Death Note:Starting from Detective Conan

Sushi.

Fried chicken.

Yakitori skewers.

Oden...

Though none of the portions were large, the sheer variety made the spread feel downright indulgent for a late-night snack.

Haruki and Eri Kisaki each cracked open a cold bottle of beer.

"So—how are you feeling today, Haruki?"

"Very happy, Auntie Eri."

"That's good to hear."

Relieved, Eri Kisaki leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table and her cheek against her hand. Her other hand held her beer glass, raised slightly toward him.

"Cheers," she said, smiling with narrowed eyes.

"Cheers."

Their glasses clinked softly. Foam danced in the amber liquid.

Eri picked up a skewer of oden and took a bite. The contentment in her expression was subtle but real—like someone rediscovering an old favorite dish. She looked unusually pleased.

Haruki tried a piece too.

"This fried chicken's always been good," he said, chewing thoughtfully. "Just got a little soft sitting out too long."

"Still tastes great," she replied without pause.

Haruki glanced at her, then asked casually, "Auntie Eri, had any tricky cases lately?"

"Not really tricky—just a flood of requests. I've actually had to decline several consultations to keep up."

"Being a lawyer really is tough."

Eri chuckled lightly, swirling her beer. "You're one to talk. You've been holed up in your room writing for ages. That has to be exhausting."

She looked at him, eyes warm, smile gentle.

"Once your new release is out, you should really take a break. Have you thought about going somewhere? A little getaway, maybe?"

Haruki blinked.

"A break sounds nice... But as for where to go... I haven't really thought about it."

In truth, the idea hadn't crossed his mind at all.

Calling what he did "creating" was generous. He was just adapting existing material—The Kindaichi Case Files—into novel format. Plagiarism, however clever, was still plagiarism.

He didn't feel proud of it.

He didn't feel guilty either.

For him, mystery writing was simply a means to an end. A convenient facade. A path forward.

His momentary silence made Eri glance at him with concern.

Her voice softened instinctively.

"Don't lock yourself up all the time. Go out more, meet new people... You'll feel better."

"I've been thinking about that."

"See? I'm sure plenty of girls have approached you by now. If any of them seem like nice people, Auntie will fully support it, okay?"

Haruki gave a small, helpless smile.

"...Unfortunately, I haven't met anyone who really caught my eye."

Eri laughed. "As expected—handsome guys always have high standards."

"..."

Haruki had no response to that.

Eri didn't usually say things so casually teasing. In public, she was always serious—stoic, even. People found her distant and a little intimidating.

But around him... she was different. Warmer. Softer.

He figured it was probably because of his parents—deceased in this world. From what he'd gathered, his mother and Eri had been close cousins, practically sisters.

She poured herself another glass of beer, and the two slipped into easy conversation, chatting about small things. The mood between them was peaceful, comfortably close.

Then Haruki shifted the topic, tone light but deliberate.

"By the way, Auntie Eri, do you know anything about invisible ink?"

"Invisible ink?"

She blinked, then thought for a moment.

"You mean the kind that doesn't show unless you use a UV light?"

"Yeah. Where can I get some?"

"Most stationery stores should carry it. It got popular with elementary schoolers for a while. A little spy toy trend."

"Got it."

"Why the sudden curiosity?" she asked with a chuckle. "Is it for a new mystery novel?"

Haruki smiled. "Something like that."

Eri took another sip of her beer, then added, "There are also chemically reactive inks, but I'm not very familiar with those. If you need specifics, I could ask someone for you. But if it's just about hidden writing, you can always use milk."

"I know that one," Haruki said, nodding. "Proteins in the milk denature under heat. You can reveal the message with a lighter."

"Exactly. If you're using heat as the activator, there are a lot of materials that work."

"I'll try them all."

Haruki nodded in agreement.

By the time they finished their late-night snack, the clock had ticked past eleven. It was getting late.

Haruki stood and began helping Eri Kisaki clean up.

"That's enough, Haruki. You should get some rest too," she said gently, walking him to the door.

"Mm. I think I'll actually be able to sleep well tonight."

"You should. See you tomorrow."

"Good night, Aunt Eri."

"Good night."

With Eri watching from the hallway, Haruki crossed the short distance back to his apartment and let himself in.

He locked the door behind him.

Though he'd had some alcohol, it hadn't affected him much.

There was a quiet calm in his chest.

Aunt Eri is truly... an enchanting woman.

The thought crossed his mind—not with desire, but with appreciation. She had beauty, warmth, and a mature presence that drew people in effortlessly.

Haruki pulled a carton of milk from the fridge and made his way to the bedroom.

It was time to begin a new experiment.

The idea of using invisible ink had lingered in his mind for a while now.

According to the Death Note's rules, any writing instrument could be used—as long as the letters left a mark on the page. People had written names using cosmetics, blood, and even carved impressions.

However, for the note to take effect, the writing had to be clear and readable.

Invisible ink, by nature, was not visible.

So—if he were to write using milk, and the text could only be seen after applying heat… would the Death Note still activate once the words appeared?

Would the cause of death occur only when the name became visible?

It was a hypothesis worth testing.

Haruki sat at his desk.

He tore a single page from the black notebook and took up his pen.

Without hesitation, he wrote the target's name.

His expression didn't shift.

Killing with the Death Note stirred no more emotion in him than crushing a sesame seed beneath an iron hammer.

Haruki was not Yagami Light.

He didn't seek to be Kira. He had no interest in becoming the god of a new world.

All he wanted was simple:

To live as he pleased. To seize everything he desired. To erase anything—or anyone—he found obstructive. A life that was stable, yet fascinating. Boundless... yet under his full control.

"A person confident enough to master their own life…can control the lives of others as well."

His handsome face remained serene—expressionless, yet oddly dignified.

In that moment, Haruki exuded a quiet, suffocating stillness—An aura as cold and motionless as death itself.