Today, I will tell you about our perfectly ordinary, unremarkable holiday.
We begin in the morning. While the air is still crisp, we start with a ten-kilometer run along the riverbank. This run is a daily ritual for Furuya-san, who possesses an incredible amount of morning energy. After the run, he stations himself under the bridge to perform a full set of push-ups, sit-ups, and other calisthenics.
As for me, I spend that time in a deep sleep, tossing and turning in the bedroom of the palace within his subconscious. I can't help it; I am simply not a morning person. Please, don't judge my messy sleeping habits.
I remain blissfully asleep in that cluttered room—filled with tools, parts, and hobby gear—completely indifferent to Furuya-san's jogging. Sometimes, when I kick off the blankets and roll across the tatami mats, Furuya-san comes in to check on me. His adjacent room is meticulously organized and spotless. I honestly don't know how such a stark difference emerged between our spaces.
Occasionally, when he can no longer stand the mess, he starts tidying up. I just curl deeper into my futon and let him do as he pleases.
"This computer you imagined doesn't even work. You don't need it anymore, do you?"
"Mmmph..."
"And this mysterious triangle thing here? What's the story? I'm throwing it out!"
"Fine..."
That is the level of helplessness I have reached. Sleep is my primary hobby, so it can't be helped.
Once the workout ends, it is time for breakfast. Furuya-san handles the cooking. While I can cook, I am a careless person who only cares if the food is edible. Furuya-san, on the other hand, treats cooking as a way to relieve stress, so we settled on this arrangement for maximum efficiency.
While I am still drifting in the depths of his mind, he wakes me with a booming voice, like a vocal warm-up exercise. "It's morning!!!! Wake up!!!" He drags me from the bed and tosses me toward the wooden veranda overlooking the garden. Then, like a whirlwind, he starts prepping breakfast.
The trick to this method is that if I fail to execute a proper break-fall, I'll hurt my neck, which forces me to wake up instantly. Rei Furuya acts like a very "intense" mother. Previously, he would just say, "This is negligent of you; wake yourself up." I responded by setting an incredibly loud and terrifying alarm in our mental world.
The result? I stayed fast asleep, while the sound continued to ring inside Furuya-san's head in the real world. He suffered from horrible auditory hallucinations and ended up scolding me severely. He has handled the wake-up calls himself ever since.
When breakfast is ready, we sit down to a lavish Japanese meal, the kind served at high-end traditional inns. We have suimono soup prepared with a delicate shiro-dashi broth, and mackerel simmered in miso with a hint of ginger that adds a wonderful kick. The pickled Chinese cabbage, brought from a specialty shop, pairs perfectly with the white rice. Naturally, the portion size is a bit large for a man living alone, but it suits the physical effort we exert.
After eating, I take over the dishes and the laundry. We spend the rest of the morning organizing the palace library in our consciousness. We process data brought in by Kazami-san or the mountains of general knowledge we "borrowed" from the public library, integrating them into our mental landscape. Of course, we also include the case files from our involuntary involvements with Conan-kun.
When Furuya-san suffered from amnesia a while ago, I faced extreme difficulty because we lacked memory logs. Since then, I have maintained a daily journal. If I had lost my memory at that time as well, it would have been a true disaster.
I have cataloged every possible piece of data: human relationship charts, the structural hierarchy of the Black Organization, contact numbers for Public Security, and the details of the "Toru Amuro" persona's daily life. I even added a Q&A section on how to use claws, how to mask one's presence, and how to deflect bullets, making it all easy to understand. When Furuya-san read it, he looked bewildered, as if he were carrying the weight of the universe. "I mean... what does this even mean exactly...?" he asked. This might be a challenge to address in the future.
In the afternoon, we head to our quiet part-time job at Café Poirot. Since I am responsible for the shift today, I wear an inconspicuous white shirt and get to work. People often think restaurant work involves annoying customers who complain about everything, but this café isn't like that. In the past, the lawyer Eri Kisaki frequented the place and supported us with her presence, and our regular clientele is generally wealthy and refined.
Beika is, after all, an upscale residential area. It houses world-class novelists and legendary actresses. Even Dr. Agasa's house is worth the title of "mansion" based on its cost. Given that the daughter of the wealthy Suzuki family lives nearby, the security here must be excellent... or so one would assume.
...?
That's strange...
Anyway.
I diligently prepare the diverse menu, brewing coffee quickly and carefully for the customers. I don't possess Furuya-san's memory, but I have gained significant experience getting things done as a close subordinate to Organization leaders. Sometimes, when Furuya-san gets bored inside, he surfaces to remind me: "That customer over there hasn't received their Vienna coffee and ham sandwich yet," but I usually handle the work alone.
As evening approaches, high school girls arrive. The place turns into something of a "host club" due to their squeals of admiration for Furuya-san's looks. I simply play along with appropriate small talk. It is an unfairly profitable business, extracting the price of lattes from innocent girls. Azusa-san once told me, "I feel like whenever Mr. Amuro is here, a champagne tower might appear at any moment," but that's another story.
In reality, it's mostly simple relationship advice for the crowd of girls, which is pleasant enough. I am an expert at navigating human dynamics. Furuya-san used to tell me, "If you get too involved, you'll end up in messy emotional trouble," but I never fail to manage their levels of affection. I understand power balances well and steer the path toward "Friendship" or "Fan" rather than "Romance." I ensure the interaction ends in a way where they feel a sense of admiration they can't quite confess.
I use the group dynamic techniques I learned from the late Pisco to calculate how much I should intervene in each school district. There is one girl from a school three districts away who seems to be suffering from severe bullying; lately, I have begun to intervene subtly to help her. I apply consistent, positive pressure that doesn't trigger resistance, attempting to improve her social situation quietly. I hope the bullying stops, even if just a little, using this method.
Furuya-san once told me in a tone that sounded far older than he is: "You're quite skilled. If I had your life skills, I might have avoided a lot of trouble in my youth." He must have suffered quite a bit due to his looks. He also seems suspicious of women; whenever Vermouth or Fujiko Mine get close, his skin visibly crawls. I truly wonder what happened to him in the past.
By the way, I've become unexpectedly close to the high school girls, allowing me to gather school intelligence smoothly. They might cry if I ever leave Poirot. We'd probably all end up in a Purikura photo booth taking "Best Friends Forever" pictures! Photos are technically forbidden, but it's fine as long as I secretly obscure my face with digital edits and drawings. Please, don't call me a bad adult for manipulating these girls' hearts.
While we were occupied with that, it was time for Ran-chan and Conan to return. We enter the Mouri family's living space above the Detective Agency using our own key and check the fridge. We arranged it so that Furuya-san prepares dinner using ingredients we bought earlier. Today's meal is a hearty beef bowl (Gyudon)—Ran-chan's favorite, perfect for recharging her body after club activities. We help her with housework occasionally because she is so busy with school and home life; she appreciates it immensely. She thanked us because it gave her time to go to a café with Sonoko-chan. We aren't exactly free agents, but if we can protect these girls' precious youth, we have no regrets. Furuya-san happily cooperates in this as well.
At that moment, the sound of small, slow footsteps echoed up the stairs. That's Conan-kun's gait. He pushed the door open, looking slightly taller than usual, carrying a school bag that looked far too large for his small frame.
"I'm back... oh. Mr. Amuro."
"You're late, Conan-kun. Were you exploring the neighborhood with the Junior Detective League?"
"Yeah. We were looking for a friend's cat, then we accidentally found a body inside an apartment."
"!?!?"
The conversation shifted so abruptly that Furuya-san froze in shock. It seems Conan went through something like a standalone anime filler episode. No wonder he was late.
Ten minutes later, Detective Mouri returned as well, after Ran-chan found him on his way back from a mahjong parlor and scolded him. We set the table with the Mouris and began eating together. While we listened indifferently to Detective Mouri's tall tales and grumbling at the TV news, the hour grew late. We waved to Ran-chan, who bowed gratefully, saying, "Thank you so much as always!" and then drove off quietly in the RX-7.
The city lights at night never go out; they reflect like shimmering stars on the car window and then vanish. While Furuya-san held the steering wheel, he asked me quietly.
─── You... you won't suddenly disappear, will you?
─── As long as you need me, I will stay. Isn't that the nature of multiple personalities?
─── ... You're right.
Perhaps he feels a certain sadness sometimes. The heart's voice has no echo, and silence filled the car. The neon lights flickered in five colors. Furuya-san remained silent, keeping his gaze fixed steadily on the other side of the windshield.
••••••
[100 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter]
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