Sonoko Suzuki: a self-proclaimed and thoroughly unrepentant face-chaser.
She'd gladly drag herself all the way to some remote countryside just to catch a glimpse of a hot guy—only to stumble into a snowbound mountain lodge murder spree. Or she'd rope her best friend into crossing half of Japan to meet a handsome stranger she found online—only to walk straight into, once again... a snowbound mountain lodge murder spree.
Sure, the endings never changed, but her unwavering devotion to pretty faces remained as steadfast as ever.
So when Conan finally gave up waiting for Ran to come home from school and headed down the stairs of the detective agency, the scene that greeted him was this: Sonoko had pulled Ran into a booth at Café Poirot, where she was now gazing dreamily across the table and making sugar-sweet conversation with a boy Conan had never seen before.
Ran knew Sonoko's personality inside and out. She sat beside her helplessly, enduring the cringe, until she turned her head and saw Conan with his face smushed to the glass, eyes wide. She hurriedly beckoned him in with a subtle wave.
It was just too much—too awkward, too painful to bear. Sonoko had gone from family background to local customs to celebrity gossip, and if someone didn't step in soon, she'd probably start unpacking the global financial crisis.
The guy across from her, this Karasawa fellow, seemed patient enough. He kept nodding and murmuring polite affirmations like "Mm-hm," "Oh?" and "Really?" Meanwhile, poor Ran was curling her toes so hard she nearly cracked the floor tiles.
"This is Conan, the boy staying at my house. Isn't he adorable?" Ran grabbed the approaching Conan and plunked him down at the table, successfully cutting off whatever tangent Sonoko was about to launch into next.
"Ran-neechan! Who are all these big brother and sister types?" Conan piped up in his cutesiest little-kid voice, forcing his tone high and soft as he swept his eyes across Karasawa's striking features, internal alarm bells blaring.
He had only been shrunk down for two days. Where the hell did this pretty boy from Teitan High pop up from? And Sonoko—seriously? If you're gonna flirt, can't you leave Ran out of it for once? Be independent for a change!
The two high school girls didn't react much, but Karasawa flinched the moment Conan opened his mouth.
The thought of all the murderers, detectives, and cops he'd have to deal with in this form, all while being hounded by this overly sweet "Ah-leh-leh~" voice? It made him break out in a cold sweat.
"This is Sonoko Suzuki, and that's Karasawa Akira. They're both my classmates, Conan," Ran explained patiently.
Conan gave a big, innocent nod but kept his eyes locked on Karasawa.
From his uniform, he was clearly a Teitan student—but Conan had never heard of him.
"Oh, so this is the kid you mentioned. He's kinda cute! But…" Sonoko leaned down to meet Conan's eyes, narrowing hers. It was a perfectly cute face, sure, but something about it just didn't sit right. "Why do I feel like he looks really familiar?"
"Crap—Sonoko's seen what I looked like as a kid!" Conan's heart skipped. He forced a sheepish laugh and pushed up his glasses with both hands, terrified she might just snatch them off like she always used to. That would make it even harder to hide his identity.
And just then, like a chorus from heaven, a new voice chimed in—music to Conan's ears.
"Are these your friends, Karasawa?"
It was Amuro Tooru, wearing an apron and carrying a tray, smiling as he approached the table.
"Yes, Mr. Amuro. This is Ran Mouri, and this is Sonoko Suzuki. They're classmates of mine."
Conan, who'd just turned his attention to Amuro, immediately snapped back to Karasawa. His voice had dropped in volume. Curious, Conan looked closer—Karasawa had lowered his head, his fingers digging tightly into the fabric of his pants.
He looked… tense. But why?
The little detective instinctively shifted his gaze between the two men, analyzing their microexpressions without even thinking.
"Nice to meet you, ladies," Amuro said, offering his professional café smile as he placed a hand on Karasawa's head. "I'm Amuro Tooru. I'm currently looking after Karasawa-kun. He's a bit shy and doesn't talk much, so if anyone bullies him, be sure to let me know, okay?"
Karasawa nearly lost his composure as Amuro's palm landed squarely on his head.
Seriously? Just because he dodged your company yesterday, you hold a grudge like this, Bourbon? Stop flattening my hair!
He tried to stay in character, playing the meek and withdrawn student, even though he wanted to swat Amuro's hand away and scream. But alas, he held back and stared daggers into the tabletop.
Conan's gaze grew even more suspicious.
What did Amuro just say? Why did Karasawa react like a cat caught by the scruff of its neck?
"This café's where you live now? So it's your home?" Conan asked innocently, taking full advantage of his kid persona.
Because of their height difference, Conan could see Karasawa's expression clearly—blank, unfocused, as if the question had struck a nerve. His expression dimmed.
"Yes, Conan-kun," Karasawa replied weakly, meeting his eyes with a hollow kind of honesty. "This is my home now."
It didn't sound like he was faking it. He looked drained.
Probably because Amuro was now combing his gloved fingers through Karasawa's hair, again and again like he was grooming a pet. Any more static and the guy's hair might just explode.
Seriously—enough already! Haven't you touched it enough!?
"Karasawa will be staying at Café Poirot for a year," Amuro said cheerfully. "Mouri-san, you're the detective's daughter, right? Please keep an eye on him at school."
Finally letting go of Karasawa's poor abused head, Amuro gave him a genuine smile.
See? This is what guardians do. A little head pat—what's so terrifying about that?
But in Conan's eyes, the interaction had a totally different meaning.
Karasawa looked like he was being held hostage.
Sure, Amuro's words sounded friendly enough—standard pleasantries. But Karasawa had shrunk into himself like he'd just been threatened.
Unless… those words had a second layer of meaning?
"I'm looking after him," "tell me if anything happens"—they sounded like warnings. Warnings that Amuro was watching his every move, and Karasawa had better not step out of line.
Their relationship wasn't guardian and student.
It was more like… warden and inmate.
If Karasawa ever heard this wild chain of deduction and realized Conan had stumbled into the truth by pure instinct, he might just cry tears of joy.
Finally—finally someone got it! Finally someone understood the role he was playing. He wasn't acting for nothing!
"Would you like to order something? Drinks, maybe?" Amuro asked, remembering he was technically on the clock. "It's on me—as thanks for looking out for Karasawa."
The two girls tried to decline politely at first, but soon dove into the café menu with excitement.
While they were distracted, Karasawa risked a glance up at Amuro.
His pale blue eyes shimmered, eyebrows drawn into a fragile frown. The look on his face said it all—helpless, pained, pleading.
Silently, Karasawa mouthed a single word: Onegai.
Amuro nodded with a small smile—he wouldn't spill the secret.
So he really was terrified of having his juvenile offender status exposed. Amuro filed that away, already calculating how best to squeeze more intel out of the kid.
Wait a minute… this whole dynamic was starting to feel less like warden and inmate, and more like kidnapper and hostage.
Conan peeked over the edge of the table, his eyes narrowed into icy slits.
Meanwhile, Karasawa, having completed his performance, returned to a calm expression and smiled kindly at the two girls still whispering over their drinks.
So useful. All the main characters just happened to show up, like clockwork.