The anonymous message glowed on Light Yagami's monitor, a digital scorpion poised to strike. Every word was a perfect, calculated needle of dread. Loose end. Leak your identity. He was being blackmailed, cornered by a ghost who had, until now, been a source of chaotic amusement. His mind, usually a fortress of cold, clear logic, was a maelstrom of furious, overlapping thoughts.
Who is this? How do they know my name? How do they know Kido's suspicions? Is this L, playing some impossibly convoluted game? No. The tone is wrong. This is the same chaotic energy as the broadcast hijacking.
His fingers flew across the keyboard, his reply a sharp, calculated demand for clarity in the face of absolute uncertainty.
> You speak of trust, yet you sabotaged my broadcast. You claim to be an ally, yet your actions are unpredictable and dangerous. What is your motive? Why are you helping me? I will not be manipulated by a ghost. Prove I can trust you.
He hit send, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was no longer the sole puppet master. Another hand was pulling at the strings, and he did not know if it meant to help him, or to tangle him until he was strangled by his own ambition.
On the other side of the city, B.B. chuckled as Light's reply appeared. The boy was smart. Cautious. Predictable in his paranoia. It was delicious. He recalled, with a connoisseur's satisfaction, the moment he had set this particular piece on the board. He had impersonated L not once, but twice. The second time, in the restroom, was to set the hook. The first time… that was to bait it.
FLASHBACK
A week and a half earlier. A sterile, little-used records room in the NPA headquarters.
He had arranged the meeting under the guise of an urgent, off-the-books consultation. He wore the same disguise: a simple hoodie, his face obscured, his posture a perfect, hunched imitation of his counterpart. Kido Kiyomi had arrived promptly, her expression a mask of professional curiosity.
"You wished to see me, L?" she asked, her voice low.
"I did," B.B. replied, his voice a low, gravelly mimicry of L's monotone. "I wished to discuss your private analysis of the Kurou Amezawa incident. The official report is… unsatisfactory."
Kido's eyes narrowed with a flicker of vindicated pride. She had found a peer who could see past the obvious. "It was a farce," she stated, her voice sharp with contempt. "The idea that a hardened criminal would conveniently die of fright within the exact fifteen-minute window of a top-secret police operation is a statistical absurdity. It was an insult to our intelligence."
"Your theory?" B.B. prompted.
"My theory," she began, her words precise and cold, "is that the task force was not merely compromised; it was actively manipulated. The death was induced, timed to perfection, and designed to make us look like fools. This was not a simple leak; it was a counter-intelligence operation. And when you ask who benefits from such a thing, the answer is obvious: Kira."
She paced the small, dusty room, her heels clicking softly on the linoleum. "And how could Kira have achieved this? He would need to know the intimate details of our plan. That leads back to the leak. We have confirmed a high-bandwidth data pipeline running from the NPA servers to Chief Yagami's home, for the sole use of his son. The boy, Light Yagami, is a certified genius with a documented interest in the Kira case."
She stopped and turned, her gaze boring into the shadows of B.B.'s hood. "While everyone else is content to suspect the boy is merely the source of the leak, I believe that is a foolishly sentimental assumption. The boy is the only individual with the proven intelligence to devise such a complex psychological attack, the motive to protect Kira, and the established opportunity to access our plans. While the others trust him because of his father, I do not. Everyone must be suspected until they are proven innocent. I believe there is a 75% probability that Light Yagami is Kira."
B.B. listened, his mind alight with a manic, artistic joy. It was perfect. She had seen through the ruse, followed the breadcrumbs, and arrived at the correct conclusion for all the wrong reasons. She had no idea of the supernatural element, but her cold, ruthless logic had led her right to Kira's door. She was a beautiful, brilliant pawn. A work of art. And art, he knew, must be used.
This is too good, B.B. thought, a silent, internal laugh bubbling in his chest. This Kira, he is a master of his craft. His mortality artistry is too perfect to be spoiled by such a direct discovery. I have to save him. I have to keep the game interesting.
To Kido, he simply nodded. "Your analysis is… astute, Deputy Director. Keep this theory to yourself. It is too dangerous to act on without more proof."
He had planted the seed of trust, nurtured her suspicion, and affirmed her belief that she and L were the only two intelligent people in the room.
PRESENT DAY
Light's screen pinged with a new message from the anonymous sender.
> My motives are my own. You see unpredictability; I see a necessary chaos that keeps our enemies off-balance. I am not your servant, but our goals currently align. You want a world cleansed of filth. I want to see it happen in the most interesting way possible. As for trust… actions speak louder than words.
A new message appeared. It was a file transfer. An image file. proof.jpg. Light's hand hesitated over the mouse. This could be a trap, a virus, a tracking program. But he had no choice. He clicked.
The image resolved on his screen. It was a photograph, taken from a slightly high angle, of a black notebook sitting open on a dark, wooden surface. It looked exactly like his own. The spidery, unsettling script on the first page was unmistakable. DEATH NOTE.
Light felt a chill seep into his bones. A copy? An elaborate forgery?
And then, it happened.
As he stared at the static photograph on his screen, the letters of the words "DEATH NOTE" began to move. They seemed to shimmer, to warp and twist as if the image itself were alive, the ink writhing like a nest of black worms. It was a subtle, nauseating distortion, a physical impossibility that defied every law of digital imagery. This was not a picture of an object. This was a picture that was the object, a window into a place where the rules of his world did not apply.
It was real. And he was no longer alone.