The investigation into Light Yagami was the last. The previous inquiries had yielded profiles of ambition, resentment, and ideology, but they were sketches of men, not portraits of a god. Now, they were to meet the boy genius, the statistical outlier, the son of the very man leading the Japanese side of the hunt. The air in the car on the way to the Yagami residence was thick with a final, palpable tension.
Chief Soichiro Yagami, his face a mask of grim duty, led them to the door of his own home. He was a man caught in an impossible conflict, forced to subject his own family to the scrutiny of these strange, foreign consultants. L, under the guise of Ryuzaki, walked with his usual peculiar shuffle, his posture a question mark of intent. The others followed, a silent procession of legendary minds, all curious to see the final piece of their puzzle.
Soichiro opened the door. "I'm home. Light, we have some guests."
A voice, polite and clear, answered from within. "Welcome home, Dad."
Light Yagami stepped into the entryway. He was handsome, composed, with the easy confidence of a young man for whom success was a foregone conclusion. He smiled warmly at his father and then turned his gaze to the assembled group. His eyes met L's.
And in that instant, the world fractured for them both.
For Light, it was a physical jolt, a surge of pure, unadulterated adrenaline that felt like ice and fire in his veins. This man, Ryuzaki. The hunched posture. The dark, bottomless eyes. The strange, sweet scent of sugar that seemed to cling to him. Every instinct in Light's body, every fibre of his being, screamed a single, primal word: ENEMY. A profound and inexplicable hatred, hot and immediate, rose in his gorge. He had to fight to keep the polite smile fixed on his face, his mind reeling from the sheer, illogical force of the emotion. He had never seen this man before, and yet he felt as if he had been fighting him for a thousand years.
For L, the effect was no less severe. He saw the boy's face—the intelligent eyes, the perfect, welcoming smile—and his mind went blank with a deafening roar of static. LIAR. The word was not a thought but a certainty, an axiom of a forgotten universe. KIRA. This was the face. The one he was born to hunt. He felt the ghost of a strawberry on his tongue, the phantom weight of a mobile phone in his hand. The déjà vu was not a gentle echo; it was a violent, overwhelming wave of a past life crashing down upon him, and he nearly staggered under its weight.
"It is a pleasure to meet you all," Light said, his voice impossibly steady as he bowed. "My father has told me you are helping with the Kira case."
The group was ushered into the living room. The interview began under a thin pretext: as the top student in Japan, Light's insight into the psychology of a figure like Kira would be invaluable. Light played his part with flawless precision, offering theories that were brilliant, insightful, and perfectly misleading.
"Kira is not merely a killer," Light explained, his hands steepled before him. "He is an idealist with a profound god complex. His actions, while criminal, stem from a warped but powerful sense of justice. He is not childish, but he is arrogant. His greatest weakness must be his own pride."
He spoke with the authority of an expert, all the while studying the bizarre man called Ryuzaki, who was now crouching on the sofa like some strange bird, calmly placing sugar cubes in his tea. Every answer Light gave was a carefully constructed defense, and every question Ryuzaki asked felt like a perfectly aimed attack.
"And what if Kira were to be challenged?" L asked, his voice a monotone that grated on Light's every nerve. "If he were told he was not a god, but an evil, childish murderer. How do you think he would react?"
"He would likely seek to eliminate the source of that challenge," Light replied coolly, the unspoken threat hanging between them like a drawn sword. "He would see it as a righteous act."
The air crackled. The other detectives—Holmes, Poirot, all of them—were silent, recognizing that they were merely spectators. They were witnessing a duel being fought in a language of subtext and instinct that they could not fully comprehend. It was a battle of two souls who recognized each other, even if their minds did not.
The interview eventually wound down, a strategic stalemate. L had gained no proof. Light had given no ground. As the team prepared to leave, the formalities began.
Chief Yagami thanked his son for his time. Light smiled and bowed to the consultants. But as L turned to leave, Light felt an impulse he could not control. The feeling of familiarity was too powerful, too maddening to ignore.
"Ryuzaki-san," he called out.
L stopped in the doorway, turning his head slightly.
Light's polite mask was still in place, but his eyes were filled with a deep, unnerving confusion. "Forgive me, this is a very strange question, but… you feel incredibly familiar to me." He took a half-step forward, his voice dropping slightly. "Have we met before?"
L's entire being went still. He stared at Light, the boy who was his nemesis, the stranger he knew better than anyone. He felt the truth of the question resonate in the empty chambers of his memory. He knew this boy. He had fought this boy. He had died by this boy's hand. He knew it all and none of it.
He held Light's gaze for a long moment, the forgotten war raging silently between them.
"I don't believe so," L said, his voice a low, thoughtful murmur. He paused, a flicker of something ancient and weary in his eyes. "But… maybe, I guess."