Killing People is Kinda Scientific Right?

Gulp, gulp, gulp, gulp!

Grabbing a can of beer, Wakamatsu tilted his head back and chugged most of it. Finally, he let out a long, satisfied burp.

Beer is still the best.

He wiped his mouth lazily with the back of his arm.

He hadn't gotten to drink properly at the party earlier—partly because he was trying to leave a good impression on Ran, and partly because the atmosphere didn't give him the chance. Now that he was home, all bets were off.

"Bastard, what's so great about it anyway!?"

Finishing off the rest of the can, Wakamatsu crushed it in one hand and tossed it into the corner. It clattered against a pile of other empty cans.

Still fuming, he opened another beer.

In his mind, everything had been going perfectly. He was sure this would be the time he'd win Ran over.

Even if she wasn't into him, that was fine—he prided himself on persistence. With his big build and thick skin, most girls eventually gave in.

All those pretty-boy types? Nothing but decorative. He was a real man.

At least, that's what he kept telling himself… until that stuck-up bastard showed up and ruined everything.

Still grumbling under his breath, Wakamatsu grabbed the TV remote. He figured zoning out might help him cool off.

But just as he was about to turn the TV on, a faint noise made him freeze.

Click… tick… click.

His ears twitched.

The sound came from the direction of the front door—more precisely, from the keyhole.

Someone was picking the lock.

Suddenly alert, Wakamatsu's drunkenness dissipated. The noise outside grew sharper, more urgent, as if the person was getting impatient.

"Who's there?!"

He stood up and shouted toward the door, hoping whoever it was would back off.

But the lock-picking only grew more frantic.

A tight chill crawled over his spine.

"Damn it…"

Looking around his cluttered apartment, his eyes locked onto the dumbbell he used for training. Without hesitation, he picked it up.

The moment his fingers closed around the iron handle—

Clack!

The door opened.

An unfamiliar man stepped inside. He looked ordinary at first glance, wearing black clothes and a greasy expression—but the knife in his hand gleamed coldly.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing!?" Wakamatsu barked, clutching the dumbbell tighter. "Get out of here!"

"Shut up! Hand over all the money you've got!" the man snapped, barging in without hesitation, brandishing the blade.

Too fast. The guy had moved too fast.

Startled and furious, Wakamatsu hurled the dumbbell like a shot put. The heavy weight whistled through the air, forcing the intruder to dodge sideways. Enraged, the man lunged forward, knife raised.

The silver blade flashed toward him.

Wakamatsu stumbled back, heart pounding, grabbing whatever was in reach to toss at the attacker. One item after another flew, and the man raised his arm to shield himself.

In that brief opening, Wakamatsu rushed forward, attempting to wrestle the knife away.

The man slashed out, grazing his arm and drawing a shallow line of blood. But Wakamatsu didn't flinch—he gripped the man's wrist with both hands and used his larger frame to overpower him.

"Bastard!!"

"I'll kill you!" the man howled, struggling wildly.

"You're the one who's gonna die!" Wakamatsu roared back.

The two clashed in the cramped apartment, one trying to stab, the other trying to restrain.

The assailant pounded on Wakamatsu's arm, which felt like solid steel, then went for his face, slamming his fist into Wakamatsu's brow. Blood ran into Wakamatsu's right eye, but adrenaline dulled the pain.

The knife was nearly his.

Wakamatsu twisted hard—and the blade came free.

The attacker, eyes wide, lunged forward to snatch it back.

In that moment, Wakamatsu didn't think.

His body moved on instinct.

With a low growl, he drove the knife straight into the man's abdomen.

"Ugh—!"

"…Huh?"

Blood trickled down his fingers. Wakamatsu stared at his hand in disbelief, then quickly released the handle and staggered backward.

The man groaned, reeling from the wound, stumbling back a few steps.

Wakamatsu's heart thudded in his chest.

"Hey… Are you okay?"

His voice trembled. He watched the man sway, unsure if he was about to collapse—or attack again.

"Help!!!"

The man, who had staggered back a few steps, suddenly let out a piercing scream.

Under Wakamatsu's horrified gaze, he shrieked like a madman:

"Wait!! Spare me!!!"

"Anyone, please, help me—!!"

"I'm going to be killed!!!"

"Hey!?"

The hysterical shouting threw Wakamatsu into a panic.

Even worse, he noticed the door to his apartment hadn't been closed—just slightly ajar. He lived in a multi-unit building with poor soundproofing, and at this hour, the neighbors were definitely still awake.

Just as Wakamatsu instinctively moved to stop the man from yelling, he watched in utter horror as the man pulled the knife from his own abdomen… and drove it straight into his own throat.

Gurgle… gurgle…

The sound that followed was wet and suffocating. The man collapsed to the floor, lifeless.

---

Death is terrifying. But sometimes… living can be even worse.

There are sayings like "a fate worse than death" or "each day feels like a year."

The Death Note is a tool for killing.

But after repeated testing, Eitan confirmed it could also manipulate behavior—to a limited extent—before death occurred. That led him to another potential use.

Framing.

In modern society, aside from assassins like Gin, almost everyone who kills faces legal consequences.

But if someone's death could be staged as the result of a struggle—with the killer conveniently being the target of that person's final words—then it was enough to let the police do the rest.

---

Near Block 6 of Beika Town's Nishizaki Apartment Complex, Eitan stood before a vending machine.

In the distance, flashing red and blue lights reflected off the pavement. The crowd had gathered. Police tape cordoned off the entrance.

Eitan sipped his drink, watching quietly.

He was just a bystander.

Until someone approached.

"Hey, handsome, are you alone?"

Eitan turned to see a well-dressed office lady smiling at him.

"No, I'm here with my girlfriend."

"Oh… she's not around, though. How about we exchange contact info…?"

"Sorry. That wouldn't be appropriate."

With a polite smile, Eitan turned and walked away.

Most of the crowd had gathered beneath the apartment building, gawking.

Eitan walked calmly in the opposite direction. From his coat pocket, he pulled out a notebook, flipped through it, and tore out a page.

[Yokogawa Naoya]

[February 14, 8:34 PM]

[Arrived at Nishizaki Apartment, 72 Block 6, Beika Town.]

[After a brief survey, decided to break into Room 203 on the seventh floor.]

[While attempting to pick the lock and commit robbery, encountered resistance from the resident.]

[During the struggle, was stabbed in the abdomen.]

[In a panic, shouted phrases such as "Help!", "Spare me!", "Someone help me!"]

[Then pulled the knife from his abdomen and stabbed himself in the throat.

Death followed within moments.]

Clink.

With a flick of a lighter, the page curled and burned, quickly reduced to ash that scattered into the night.

Perfect.

Yokogawa Naoya—one of two targets Gin had assigned him—was now gone. A skilled lockpicker, according to his file. And now, nothing more than another tragic news headline.

"When one's life is threatened, taking action to stop unlawful harm—even if it results in injury or death—is considered legitimate self-defense and carries no criminal liability."

"However, the law sets clear boundaries for what qualifies."

"First, the threat must be ongoing. Defensive actions can't be taken once the danger has passed."

"Second, the force used must be proportional. Retaliation after the fact? That's excessive self-defense."

"For example, if someone attacks you and you disable them—but then stab them again while they're unconscious—that's no longer self-defense. That's revenge."

At the late-night dining table, Eri Kisaki was calmly explaining Japanese legal principles.

Wakamatsu's situation, of course, came to mind.

Even though Yokogawa had technically committed suicide, Eri didn't seem optimistic.

The cry for help before death—"I'm going to be killed"—could easily become damning testimony. Given the odd inconsistencies that often plagued forensic reports in this world… expecting a fair investigation was optimistic at best.

Negligent homicide. Excessive self-defense.

It wouldn't take much for Wakamatsu to find himself charged.

"I feel like legal knowledge might come in handy," Eitan said, stirring his drink.

"It absolutely will," Eri agreed. "Especially if you plan to continue acting like a detective. You should memorize the most commonly referenced articles."

"Hm. I'll start reading up when I get the chance."

Eitan smiled and nodded.

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