Karasawa had spent two lifetimes devoid of artistic inclination; art museums were practically cursed ground for him.
He let Sonoko Suzuki tug him along without resistance, trailing behind Ran Mouri, who was thoroughly absorbed in the exhibition. A mechanical, polite smile plastered itself across his face as he mentally activated "Ah, I see, how interesting.exe" and effectively went AFK.
Ran, leading the group, sparkled with genuine admiration as she admired each piece. There was no doubt—she truly loved this stuff.
Karasawa, half-distracted, wondered whether he should give her the fan he'd swiped from Maru Denjirou's Palace.
After all, real-world versions of treasure items didn't disappear when extracted—they just changed form. The engraved calligraphy and painting on that golden folding fan were now gone, replaced by a clean, pristine design. Beautiful and valuable, sure, but far too conspicuous for public display.
He didn't plan on reselling it, either. Better to gift it than let it gather dust in his inventory.
The four had naturally fallen into a rhythm: Ran appreciating the art, Karasawa playing hooky while pretending not to, Sonoko eyeing Karasawa like he was the exhibit, and Conan sighing in bored silence behind them.
Too bored to keep wandering, Conan picked up the complimentary museum brochure and started reading. The exhibition was divided into four themed halls—Sky, Ocean, Earth, and Hell. The colorful pamphlet showed representative pieces from each section.
"Sonoko-neechan," Conan held up the flyer and pointed at the thumbnail under the Hell exhibit. "Is this the armor you were talking about?"
As he raised the flyer, his eyes flicked down to a tiny box of text near the edge of the page:
"We regret to inform visitors that Beika Art Museum will be officially closing next month. Thank you for your continued support over the years..."
"Oh, so it's in the Hell Hall? That sounds so atmospheric!" Sonoko's eyes lit up. She immediately latched onto Ran's arm. "Ran! Let's go check that one out first! We can come back to the rest later!"
This was all part of her plan—to lure Karasawa into a spooky setting and score some strategic physical proximity. It was the same logic as watching horror movies with a crush: maximum emotional leverage. Now was the time to strike while the iron was hot!
Ran glanced at Sonoko's beaming face, then at the slightly confused Karasawa. Of course. Another one of Sonoko's "flirtation schemes." She sighed but gave in, and the four of them followed the directional signs down the central corridor toward the darker side of art appreciation.
Karasawa, hoping to physically intercept the soon-to-be victim or culprit before the murder happened, now felt a sense of impending doom.
He had counted on the cast of characters showing up one by one, but maybe swapping Mouri Kogorou for himself and Sonoko had skewed the story track. None of the usual suspects had shown their faces.
If things had veered that far off course, then whoever the murder target was... was probably already halfway to being a wall decoration.
The corridor to the Hell exhibit was unlit, the hallway behind the sign a gaping void. Ran flinched at the darkness, instinctively reaching for Conan's hand.
The moment she grabbed him, Conan turned bright red and completely short-circuited.
"No lights? Is it broken, or is it just... part of the theme?" Sonoko took advantage of the moment, grabbing Karasawa's arm and hugging it tightly. "It's so dark!"
Yup, Karasawa thought. There it is. The plan was practically printed on her forehead.
But he didn't pull away. He knew exactly what scene was coming next—and this one wasn't a jump scare. It was a trauma event.
Might as well let her have her moment.
"Whoa, that's a huge painting." Ran squinted through the gloom. What little light leaked from the corridor let her glimpse a massive oil canvas mounted on the wall. She leaned closer to read the exhibit label. "It's called Divine Retribution."
"Divine Retribution, huh…" Karasawa stood directly before the frame, craning his neck to view the image: a demon impaled on a longsword, writhing on a rocky crag, while the knight who struck him down stood silent, head bowed, wading through a swamp of blood.
"Feels oppressive. Definitely got the Hell vibe."
Then he heard it—drip drip drip—regular, rhythmic drops of liquid. He braced himself and slowly turned around.
There it was.
A man, jaw slack, face twisted in a grotesque scream, had been impaled through the neck by a greatsword. His feet dangled in the air, pinned to the wall. Blood spurted down his pale suit, pooling at his shoes, staining the red carpet like a river feeding into a sea of gore.
Even Karasawa, fully braced for it, froze for a second.
Then he moved, stepping in front of the girls and pushing Conan behind his leg. "Back! Stay back!"
Ran and Sonoko turned at his warning.
And then—
"AAAAAHHHHH!!"
Two high-pitched shrieks exploded beside his ears.
Even though he'd mentally prepared for it, Karasawa's head buzzed like a war drum. He couldn't even cover his ears—had to maintain the grim expression of someone in shock. It was... excruciating.
"What's going on?!"
The dual-shriek combo reverberated through the mostly quiet museum, instantly summoning security staff and curious visitors.
Before Detective Mode Conan could take charge, Karasawa stepped in front of the door. "Don't come in. Turn on the lights. Call the police—there's a corpse in here!"
Startled but obedient, the staff moved fast. Gasps and murmurs erupted among the growing crowd.
Karasawa's eyes swept the crowd, waiting for the murderer to step into the spotlight—and that's when his gaze landed on a figure wearing a face mask.
They stood at the edge of the group, wearing a knit cap and letting long black hair fall past their shoulders. Their eyes locked with his for a second before they smoothly stepped back, melting into the crowd and slipping around a corner.
No clear view of their face. No eye color to confirm. But that knit cap and long black hair? Just as distinctive as Amuro's blond-and-tan combo.
Was that... Shuichi Akai?
No—he should be "Rye." Akai had cut his hair short after his cover was blown.
So maybe, in this merged universe, his identity hadn't been exposed yet?
Karasawa's mind reeled. Just how many butterflies had flapped their wings in this stitched-together world?
The sound of sirens didn't pull him out of his thoughts. He recalled Akai's evasive behavior. And then... yesterday, Amuro scrubbing a plate like he meant to sandblast it.
Oh… So that was it. The second tail wasn't some faceless Organization grunt—it was Rye himself.
Karasawa's eye twitched.
Two elite undercover agents... both babysitting him.
This level of special treatment... how could I possibly complain?