Death Note:Starting from Detective Conan

Drizzle… Drizzle… Drizzle…

The soft patter of water from the bathroom gradually faded, leaving only silence behind.

A moment later, Haruki stepped out, clothed in a dark yukata. He dried his damp hair with a towel, flipping open his old-model phone to unlock it.

"Tomorrow evening at seven. Come to the bar."

Another anonymous message.

He glanced at it without emotion, deleted it, and turned toward the bedroom window.

A summons from Gin again—predictable. But this time, Gin hadn't uncovered any weaknesses in Haruki. Whether he still had plans in motion was unknown.

Not that it mattered right now.

To Haruki, the Black Organization wasn't hard to maneuver through. As long as one completed assigned tasks and didn't damage—or more importantly, wasn't caught damaging—the Organization's interests, much could be negotiated.

Take Gin, for example. Ruthless to most members, yet tolerant of enigmatic agents like Vermouth and Bourbon, even enduring Binga's overt provocations. Why? Because their value outweighed their danger, and Gin had no concrete evidence against them.

Still, if Haruki continued attracting Gin's attention—becoming his go-to agent for dirty work—things would get uncomfortable quickly.

"So, the next step is to elevate my social standing…"

Someone like Pisco, with high public influence, was rarely deployed despite being in the Organization. Status, Haruki realized, was protection.

Being a mystery novelist wasn't enough.

"If I became a well-known detective…"

He rested his arms on the window sill, eyes narrowing with thought.

The Organization didn't lack enforcers. But a detective—someone who could legally and openly dig through cases, information, and connections—would be far more useful.

In fact, that had always been part of Haruki's plan.

The Death Note was powerful. But if he relied solely on names pulled from the Organization's intranet, sooner or later, anomalies would pile up.

But a detective who frequently encountered criminals? That was natural. Expected, even. It gave him both cover and opportunity. It also provided a doorway to valuable human resources.

He recalled the assassin Kevin Yoshino, a former U.S. Marine sniper… and Maya Tachibana, a wire-garrote specialist. All characters from a movie or dramatization within this world, perhaps fictional, perhaps real.

He likely wouldn't need their help with the Death Note in hand. Still, their identities and skills were useful.

After all, if he wrote that a random nobody with no firearms experience sniped someone cleanly from 600 yards—it would trigger an unnatural death. The Note had limits.

But if he wrote a real sniper into the event? Entirely plausible. Entirely undetectable.

And because these people were already criminals, their violent acts raised no suspicion.

Haruki suddenly paused.

He had thought of someone interesting.

Letting the towel drop to the floor, his damp hair falling over his eyes, he sat down in front of his laptop.

Fingers tapping swiftly, he typed into the search engine:

"Lupin III"

The page took several seconds to load. A result popped up.

Lupin III, internationally wanted phantom thief, descendant of the infamous Arsène Lupin, responsible for crimes across multiple countries, currently under joint pursuit by over thirty governments…

He actually exists here…

The soft glow of the monitor illuminated Haruki's sharp features as he skimmed the results. The wanted photo—comically monkey-faced—matched the one he vaguely remembered.

This character came from a well-known anime of the 1970s. Despite its age, Lupin III had even crossed over with Detective Conan in a couple of films.

If his information appeared online, the two worlds had likely merged.

There are some real monsters in that universe…

Haruki's thoughts drifted.

Before transmigrating, he wasn't a spy, assassin, or special forces soldier. He had never fired a gun. Some martial arts, sure—but in this world, that barely amounted to a warm-up act.

Against the human tanks populating this reality, his skills were laughable.

Once things went south, writing names wouldn't be fast enough to save him from a bullet.

Still, there was a strange comfort in knowing that supernatural forces existed here too.

Koizumi Akako's witchcraft in Conan was one such case. Real, inexplicable magic.

Learning that kind of ability, though, was a stretch. He wasn't naive.

What intrigued Haruki more… was another figure—someone from the Kaitou Kid branch.

Not Koizumi this time, but a different kind of magician.

Gunna von Goldberg II. The world-renowned illusionist.

He was a world-renowned illusionist in public—Gunna von Goldberg II. But in the shadows, he was better known by a different name: Spider, a professional assassin under contract with a mysterious Organization.

In the storyline, he'd attempted to kill Kaitou Kid multiple times. His illusions defied logic, blurring the line between technology and magic—so elaborate and convincing they might as well be real magic.

As these thoughts churned in Haruki's mind, he opened a new browser tab and began searching for information on him. Because Gunna von Goldberg II had a public persona, there were plenty of results—biographies, press releases, video clips, high-resolution photos. A celebrity wrapped in mystery.

Haruki reached for the Death Note, flipping to a clean page.

He clicked on one of the photos, letting the man's peculiar features—refined yet eerily unreadable—burn into memory.

Then, he began to write:

Gunna von Goldberg II Tokyo time, March 19th, 00:14:31: makes an international call to 0081-xxx-xxx-xxx. Upon connection, follows all spoken instructions. Tokyo time, April 12th: encounters robbers outdoors and is fatally shot.

He capped the pen and leaned back.

According to canon, Saguru Hakuba once mentioned that "Gunna von Goldberg II" was only a stage name. His nationality? Fabricated. His background? A puzzle.

Haruki hadn't expected the note to work—it was a gamble.

But still, he waited.

00:14:31.

The minute ticked over. His phone sat silently on the desk, motionless.

00:15.

Nothing.

As expected… it's a pseudonym.

Haruki felt no particular disappointment. He hadn't bet on this to succeed. What bothered him was the waste—time, effort, and opportunity.

If only I had the Shinigami Eyes…

If he had that power, he could've simply looked at the man's photo and seen his real name, clean and immediate. No guesswork.

But the price for the Eyes was half his remaining lifespan.

Not yet.

He wasn't desperate enough to pay that cost.

Instead, he reached for the mouse again, eyes scanning the screen.

He needed another method.

A new approach.

There were other ways to uncover true names.

And he'd find them.