successfully caught the hidden probe and decided to pin the blame on the original owner’s history of being abandoned by everyone. Although Karasawa didn't know the details, he was certain that Amuro definitely did. He gave a bitter smile and said, "I didn't mean anything by it. I'm sorry. I just... I don't know how to..."

He put on a pained expression, as if recalling something heartbreaking, stopping himself mid-sentence. He left everything unsaid, implying that the rest was up to the other person's imagination.

To put it briefly: if you know, you know; I’ll let you fill in the blanks yourself.

The imaginative Amuro thought for a moment and understood. After the incident, Akira Karasawa’s expulsion notice had been posted publicly, followed by rumors circulating that he had beaten someone to the point of severe injury, committed manslaughter while drunk, or even sexually harassed a junior high student.

Someone was deliberately destroying Akira Karasawa’s old social connections, and it had been highly effective. His classmates and neighbors avoided him, his front door was spray-painted with insulting words, and his personal belongings in his school locker were maliciously destroyed. It was precisely because Akira Karasawa could no longer live properly in his original environment that he had been transferred to Tokyo.

*A truly unlucky, pitiful kid,* Amuro sighed, his attitude softening even further. "Do you think I will treat you maliciously because of your past? Has someone been bullying you?"

Karasawa remained silent.

Amuro’s words reminded him of more memories from the original owner. The child curled up under the covers, clutching his ears tightly, unable to stop the sound of phone notifications from piercing through. He knew exactly what those were.

At first, they were questions and concern; later, they turned to skepticism and rejection. Now, his social media and inbox were filled with nothing but messages like "murderer" and "go die." It was as if everyone had forgotten their once-friendly classmate. His growing silence hadn't calmed the situation; everything had only escalated. Someone had photoshopped his picture into black and white, labeled it "murderer," and posted it on social media, leading total strangers to start judging him as well.

He had become a bird startled by the mere twang of a bowstring. He tried his best to avoid everyone's gaze, because everyone he passed on the street seemed to be piercing him with hateful eyes.

He had had enough.

Grabbing the noisy phone from beside his pillow, Akira Karasawa threw it as hard as he could.

"Wouldn't you, Mr. Amuro?"

Karasawa took a deep breath. His tone was calm, but tears were sliding down his cheeks.

*Damn it, cyberbullies all deserve to die.*
*Damn it, I’m about to lose it. It’s a bit embarrassing to suddenly burst into tears.*

Due to his past-life experiences, Karasawa was a person with the acting talent to control his emotions naturally. But now, his tear ducts seemed no longer his own; the sorrow and pain of "Akira Karasawa" were crashing into him, and with all his might, he could only manage to keep from wailing in distress.

This was a grievance and despair that a teenage soul could hardly overcome. Pure, raw emotions slammed against Karasawa’s heart like waves, leaving him unable to resist.

While Karasawa was struggling with his collapsing emotions, to Amuro’s eyes, this sight—suddenly losing his spark, tears falling silently and incessantly—was extremely convincing: weak, pitiful, and helpless.

"Of course not. Wipe your face; your tears are going to fall into the pasta." Amuro turned his head away, unable to bear it, and grabbed a towel, pressing it against Karasawa's face to shield him. "I am your guardian now, and I will protect you."

Karasawa’s tears were still streaming, but his heart had calmed down. Hearing Amuro’s words, he felt a spark of hope.

"Really?" Karasawa’s voice was muffled by the damp towel.

"I am not the kind of person who would lie to a child. You can trust me a little more." Amuro patted Karasawa’s head. "I will fulfill my duties as your guardian. That is a promise between adults."

*Bourbon has ill intentions, but what does that have to do with Rei Furuya?* The undercover agent, with a clear conscience, promised without hesitation.

"...Okay." Reaching out to take the towel and wiping his face frantically, Karasawa protested from behind the fabric, "And stop messing up my hair!"

As soon as he finished speaking, the voice Karasawa had been waiting for arrived right on cue. The magnetic voice of Leon echoed in his ears.

"I am thou, thou art I..."
"Thou hast established a new bond."
"The bond shall become..."
"The wings that break the shackles and seek freedom."
"I, the Magician, have been blessed by the wind of birth."
"To soar toward the end, adding further strength..."

A screen popped up in front of Karasawa.

【Cooperation: Toru Amuro (?)】
【Arcana: The Magician, Rank 1】
【Truth and lies, reality and illusion—the person beneath the layers of masks is smiling at you, much like you beneath your own layers of masks. Seeing through truth and sincerity requires wisdom, sincerity, and perhaps... a flexible moral bottom line?】
【The "Thousand-Layer Pastry Cooking Contest" is about to begin. Ready, go!】
【Ability "Freestyle Combat" learned.】