Compared to LeBlanc, Café Poirot's attic was an upgrade.
Karasawa, while unpacking, felt immensely grateful.
It wasn't huge, and there weren't any windows, but it had a real bed and a private bath. That alone made it a palace.
Fun fact: the bed in P5 was literally some stacked plastic crates with a slab of wood.
The original Akira's belongings had arrived ahead of time, packed into three cardboard boxes. Aside from several sets of Teitan High uniforms, seasonal clothes, a couple of pairs of shoes, and basic school supplies… that was it.
No hobbies. No personal artifacts. Not even a single object hinting at a life once lived.
Karasawa frowned, remembering that factory-fresh phone.
Were all his things… confiscated?
Actually, that made too much sense. If Bourbon was already lurking around, then it was entirely likely that every electronic, every scrap of paper, every trace had been wiped clean.
He opened his bag and pulled out the personal planner.
As expected: brand new. Blank.
Karasawa sighed, tossed it back. Whoever scrubbed this life did a damn good job. Not a crumb left behind.
Fine.
The long, strange year ahead wasn't going to rush itself.
His stomach growled hard.
He hadn't eaten lunch. Or dinner. And while the kitchen was downstairs, he wasn't about to start swiping café ingredients without asking.
He didn't even have—wait.
Wait.
He did have something.
Karasawa shot upright. Why not try his dimensional pocket?
Just in case Bourbon was paranoid enough to bug the attic, he reached into his bag with exaggerated slowness, like he was just fishing for something.
Then, with his real focus, he scrolled through his endless in-game inventory—selected the cheapest onigiri.
Next second, his hand closed around cold plastic wrap.
…It worked.
He pulled out a pristine rice ball, squished it experimentally. Soft. Elastic. Real.
That… That was dangerous.
He still had other items from his third NG+ run. Including, if he remembered correctly, LeBlanc's Hell Curry—crafted during Week One, aged two years by now if you counted story-time.
Even in the game, he hesitated to eat it.
But his stomach wasn't hesitating. He tore open the rice ball's wrap and took a bite.
It was good. The rice was sweet and sticky, soft with just a hint of chew.
He inhaled it. Then checked the bag.
Room for one more?
Absolutely.
He summoned and devoured a second.
God-tier. If he could stash and retrieve at will… he was already halfway invincible.
Dimensional inventory supremacy. Never fails.
As soon as he relaxed, exhaustion crashed down on him.
Too much data. Too much chaos. Too much everything.
He pulled out some loungewear and staggered toward the bath.
It was time to sleep.
Blue.
An endless, abyssal, dreamless blue stretched around him.
Chimes. The quiet creak of a door opening.
Karasawa opened his eyes and found himself standing before a dimly lit bar.
Checkerboard tiles underfoot. Blue diamond-patterned walls. Blue tablecloths covering the bar top, dappled in spotlight.
Every detail screamed one thing—
"Welcome to the Velvet Room, honored guest."
The bartender turned around, golden eyes glinting as he pulled a wine glass from the rack and gestured.
"A bar… huh." Karasawa raised an eyebrow, expression caught between amusement and disbelief. He strolled over and settled into a high stool. "So this is my Velvet Room? A bar? I don't even drink anymore."
"A poetic irony, don't you think?" the man replied smoothly, resting his elbows on the bar.
Karasawa studied him. From the royal-blue fedora down to the matching bowtie and vest.
Handsome. Blonde. A soft, Asian face sculpted into sharp elegance. He looked late twenties, maybe. The retro atmosphere suited him absurdly well.
But still…
"Isn't letting a minor into a bar a little inappropriate?" Karasawa tilted his head forward, intentionally emphasizing his youthful face.
"That's not up to me, guest. The Velvet Room is shaped by your inner self. Most minors can't project a bar at all." The man chuckled, tipping his hat. "Call me Leon. I'm your attendant."
Ah. Time to run the script.
Karasawa blinked slowly. "You gonna say the line? 'This is a place between dream and reality, mind and matter' and all that?"
Leon shook his head, amused. "You already know it. Why waste time?"
"So you do know everything. 'Comics,' 'games,' 'isekai'—the whole thing." Karasawa tapped the empty glass in front of him, tone unsurprised.
Leon nodded, blunt and unbothered. "Exactly. I know whatever you know."
Karasawa exhaled, relaxing. He was lucky.
Persona's metaphysics were half Jungian psychology, half mystical bullshit. Most characters aware of the truth were riddle-spouting cryptids. At least Leon seemed like a straight talker.
He leaned forward on one elbow. "Good. Nothing worse than dream-world exposition from a walking puzzle box. So… where's Igor? Is he not here because this whole world's stitched together wrong?"
Igor—the iconic long-nosed master of the Velvet Room. A constructed being embodying humanity's rational side. In P5, he played a pivotal role in the story's illusion-vs-reality arc.
If Igor was missing, it confirmed this wasn't P5 canon.
Leon raised his hands in mock innocence. "Beats me. Probably. But does it matter? We're all off the record now, anyway."
Off the record. That phrase hit Karasawa like a slap.
He frowned. "Was that necessary?"
"Sorry. Not meant to be mean." Leon's grin said otherwise. "It's all… part of your previous life now, isn't it?"
"Don't say it like I've been here for years," Karasawa snapped. "Yesterday I was still at home being a happy NEET. Blink once, boom. Isekai'd." He clutched his chest dramatically. "I hadn't even finished Tears of the Kingdom yet!"
He'd had a life. An easy one. Quiet. Stable. Now suddenly he was starring in some stitched-together fanfic reality with Bourbon as his foster dad.
"No offense, but you're kinda enjoying it," Leon said flatly.
Karasawa choked. "Can you… know that too?"
Truth was—yes.
The life he'd left behind was stagnant. Predictable. One long road to an unremarkable grave.
He'd accepted it. But that didn't mean he liked it.
As he thought this, Karasawa absently brushed his knee, now perfectly healthy and unscarred.
"I'm your guide," Leon said gently. "Your reflection. Your companion. And your accomplice." He gestured at the glass again. "The bar is open. Care for a drink?"
"I told you—I don't drink anymore."
"Understood. So, shall I pour?"
"...Yes. Pour."
Unbothered, Leon fetched a bottle and poured a stream of red-amber whiskey into Karasawa's glass.
Karasawa raised it, sniffed. Rich grains. Charred oak. He squinted. "...Bourbon? You trying to be funny?"
"Not a joke." Leon stepped aside, revealing the wall of bottles. All of them: bourbon. High, low, cheap, rare.
"That's all we have right now."
Karasawa scoffed. "Because I ran into Bourbon, huh? Real subtle."
Still, he sipped.
Warm. Smooth. A gentle burn, aged in memory.
He sighed. "This is a problem. If I get a craving, I can't even buy beer. I'm still underage."
"Don't worry," Leon said. "It won't affect your real-world body. Just think of it as a bonus level."
"A bonus, huh? You rewarding me for cozying up to the Black Org so I can get more drinks?" Karasawa clicked his tongue. "That's kinda insulting."
"Just an easter egg," Leon said cheerfully. "Achievement unlocked."
That worked.
Karasawa was a full-completion trophy hunter. He immediately felt seen.
He took another sip. "Fine. So what's the actual mission? More Persona-style battles? Palace raids? Stop cognition from merging with reality?"
P5-Karasawa got it. Conan-Karasawa got it. Stitch them together and the logic melted.
P5's world was supernatural—based on cognition becoming tangible. If you could manipulate cognition, you could reshape reality. The game's theme was about confronting truth through symbol and myth.
But Conan?
Despite all the physics-defying kicks and murder plot gymnastics, it still clung to a rationalist crime drama core. A story of spies and detectives. Of logic, deduction, and cold-blooded calculation.
How the hell did these two even coexist?
Leon just shook his head.
And dropped the first real bombshell of the night.
"No need. In this world, they're already fused together."