Beika Second Apartment.
A high-end residential complex nestled close to the heart of Beika City.
Slipping into indoor sandals, Hayato Masaki poured himself a glass of water and settled at the computer desk in his bedroom.
On the desk sat a bulky, old-fashioned monitor.
The product evolution in Detective Conan was a curious thing. Though the story lacked a specific year, its timeline loosely mirrored the real world. From the manga's debut in 1994, despite only a few months passing in the plot, the architecture and electronics had subtly shifted with the times.
Soon enough, this outdated computer would likely be replaced.
But the computer wasn't the focus today.
Hayato opened the desk drawer, lifted a false wooden panel, and retrieved a black notebook hidden beneath.
DEATH NOTE
The pitch-black cover bore those words in stark, slightly slanted white letters.
The handwriting of a shinigami.
Translated directly, it meant Death Note—a notebook that killed anyone whose name was written within its pages.
An object from another high-stakes detective manga.
Hayato had no idea where it came from.
It had simply been in his possession when he awoke in this world.
Repeated tests had confirmed its authenticity.
As long as the user pictured the target's face and wrote their true name accurately, the target would die of cardiac arrest within forty seconds.
Once a name was written, no amount of erasing or altering within those forty seconds could undo it. The person was doomed.
Beyond cardiac arrest, the user could specify the cause and precise time of death—illness, car accident, gunshot, anything physically plausible—within twenty-three days of writing the name.
"Under physically possible conditions, the Death Note can control a target's actions before their death."
"In other words, if I set someone to die of cardiac arrest an hour from now, I can dictate their actions during that hour."
Physical possibility had limits. For instance, a target in Tokyo couldn't be made to die in New York sixty minutes later—an impossibility under current physics.
If such a scenario were written, the target would simply die of cardiac arrest at their location after the specified time.
"Nishikawa Morihiko's death aired on the news this afternoon, exactly as I wrote it," Hayato mused. "With this level of precision, things will get much easier moving forward."
He slowly opened the Death Note.
Its pages never ran out, though it felt deceptively thin. Flipping to the latest entry, he read:
Morihiko Nishikawa
March 16, 8:23:47 p.m., during a police arrest operation, dies of cardiac arrest while attempting to flee.
---
Hajime Ito
April 1, Fool's Day, 4:48 p.m., shot dead by police during a routine crime.
Before his death, on March 17, hears Nishikawa Morihiko's death reported at a Beika Police press conference via television. Then, on March 18 at 2:21:30 p.m., hears Nishikawa Morihiko's death announced on Beika's midday news radio.
---
He'd written this two nights ago.
Hayato had no doubts about the Death Note's ability to kill. What he'd wanted to test was the additional instructions tied to Ito's death.
The Death Note could manipulate a target's actions before they died.
If used cleverly, this rule meant he could control what information a target encountered—social news, broadcasts—categorized as part of their "pre-death actions."
It wasn't physically impossible.
And it had worked exactly as he'd hoped. Nishikawa's death hit the news at the precise time Hayato had written for Ito to hear it.
Hayato wasn't sure when Nishikawa's death would've been reported without his interference—perhaps earlier, perhaps later. But because he'd written that Ito would hear it on the midday news at 2:21 p.m., the broadcast aligned perfectly, confirmed when Hayato caught it in the taxi.
It was like scripting reality.
This meant, with careful use, Hayato could wield the Death Note to "shape" the world to a degree.
But there were limits.
For one, Nishikawa's death had to be newsworthy enough to be broadcast. The Death Note merely fixed the timing to Hayato's specification.
If the news wouldn't have aired at all, his instructions for Ito would've been void.
More tests were needed.
With that in mind, Hayato powered on the computer.
Over the past year with the Death Note, Hayato had mostly targeted criminals, and he had a reliable channel for gathering their information.
The sluggish computer whirred to life. He dialed up the internet and navigated to a particular website.
Username.
Password.
He adjusted the external webcam.
The moment login succeeded, a flood of data cascaded across the screen—general messages, forums, and several specialized sections.
The most notable was the marketplace.
Information, drugs, firearms, forged documents…
Barring price differences, buying these was as easy as ordering gum online.
The site also hosted a wealth of illegal content, though Hayato's account only granted access to its surface layers.
During browsing, the webcam had to remain trained on his upper body. Somewhere, someone was likely watching, ensuring he made no moves beyond clicking the mouse.
Hayato knew every click was logged, so he mixed in random browsing—irrelevant pages, trivial posts—alongside his actual research.
As dusk settled outside, the screen's glow grew harsh. He was about to seal the webcam with black tape when—
Bzzt. Bzzt.
His flip phone vibrated on the desk.
Unlocking it, he found an anonymous text in the inbox:
Tonight, 9 p.m., Okuro Building rooftop, "Cocktail" bar.
Cocktail. The name spoke for itself.
Hayato's eyes narrowed slightly.
After a moment, a faint smile crossed his face as he murmured, "The sun's gone down. Time to turn on the light."
***
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