Mihua Second Apartment ,That evening
Located near the center of Mihua City, this upscale single-bedroom apartment offered privacy and convenience—perfect for someone who didn't want to draw attention.
Haruki stepped inside, changed into indoor slippers, and poured himself a glass of water before heading straight to the bedroom.
On the desk sat an aging, bulky monitor—an older model now rare in the city.
Technology in Detective Conan was… peculiar. Despite no defined timeline, the story's world adapted alongside the real one. From 1994 onward, only a few plot-months passed, yet buildings, electronics, and fashion kept evolving.
Maybe it'd be time to upgrade this old relic soon.
But not today.
Today, his focus was elsewhere.
He slid open the drawer, lifted the disguised wooden plank beneath it, and pulled out a notebook—jet black, slim, and chilling to the touch.
The words on its cover read:
"DEATH NOTE"
Slightly crooked, pale white English letters. Not handwritten by any human.
This was the handwriting of a Shinigami.
The name said it all: Death Note—a supernatural item from another high-intelligence detective manga. Anyone whose name was written inside would die.
Haruki had no idea how it came into his possession.
The day he transmigrated, it had already been in his hands.
Over time, he had run many experiments. And all results pointed to the same conclusion:
It was real.
If the user visualized the victim's face and accurately wrote their full name, that person would die of a heart attack forty seconds later.
Even if the name was erased within that time, it made no difference. Once written, death was certain.
However, there were advanced rules:
You could specify the cause and time of death—car crash, terminal illness, gunshot—anything physically possible, as long as the death occurred within 23 days.
And more than that… the Death Note could control the actions of the target prior to their death, within reason.
"As long as it's physically possible," Haruki recalled, "the Death Note can control a person's behavior."
For example, if the victim was in Tokyo, you couldn't make them die in New York an hour later—it was physically impossible for them to get there.
In that case, the person would simply die of a heart attack after the hour passed.
He flipped to the latest written page.
Nishikawa Shigehiko March 16th, 8:23:47 p.m. — encountered a police operation and died of a heart attack while attempting to flee.
That exact death had been announced just minutes ago on the news radio.
Haruki stared at the words for a while.
"To achieve this degree of accuracy… it'll make things far easier going forward."
The pages of the Death Note never ran out. Yet it always looked thin, light—like any ordinary notebook.
A false mask for something extraordinary.
He closed it slowly, fingers lingering on the cover.
Two worlds. Two legacies. And one man who knew them both.
Ito Izumi
At 4:48 PM on April 1st, April Fool's Day, Ito Izumi was shot and killed by the police during what appeared to be a routine criminal operation.
But the strange part happened before that.
On March 17th, Ito heard the news of Nishikawa Shigehiko's death via a televised press conference from the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. The very next day, March 18th at 2:21:30 PM, he heard it again—this time broadcast during the Beika midday news radio program.
That entry had been written two nights ago.
Haruki never doubted the Death Note's ability to kill. What intrigued him now was the line he added after Ito Izumi's cause of death.
The Death Note can control a person's actions before death.
If that rule holds, then something like the information a person receives—like a breaking news story—could also count as an "action before death."
It wasn't physically impossible. Theoretically, it could work.
And it did.
After Nishikawa's death, the news aired at the exact time Haruki had written for Ito Izumi: 2:21 PM on March 18th. While taking a taxi, Haruki turned on the radio—just in time to hear the story broadcast exactly as scripted.
It felt unreal. Too precise.
Almost as if reality itself had followed a cue.
If this observation held, then Haruki realized he could use the Death Note to subtly manipulate aspects of the world—not just the when and how of death, but the sequence of events surrounding it.
But of course, there were limitations.
For one, the event he scripted had to be likely to happen in the first place. The news about Nishikawa had to be scheduled for broadcast anyway, even if at a different time. Haruki's entry had simply overridden the timing.
If the event was never going to happen, then his instruction in the Death Note would be ignored.
Clearly, he needed more experiments.
"…"
Thinking this over, Haruki powered on his computer.
In the year since he'd acquired the Death Note, he had mostly targeted criminals—those he could morally justify eliminating, and more importantly, those whose data he could obtain through his channels.
His computer was slow, but it booted up. After connecting to the internet, Haruki navigated to a secure website.
He entered his username and password.
Then adjusted his external camera—a requirement. The moment the login succeeded, the screen lit up, and a torrent of information cascaded down like a waterfall.
There were various sections beyond messaging, but the one that stood out the most was the shopping page:
Information.Drugs.Firearms.Forged documents...
Everything was there.
The prices varied, but the convenience was shocking—almost like ordering chewing gum from a convenience store.
Haruki knew this site hosted far worse, but with his current access level, he could only skim the surface. And the entire time, his camera had to stay focused on his upper body. Someone on the other end was clearly monitoring him for any unusual movement.
He understood the risks. Every action on this site left a trace in the backend.
So, in addition to collecting useful information, he deliberately clicked through unrelated listings—mixing signal with noise.
Time passed.
The window outside gradually darkened. The screen's glow became harsh against the growing night.
Haruki closed the webpage and reached for a roll of black tape to cover the webcam again.
Bzzz— Bzzz—!
His old flip phone vibrated suddenly.
He picked it up.
An anonymous text message blinked in his inbox:
"Tonight at nine, Daikoku Building top floor, 'Cocktail' bar."
Haruki stared at the name.
Cocktail.
His eyes narrowed.
A moment later, a slow, knowing smile crept across his face.
"…The sun has set," he murmured. "I need to turn on the lights first."