That night, 9:17 p.m.
Hayato Masaki arrived at the training grounds as agreed, spotting a black sedan outside the building. Its high beams flicked at him.
Approaching, he saw Gin's cold face through the rolled-down passenger window, those dark green eyes glancing his way.
"Get in."
Hayato slid into the backseat.
Gin's beloved Porsche 356A was a two-seater, but today they were in a four-seat model.
"New ride, Gin?"
"…Big Bro's car's in for maintenance."
Vodka, in the driver's seat, glanced at Hayato and answered with surprising candor.
Gin sat upfront, smoking silently.
"What's the call about?"
"Planning to play detective?" Gin's gaze met Hayato's in the rearview mirror.
"Yeah, I'm thinking about it."
"Hmph…"
Gin's lips curled, seemingly pleased, but he dropped the topic, only telling Vodka to drive.
Vodka started the car without a word.
The black sedan glided smoothly along the city streets.
Streetlights streaked past, and Hayato noted Vodka's driving was impressively steady—his first time in Vodka's car.
One thing nagged at him, though.
Vodka, focused on the road, occasionally checked the rearview mirror. Catching Hayato's fixed stare, his grip on the wheel tightened.
"Why are you staring at me?"
Vodka's voice betrayed a hint of nerves.
Hayato's knack for killing with subtle traps even baffled Gin. Vodka had heard Gin's analysis—Hayato's observation skills were razor-sharp.
No way he could calculate everything so precisely otherwise.
But what was he studying Vodka's driving for?
Gin's eyes flicked up.
"Those sunglasses—are they completely dark? I'm just worried you'll crash."
"…I can see fine. No crashing."
"Good to know."
Vodka exhaled quietly when Hayato looked away.
The ride stayed silent.
Gin didn't volunteer his purpose, and Hayato didn't press. He scanned the surroundings, pulling out a notebook and pen.
"What's that?"
"Writing. Wanna see?"
"Boring."
Gin had zero interest.
He scoffed at mystery novels and detective theatrics, dismissing fictional murder methods as pointless. Why bother? A single bullet, a dropped body, and you're gone—simple.
Hayato studied the passing scenery.
"This route… heading to that aquarium again?"
"Yup." Vodka nodded obligingly.
Hayato's eyes narrowed slightly, a soft smile forming. "So, dealing with another traitor or rat?"
"Quick mind," Gin said, noncommittal.
"It's a quiet spot, not many people at night," Hayato mused, still smiling. "Beika's short on good execution grounds."
Maybe "execution ground" struck Gin's fancy—Hayato caught a chilling smirk.
Bingo.
He'd likely nailed the destination.
Knowing Gin's blunt nature, lying about this seemed beneath him.
From now, about half an hour to the aquarium… meaning they'd lured the Organization's rat to that street around 10:00 p.m.
Hayato recalled the criminals active in that area from the Organization's network.
He zeroed in on a target and flipped his notebook to the page hiding a Death Note sheet, starting to write—Gin's presence gave him something he wanted to test.
Tsukita Taku
April 13, 9:46 p.m., rides a motorcycle around Beika Aquarium, committing roadside robberies.
Succeeds twice, netting 23,601 yen.
At 10:09 p.m., forces a target vehicle to stop. While threatening for cash, gets shot through the forehead by the man in the passenger seat, then stabbed in the neck, dying instantly.
Hayato reviewed it quickly.
The Death Note could function like a script.
He was testing three things: first, if Tsukita Taku really stole exactly 23,601 yen, it'd prove the Death Note could enforce specific outcomes, almost like a causal tool.
Second, the "target vehicle" and "man in the passenger seat with a gun." Hayato had once tested writing a criminal's death as being blown up by an RPG on a street—physically possible, but it failed. The guy died of heart failure instead. No one strolled Beika with rocket launchers, and even if the Organization or military did, blasting a random crook was too absurd, defying reason.
This test was different. Hayato didn't name the car, but the only vehicle around matching "shot by the passenger with a gun" was likely Vodka's.
Third, Gin killed clean—one shot, done. He didn't bother with knives. Hayato was curious if the script could force Gin to act against his nature.
Vodka's steady driving hit the aquarium area just shy of 10:00 p.m., as Hayato predicted.
They pulled up at the second alley by the aquarium.
The closer they got, the warier Vodka grew. His eyes, hidden by sunglasses, darted to neon signs and a newly fixed streetlamp, sensing an eerie chill—
"Move it."
Gin prodded.
Vodka hit the gas lightly, stopping before a man under the alley's streetlamp.
Gin lowered his window. As the man stepped forward to speak, Gin's pistol was already aimed, trigger pulled.
Biu!
The bullet tore through the man's head, blood spraying.
Then, the thud of a body hitting the ground.
***
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