Sushi, fried chicken nuggets, yakitori skewers, oden…
Each portion was modest, but for a late-night meal, the spread was lavish.
Hayato Masaki and Eri Kisaki each cracked open a beer.
"How's today feeling, Hayato?" Eri asked.
"Pretty great, Eri-san," he replied.
"That's all I need to hear."
Eri's expression softened with relief. She gazed into his eyes, propping her cheek on one hand, the other lifting her beer glass. "Cheers."
Her eyes crinkled with a warm smile.
"Cheers."
Their glasses clinked, white foam swaying with the amber liquid.
Eri picked up an oden skewer and took a bite.
Perhaps it had been a while since she'd had it, but the familiar taste seemed to lift her spirits noticeably.
Hayato savored his portion.
"This place's chicken nuggets are always solid, though they soften a bit if they sit too long," he noted.
"True, but still delicious," Eri agreed.
"Any tricky cases lately, Eri-san?"
"Nothing too tough, just a heavier load of clients lately. I've had to turn down a few consultations to stay focused."
"Being a lawyer sounds exhausting."
"It is. But you're no stranger to hard work either, Hayato. Locking yourself away to write for weeks must've been draining."
Eri raised her glass, her bright eyes sparkling with a smile. "Once your new book's out, take a real break. Any plans to get away somewhere?"
"I'll definitely take some time off, but I haven't thought about where to go," Hayato admitted.
He hadn't exactly been slaving over original work. His novels were adaptations of Kindaichi Case Files, plain and simple. He felt neither pride nor guilt about it—writing mysteries was just a convenient stepping stone.
Eri noticed his brief pause, her voice softening. "Don't stay cooped up at home all the time. Make some friends, get out there."
"I'm planning to," he said.
"Good. I bet you get plenty of attention from girls out there. If you meet someone nice, you've got my full support," she teased.
"No luck finding the right one yet," he replied with a wry smile.
"High standards for a handsome guy, huh?"
Hayato chuckled, caught off guard.
Eri rarely tossed out playful remarks like that.
In public, she was serious, almost unapproachable, but with Hayato, she was gentle. The reason, he knew, was tied to his parents—gone in this world. From what he'd learned, his mother and Eri had been close cousins.
Eri poured herself another beer.
They chatted about trivial things, the warmth of their aunt-nephew bond filling the space. Then Hayato shifted gears. "By the way, Eri-san, ever heard of invisible ink?"
"Invisible ink?" She blinked, then pondered. "You mean the kind that's invisible until you shine a blacklight on it?"
"Exactly. Where can you buy it?"
"Most stationery stores should have it. I remember it being a fad among kids for a while."
"Good to know."
"Why the sudden interest? Planning to use it in your next book?" Eri laughed, then added, "There are chemical inks too, but I'm no expert. I can ask around if you need. Though if you're not picky, milk works just fine."
"Milk, I know about," Hayato said, grinning. "The proteins denature under heat, so you bake it with a lighter, and the writing shows up."
"Right. If heat's all you need, lots of things can work."
"I'll experiment with a few."
Hayato nodded, intrigued.
It was past eleven by the time they finished. Late enough. Hayato helped Eri tidy up.
"That's enough for now. Get some rest, Hayato," she said, walking him to the door.
"Think I'll sleep well tonight."
"I bet you will. See you tomorrow."
"Goodnight, Eri-san."
"Goodnight."
Under her gaze, Hayato crossed to his apartment.
The beer hadn't hit him too hard.
Once the door was locked, a quiet calm settled over him.
Eri-san really is something special, he thought, grabbing a carton of milk from the fridge and heading to his bedroom.
Time for a new experiment.
The invisible ink question hadn't been random—he'd been mulling it over for a while.
Per the Death Note's rules, anything that left a mark counted as a writing tool, from lipstick to blood. But for it to take effect, the writing had to be clear and distinct.
Invisible ink, by nature, left no visible trace under normal conditions, so it wouldn't trigger the Note's power. But what if he used heat to reveal the text? Would that activate the effect? It was worth testing.
At his desk, Hayato tore a page from the black notebook and picked up a pen, his movements steady and sure.
He wrote a name.
Killing with the Death Note stirred no more emotion in him than grinding mustard seeds under a millstone.
Hayato wasn't Light Yagami.
He had no desire to play Kira or to crown himself a god of some new world.
All he wanted was freedom—to live as he pleased.
To claim what he desired, to erase what annoyed him, to walk a steady, engaging, unshackled path—that was his aim.
"Those who master their own lives can command the lives of others."
His handsome face was serene.
At that moment, an aura of deathlike stillness enveloped him.
***
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