Karasawa had been utterly devoid of an artistic bone for two lifetimes now. As far as he was concerned, museums might as well have been made of Teflon—nothing ever stuck.
He let Sonoko Suzuki drag him along, trailing obediently behind Ran Mouri, who was earnestly absorbed in the exhibits. On his face bloomed a practiced "Ah, I see, that makes total sense" smile.exe—his brain had officially entered standby mode.
Ran led the way, exclaiming in genuine admiration at the paintings and installations. Her eyes sparkled; it was clear she truly enjoyed this sort of thing.
Karasawa mused: maybe he should just give her that fan he'd stolen from Maru Denjirou.
After returning from the Palace, a Treasure wouldn't interfere with its real-world counterpart, but it would undergo a bit of a makeover. The calligraphy and painting on the folding fan had disappeared. Now, it was just a beautifully crafted, extravagant blank gold fan.
Not the kind of thing you could hang on a wall without raising questions. Karasawa wasn't interested in selling it either, so if he didn't give it away, it would just sit in his inventory collecting dust.
Among the three high schoolers, the division of labor was crystal clear: Ran admired the art, Karasawa slacked off in a supervisory capacity, and Sonoko watched Karasawa. That left only Conan, hands clasped behind his back, yawning with tragic boredom.
Eventually, he gave in and started reading the exhibition brochure that came with the tickets. This particular art exhibit was divided into four themed halls: Sky, Ocean, Earth, and Hell. On the glossy printed pamphlet, each theme came with a few thumbnail photos of featured items.
"Sonoko-neechan," Conan held up the brochure, pointing at the Hell exhibit's heading and the small photo beneath it. "Is this the armor you were talking about?"
As he raised the paper, his eyes dropped to a block of text along the page's edge: "…We regret to inform you that the Mi Art Museum will be permanently closing next month. Thank you for your support over the years…"
"Ohh, it's in the Hell Hall? Sounds like a place with serious atmosphere." Sonoko bent over to take a closer look, her eyes lighting up. She immediately grabbed Ran, who was still standing in front of a display case. "Ran, let's go there first! We can do the rest later, okay?"
Her real goal for today's museum trip was to create an opportunity to drag Karasawa into something with haunted-house vibes. The kind of environment where you conveniently "accidentally" get a little too close while watching a horror movie together—classic strategy. Gotta strike while the iron's hot!
Ran glanced at Sonoko's expectant expression, then shifted her gaze to the mildly confused Karasawa. She immediately understood—Sonoko was up to her usual "flirting tricks."
Being intimately familiar with Sonoko's personality, Ran could only sigh inwardly and go along with it. The four of them followed the directional signs and passed through a central corridor into the other wing of the museum.
Karasawa, who still hadn't given up on disrupting the case's plotline, was beginning to feel uneasy.
His plan had been simple: wait for the manga characters to finish making their appearances, then stick close to either the victim or the killer. If he couldn't interrupt things psychologically, he'd just block them physically.
But for some reason—maybe because Kogoro Mouri had been replaced by him and Sonoko—the plot had shifted slightly. The case-relevant NPCs who were supposed to show up one by one… hadn't.
Well then. No saving it now. That art-hating capitalist was probably no longer hanging from a light pole, but mounted proudly on a museum wall…
The corridor ahead was unlit. Past the arched entrance labeled "Hell Exhibit," the room beyond was pitch black. The association with the walking armor rumor made Ran a little nervous—she instinctively reached for Conan's hand.
The moment her hand closed around his, Conan, who had just been on alert, turned bright red and was instantly rendered speechless.
"Why are the lights off? Is it a malfunction, or part of the whole 'Hell' theme?" Sonoko wasn't particularly scared, but she still made a show of it, tugging Karasawa's entire arm into a tight hug. "So dark!"
Called it. The beads of her plan practically rattled off his forehead. Karasawa shook his head wordlessly. But knowing what was about to happen, he felt merciful enough not to yank his arm away.
Fine, let her act for a while. In a moment, the fear would be very real.
"Whoa, this piece is huge." Light from the corridor faintly illuminated the arrangement inside the room. Ran turned her head and spotted a massive oil painting on the wall. She leaned in to read the plaque beneath it. "This one's called Divine Retribution."
"Divine Retribution, huh?" Karasawa stood at the center of the frame and looked up. The image showed a demon impaled on a greatsword, pinned against a rock, while the knight who delivered the blow hung his head solemnly, trudging through a pool of blood like a mire. "Yeah… definitely intense. Looks just like hell."
As he spoke, Karasawa inhaled—his ears picking up a steady dripping sound behind him. Water. He mentally braced himself, then turned to look.
A man's face, contorted in agony, mouth frozen wide in a final scream. His body was suspended midair, pinned to the wall by a two-handed sword through his throat. Blood gushed from the wound, soaking his light-colored suit and pooling at his feet, spilling onto the red carpet like a river merging with the sea.
Even Karasawa, who'd steeled himself for this moment, was briefly stunned by the sheer visual impact.
Then he instinctively moved—blocking the two girls behind him with one arm and pushing Conan back behind his legs. "Stay back! Careful!"
The confused high school girls turned their heads—
"AAAAAHHHH!!"
The double scream pierced his eardrums like twin daggers, one in each ear.
Too late.
Karasawa's head buzzed from the shrill soprano blast. He couldn't even cover his ears—had to keep his expression appropriately shocked and grim. It was… excruciating.
"What's going on?! What happened?"
The dual soprano outburst reverberated through the mostly empty hall, immediately drawing the attention of security and other museumgoers.
Before Conan's detective instincts could kick in and take over the scene, Karasawa stepped up and blocked the doorway. "Stay back! Someone turn on the lights. Call the police—there's a body here!"
The guards and staff hesitated for a second, then sprang into action. Visitors began to murmur and stir with unease.
Karasawa's expression darkened. He turned toward the gathering crowd, preparing for the grand entrance of the murderer—
But instead, he caught sight of a visitor standing at the edge of the group. The man wore a knit beanie, a face mask, and had long black hair falling down his back. He was staring straight into the unlit hall.
The moment Karasawa's gaze landed on him, the man casually shifted behind another guest and slipped around the corner.
Karasawa hadn't seen his face or the color of his eyes, but that combination—knit cap and long hair—was just as recognizable as the infamous blond-and-bronze contrast.
Could that be… Shuichi Akai?
No—shouldn't he be "Rye" now? After his cover was blown, Akai had chopped off that signature mane.
So… he hasn't been exposed in this version yet?
Karasawa's brain reeled. Just how much butterfly-flapping had this stitched-together universe gone through?
Even the wailing police sirens in the distance couldn't snap him out of it. His thoughts turned back to Akai's evasive behavior just now—and to the image of Furuya Rei furiously scrubbing dishes yesterday like he was trying to ignite them by friction alone.
…No wonder he looked ready to burn the kitchen down.
So his other stalker… is Rye?
Karasawa's lips twitched.
Two elite undercover agents… watching him.
And you call that a small blessing?