Death Note:Starting from Detective Conan

Chapter 6: Chapter 6: "The Grim Reaper is Coming"



The Beika Aquarium stood on the outskirts of the city, in a relatively remote area far from residential neighborhoods.

This was a commercial zone—one that came alive only with the foot traffic drawn by the aquarium. But now, with the attraction closed for the night, the surrounding shops had shuttered, leaving the streets eerily quiet.

Late night—

The only sounds were the faint hum of vending machines pushing out cold air into the stillness. The roads lay deserted. At nearly eleven o'clock, not even a single vehicle passed through. Only the pale wash of streetlights reflected off the asphalt, lending a lifeless glow to the cityscape.

"The rat has arrived."

From the rooftop of a nearby building, Vodka peered down with a sneer.

Below, in the cold light, a man in a blue jacket walked leisurely, cigarette in mouth. He headed straight for the second alley beside the aquarium and stopped at the entrance.

That man was Toji, the small-time informant the Organization had marked for elimination.

"The other protagonist hasn't appeared yet. What time is it?"

"Five minutes to eleven, Boss."

"Heh..."

Gin stood with his hands buried in his coat pockets, cold eyes fixed on the target far below.

But this operation had an impatient tagalong—a trigger-happy woman who didn't bother hiding her thirst for action. Gin's phone buzzed as she called directly.

"Are you ready yet? Seriously, why not just let me pop that rat's head off and call it a night?"

"No. Fire only when I give the order."

"Huh?"

Her tone immediately turned sour with irritation.

Gin, unmoved, hung up before she could launch into a full rant.

"Compared to Chianti, Korn is definitely more reliable..." Vodka muttered under his breath.

Gin said nothing.

He hadn't directly included Chianti in the core operation. She was merely backup—a failsafe. Toji might have been a minor player, but he had a level of street-smarts and physical discipline uncommon in civilians. Chianti's role was simple: cover for Haruki in case things went sideways.

"Boss, it's almost eleven."

"Keep waiting."

Gin remained impassive.

Vodka didn't dare speak again. Camera in hand, he stood ready to record everything. They just needed to wait for Haruki to make his move—and catch him in the act. Evidence in hand, the Organization could tighten its grip on the celebrated new mystery novelist.

But by 11:04 PM, Haruki still hadn't appeared.

Down below, Toji, unaware of his approaching death, checked his phone again, his fingers fidgeting slightly.

A flicker of rage lit Gin's expression.

"I didn't expect such a fool to disobey a direct order..."

His voice turned low and icy.

When Haruki had left the Daikoku Building last night, Gin had assigned a lower-level operative to tail him. It was a precaution in case the novelist did something idiotic—like running.

Gin never gave long-winded explanations. He'd told the operative only to monitor Haruki and report if he left Mihua City. That was it.

Now, the chill in Gin's killing intent was palpable.

"Vodka. Message our scout. Ask where Haruki is right now."

As Vodka sent the message, Gin personally dialed Haruki's number.

To his surprise, the call connected instantly.

"Hello?"

"You're bolder than I imagined, Novelist." Gin's voice dripped with threat, like ice cracking under pressure.

"Good evening, Mr. Gin."

Haruki's voice was calm. Almost... peaceful.

Gin could hear him chuckle lightly.

"You see, killing someone exactly at eleven o'clock is far too conspicuous. Would you mind waiting just a little longer?"

"Let me check the time... 11:05:21."

"Almost."

"37, 36, 35, 34..."

Haruki had begun counting down—clearly, precisely.

Gin's eyes narrowed.

He glanced sharply at Vodka, who looked confused, then turned his attention to their surroundings. Slowly, Gin raised a hand to cover his earpiece.

"Ask Chianti if she sees anything unusual around."

"On it!" Vodka said, quickly radioing in.

Haruki's calm countdown continued in the background.

Moments later, Chianti responded.

"Nothing suspicious spotted. But hey, there's a dump truck speeding in from the three o'clock direction."

Gin snapped his gaze toward the road.

"20, 19, 18, 17, 16..."

"10, 9, 8, 7..."

Under the soft, even cadence of Haruki's countdown, a pair of headlights emerged—flooding the street in stark, brilliant light. The dump truck roared through the dark like a bullet, its high beams making the cold asphalt glow.

Toji, standing under the streetlight at the alley's mouth, was snapped out of his daze by the sudden mechanical roar.

His head jerked up—

The dump truck, which moments ago was driving normally, suddenly jolted. Its front wheel slammed into something unseen, the entire vehicle shuddering and groaning as it lost balance.

The headlights twisted violently—beaming straight into Toji's face.

Blinded, he gasped in shock and instinctively staggered backward.

Inside the cabin, the bleary-eyed driver jolted awake, panic twisting across his face. He yanked the steering wheel hard, trying to regain control. The dump truck skidded, metal screeching against pavement, barely missing Toji as it smashed into the nearby streetlight with a deafening crack.

The pole bent unnaturally, groaning under the impact—

Did it miss?

Gin, watching from the rooftop, narrowed his eyes. Boredom flickered across his expression, just as he realized—

The phone was still connected.

The countdown hadn't stopped.

"...4...3...2...1..."

Toji, panting on the ground, blinked in confusion. He was still alive. He reached to dust himself off—

He didn't notice the downed streetlight had severed a cluster of bundled wires near the alley entrance.

Nor did he see the jolt travel up the metal framework holding the aquarium's neon sign above. The iron supports groaned, sparking violently as current arced across severed cables.

The massive sign, now half-detached, teetered—held aloft only by a mess of exposed, live wires.

"0—"

At that very moment—

The glowing neon box came crashing down.

Trailing sparking wires, its rusted iron frame twisted in the air like claws. It smashed directly into Toji before he could rise, flattening him to the ground in a burst of metallic screeching, broken glass, and silent finality.

Silence overtook the rooftop.

Gin stood frozen, eyes wide. On the street below, Toji lay crushed beneath the wreckage, unmoving.

The only sound left was the faint crackle of electricity and the low hum of the phone still connected to his ear.

"Mr. Gin.""Hello?"

Haruki's voice remained impossibly serene.

But Gin didn't answer right away. His mind was racing, replaying what had just unfolded. The sequence of events. The precision. The absurd timing.

An accident... perfectly timed? Down to the second?

That wasn't just planning. That was orchestration.

He couldn't help it—his lips curled into a slow, feral grin. His eyes glinted, deep green and alight with something rare: thrill.

"...Truly unexpected."

His voice was low. Hungry.

"Boss," Vodka interrupted, voice tight. "We just got a reply."

Still rattled by what he'd just witnessed, Vodka handed Gin a message.

Gin's expression tightened as he read.

"Lord Gin, the target has been in his apartment since 7 PM and hasn't gone out."

He froze.

He hasn't gone out.

The words echoed in his mind.

Haruki never even left his apartment.

"How did he do that?!"

Gin's grip on his phone tightened. His gaze burned with cold intensity, fixed on the crushed remains of Toji below.

The silence stretched. Only the night wind stirred atop the rooftop.

This wasn't just competence.

This was genius. Ruthless, clinical genius.

Haruki—the so-called "brilliant mystery novelist"—had revealed a glimpse of something far more dangerous than talent. Something bordering on monstrous.

Gin's lips twisted into a razor-thin grin.

"Interesting."

Then, Haruki's voice returned. Calm. But with a strange undercurrent, like a thread pulled too tightly.

"By the way, may I ask—when the target was crushed to death, he should have landed on his chest, correct?"

His words cut clean through the night air, just as new commotion stirred below.

Residents nearby had begun to notice. Windows lit up, doors creaked open, and shadows appeared—peering down alleyways and pointing at the scene unfolding near the aquarium.

Yet even above the murmurs and the growing buzz of voices, Haruki's question reached Gin and Vodka clearly. It was as if the wind carried his words solely to them.

Vodka responded before thinking.

"No, he landed on his back."

Toji had been crushed while still down, never managing to get to his feet. Vodka had seen it clearly—flat on his back, limbs splayed beneath the wreckage.

That was when the calm, almost polite voice on the other end of the phone sharply cracked—

"Tch!"

The sound was brief, but it hit like a slap.

A flicker of irritation.

Haruki had miscalculated.

And that—for the first time—made Gin's smirk falter.


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