Killing People is Kinda Scientific Right?

Eitan's method of manipulating Yokogawa Naoya into committing suicide and framing Wakamatsu Toshihide had been crude, admittedly.

But he placed his faith in Beika's police.

Besides, the intel Gin had provided was disturbingly precise—even including details about the surveillance situation at the entrance of Wakamatsu's apartment building.

Still, using such methods too often would be risky.

If one person says the deceased killed themselves, and they were framed? That's plausible.

If two or three claim the same? Suspicious, but explainable.

But if it keeps happening?

People will start asking questions.

Then again... did Eitan even have that many people he wanted to frame using the Death Note?

---

1:12 AM.

A silver Porsche 356A cruised down the nearly empty highway.

"After the tune-up, Big Brother's car drives even smoother... not that it wasn't already perfect," Vodka muttered behind the wheel.

Gin, sitting beside him, wordlessly lit a cigarette using the car's lighter. The scent of tobacco filled the interior.

"Tomorrow at 2 PM," he said, "deliver the new materials to Sherry's lab."

"Got it."

The organization's APTX4869 research was currently ongoing in Beika. Several of the required compounds couldn't be sourced legally, and it was Gin's job to secure and deliver them.

"Tomorrow's also the novelist's deadline, right?" Vodka asked casually.

Gin exhaled smoke.

"I gave him five days. He said he'd be done in two."

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his inbox. One message caught his eye.

"Gin-sama, Wakamatsu Toshihide is currently being detained by police for suspected excessive self-defense resulting in death.

The victim: Yokogawa Naoya."

Gin's eyes narrowed slightly.

That afternoon, Eitan had messaged him, requesting information on a medical student named Wakamatsu Toshihide. Gin hadn't asked for a reason. He'd simply delivered the intel—and quietly had someone keep tabs on the kid.

As for Yokogawa Naoya… one of the two targets Gin had ordered eliminated.

"Follow up on the investigation," Gin typed and hit send.

Out loud, he added, "Yokogawa Naoya is dead."

"Huh?" Vodka glanced over.

"Killed by a university student. Name: Wakamatsu Toshihide."

"Who?"

"Someone Eitan asked me about today."

Gin rolled down the window and flicked his still-burning cigarette out into the night.

Gulp.

Vodka swallowed hard.

He'd thought Eitan's mission progress was just luck—one target dead already. But now? He understood.

This new guy Big Brother had taken a liking to… was terrifying.

Vodka focused on the road. The highway was nearly deserted, so he pressed the accelerator, letting the Porsche stretch its legs.

But soon, something appeared in the rearview mirror.

A red car. Speeding. No—flying toward them.

Vodka estimated it was pushing at least 150 mph. And accelerating.

"…Street racer?" he muttered.

He eased the Porsche toward the center of its lane to let the car pass safely.

The red car blurred by, then signaled and began to merge into the center lane—just as an obstacle appeared ahead.

It swerved hard, the rear fishtailing.

"Slow down," Gin ordered, already tensing.

Vodka was already on the brakes.

The Porsche trailed behind, both men watching as the red car swerved violently, lost control, and slammed into the guardrail at over 100 miles per hour.

"B-Big Brother…"

The Porsche coasted down to a crawl. Vodka's voice was dry.

Gin said nothing, eyes fixed on the wreck.

Accidents weren't rare on highways—but this one was different.

That red car hadn't just hit the guardrail.

It had struck a steel pipe tied horizontally across it.

A steel pipe that had pierced straight through the driver's side window.

As Vodka carefully drove past, they saw the damage clearly: blood smeared across the inside of the passenger window.

The driver's head had been impaled.

Gin caught a familiar scent from the scene.

Just then, his phone buzzed with a new message.

"Mission complete.

Good night."

It was from Eitan.

---

He opened his eyes at 8:37 AM.

Eitan got up, freshened himself, and prepared for the day.

After a quick breakfast—just coffee and two slices of toast—he checked his phone. No new messages. Not even a reply from Gin after last night's confirmation.

Not that he expected one.

Today's schedule was straightforward: give a statement at the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, formally register as a Detective, and afterward, check out some cars.

When he arrived at the police department entrance, a young officer met him with a professional smile.

"You must be Mr. Eitan? I'm Officer Takagi from Division One. Please, follow me."

"Thank you, Inspector Takagi."

The interior of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department was cleaner and brighter than Eitan had expected. The Division One office even resembled a corporate workspace.

"Huh. I always thought investigation units would be messy—ashtrays, cigarette butts, crime scene photos everywhere."

Officer Takagi chuckled.

"Mr. Eitan, you've watched too many police dramas."

Then he leaned in slightly and whispered, "Though… between you and me, I've heard Osaka's units actually are like that."

"Is that so?" Eitan smirked. "I'd like to see it for myself one day."

He had heard about them—how Osaka officers, especially the loud ones with rolled R's, handled cases more like yakuza than police.

Takagi pulled out a file, flipping through it.

"Alright, according to this, you're giving statements for three separate cases: the Beika TV Station incident, the Yoko-san case, and the Valentine's Day case that took place at the Minagawa residence."

"Please go in the order the events occurred," Eitan replied calmly.

While the Valentine's Day case technically happened first—on February 14—the Beika and Yoko cases occurred in March.

But despite Eitan's request, Takagi started with the Beika TV Station incident, followed by Yoko Okino's ex-boyfriend's suicide, and saved the Valentine's Day case for last.

From this, Eitan realized something about this world:

Calendar dates didn't matter. Only the order people subjectively lived through did.

I'll need to test if the Death Note is affected by this.

With that thought tucked away, Eitan gave his statements smoothly.

When they finished, Officer Takagi organized the files and stood, bowing slightly as he offered a handshake.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Eitan. You've helped us a lot—we're sorry to trouble you with this process."

"No trouble at all. While I'm here, I'd also like to register my Detective status. Would that be through you, Inspector?"

"Ah…"

Takagi's polite smile faltered. He scratched his head, clearly confused.

"I-I'm not too sure about that. Please wait a moment—I'll ask someone more experienced."

He hurried off, apologetic.

He's polite… and honest, Eitan thought.

A few minutes later, Officer Takagi returned, this time accompanied by a capable-looking woman in uniform.

"Mr. Eitan," she greeted, "I'm Miwako Sato."

"Officer Sato," Eitan said with a small nod, shaking her hand.

"Takagi's still new, so he wasn't familiar with the registration process. I'll handle it from here." She pulled a form from a nearby drawer. "You'd like to register your Detective identity with the Tokyo Metropolitan Police?"

"I don't know the full procedure," Eitan admitted, "but Kogoro Mouri suggested I start here."

"You mean Sleeping Kogoro?" Takagi's eyes widened a bit.

Lately, Kogoro Mouri had been making a splash in the news, thanks to the ever-mysterious support of a certain small detective behind the scenes.

His popularity had started climbing again.

Officer Sato smiled.

"'Registration' is just a formality—essentially leaving your name in our records. While we don't officially endorse certain behaviors like tailing suspects or private investigations, if someone files a complaint, we can at least confirm you're a recognized individual."

"I see," Eitan nodded.

In other words, registration granted a bit of leeway from the law… within reason.

"And occasionally, if we encounter particularly difficult cases," Sato added, "we might request assistance from registered Detectives—though it's rare. Regardless, we're happy to welcome skilled individuals like you."

In this world, Detectives and Police weren't strictly separate—they complemented each other.

Kogoro Mouri could be present at crime scenes and even influence investigations.

In Osaka, Heiji Hattori—despite being a high schooler—was sometimes backed by local police, even calling in units when needed.

A healthy, if unusual, relationship.

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