Light Yagami stepped into the hotel suite, his senses on high alert. The invitation from Ryuzaki had been unexpected, a sudden summons for an "urgent consultation." The air in the room was still and quiet, a stark contrast to the low hum of activity he had witnessed on his last visit. He saw no sign of the eccentric English detectives, the android, or the elderly woman. There was only Ryuzaki, crouched on a sofa, a precarious tower of sugar cubes rising from the coffee table before him.
"You wished to see me, Ryuzaki-san?" Light asked, his voice a model of polite curiosity. "Where is the rest of your task force?"
L did not look up from his delicate construction. "They are pursuing other leads," he said, his voice a flat monotone. "For this particular problem, their expertise is not required. I require a different kind of mind. I require yours." He finally raised his gaze, his dark, fathomless eyes fixing on Light. "Please, sit."
As Light took a seat opposite him, L saw his opening. It was a golden, perfect opportunity, a move so reckless, so contrary to every known rule of investigation, that it just might work. He would discard, for this moment, the 3% possibility that Light Yagami was an innocent, brilliant boy caught up in a terrible coincidence. For the next ten minutes, he would operate under the absolute certainty that he was sitting across from Kira.
He leaned forward slightly. "We have a problem, Light-kun. A paradox. I was hoping you could help me unravel it."
He began by laying out the facts of the Kido case, her murder of Takada, her subsequent confession. He spoke of her unshakable, fanatical insistence that she had been ordered to do it by 'L'. He painted a picture of an impossible crime, of a phantom who wore his face.
Then, he unleashed his gambit.
"The impostor is a grave threat," L continued, his voice never wavering. "He knows my methods, my movements. He has access to our investigation. To prove that I trust you, and to show you the full scope of the danger we face, I am going to do something my colleagues would call insane."
He pushed a tablet across the table. On the screen was a gallery of faces. The kind, intelligent face of a retired army doctor. The sharp, aquiline features of a consulting detective. The proud, mustachioed visage of a Belgian private investigator. The gentle, knowing smile of an elderly woman. Below each face was a name, a date of birth, and a profession. John H. Watson. Sherlock Holmes. Hercule Poirot. Jane Marple.
"These are the other members of my core team," L said, his eyes never leaving Light's. "Their real names. Their real identities. I am placing their lives, and my own reputation, in your hands. Because I believe that only a mind as brilliant as yours can help me find the man who is hunting us all."
Now, L thought, his own mind a cold, silent vortex of calculation, the game begins. If you are Kira, a mastermind, you are bound by the rules of your own intelligence. You second-guess everything. An act this foolish, this suicidally reckless… it cannot be real. It must be a trap. The names must be fake. But… what if they are not? What if this is the one move a true genius would make—an act so illogical it becomes the perfect truth? You must doubt me. You must question. And in that moment of doubt, I will have you.
In another suite, several floors below, the subjects of L's gambit were gathered around a speakerphone, listening to a live audio feed of the meeting. The air was thick with a tension that was almost unbearable.
"He is mad," Captain Hastings whispered, his face pale. "Completely and utterly mad! To hand our very lives over to the prime suspect… Poirot, this is beyond the pale!"
Hercule Poirot, however, was not looking at the speaker. He was watching his friend Hastings, a thoughtful, analytical expression on his face. "Non, mon ami," he said quietly. "He is not mad. He is simply playing a different game. This is not about evidence anymore. This is about psychology. L is thinking exactly what Kira must be thinking."
He began to explain, his voice low and precise, unravelling the intricate layers of L's strategy for the others. "Kira, this proud, intellectual creature, will see this act for what it is: a bluff. He will think to himself, 'No world-class investigator, no sane man, would ever reveal the identities of his subordinates so carelessly.' He will believe the names are false, a trap to make him act rashly on bad information. And there is more. If we were to die now, the suspicion would fall immediately and irrevocably upon Light himself. It would be the act of an accomplice trying to silence a task force. From a logical standpoint, it is the worst possible move Light could make."
Dr. Watson, who had been listening with a grim expression, shook his head. "That assumes Kira is limited in his methods," he countered. "We have only seen these heart attacks. What if he can kill in other ways? He could make us have accidents. Make us take our own lives. The connections would be tenuous, far harder to prove as murder, let alone to trace back to Light ."
It was Holmes who answered, a thin, predatory smile touching his lips. He had grasped the final, beautiful subtlety of L's plan. "Light would not do that, Doctor," he said. "Our Kira, whoever he may be, is a man of supreme arrogance, but also of supreme caution. He is a scientist, not a gambler. He would never, ever act on unverified information. He would not risk wasting his power on potential decoys based on the word of his greatest enemy. Before he acts, he has to be sure. He would need to find a way to confirm our identities, and in doing so, he would risk exposing himself. L has not given him a target. He has given him a cage."
Light stared at the faces on the tablet, his mind a screaming chaos. The names. The faces. It was everything he needed. A single stroke of his pen, and this entire, infuriating investigation would be over. The game would be won.
A bluff, his mind screamed. It's a trick. A blatant, childish trick.
He looked up at L, at the calm, empty eyes of the man who was his nemesis.
But what if it isn't? What if this is his last, desperate move? To sacrifice his own pieces in the hope of checking my king? To give me everything, just to see what I will do with it?
L's voice cut through his internal storm. "So, Light-kun. Given these facts… the existence of a killer who can murder from afar, the appearance of an impostor who can manipulate those around me… what is your deduction?"
He was being tested. This was the real purpose of the meeting. The names were just a distraction, a brilliant, terrifying piece of theatre designed to throw him off balance. And now he was on the stage, the spotlight was on him, and he had to deliver his lines. But if he gave the correct answer, if he confirmed the existence of an impostor, would he be putting his anonymous, chaotic new ally in danger? That second Death Note was a powerful asset…
The thought died before it could fully form. Why am I hesitating? Why am I worrying about that anonymous fool? He didn't give a damn about B.B. He was a tool, nothing more. This was about survival. This was about winning. L was forcing him to choose between appearing foolish and confirming a truth that could lead L one step closer to his other, unknown enemy.
Damn it, L… what in God's name are you thinking?
His poker face, the perfect, placid mask he had worn for months, felt like it was cracking under the strain. He had to answer. He had to play the part of the brilliant, helpful student. He took a breath, forcing his mind back into a state of cold, crystalline logic.
"It is… the only possibility that fits the data," Light said at last, his voice steady, though it cost him a great deal of effort. "Kido was telling the truth as she knew it. You did not give the order. Therefore, someone pretending to be you must have. The impostor… he exists."
He had passed the test. He had given the correct, logical answer.
But L was not looking at him. He was looking at his tower of sugar cubes, a small, almost imperceptible smile gracing his lips.
The Kurou Amezawa incident, L thought, a wave of cold, triumphant satisfaction washing over him. You beat me. You created a perfect, impossible crime that shattered our logic and made me look like a fool. You won that round. But now… now I have forced you, the great and powerful Kira, to acknowledge the existence of a piece on the board you did not place there. I have made you dance to my tune. I have made you my collaborator.
He looked up, his eyes meeting Light's across the table, and in the silent, empty spaces of his own mind, he declared his victory.
If you are Kira… then I just got my revenge. I ...win.