our-seater. The car today was different.
"You've changed your car?"
"…My brother's car is in for maintenance," said Vodka, surprisingly honest as he glanced back from the driver's seat.
Gin remained silent, puffing on a cigarette in the front row.
"So, what's the reason for calling me out tonight?"
"Are you planning to become a detective?" Gin asked, eyes meeting Hayashi Yoshiki's in the rearview mirror.
"Yes. That's the plan."
"Oh…"
Gin seemed satisfied with the answer. He grinned faintly—mocking, perhaps amused—but said no more. Instead, he motioned to Vodka.
"Drive."
Vodka started the engine and pulled onto the road without a word.
The black vehicle moved smoothly through the city streets.
Streetlights cast long shadows across the windshield, passing by one after another. This was Hayashi Yoshiki's first time riding in a car driven by Vodka, and he noted with surprise how steady and precise the man's driving was.
But something bothered him.
Vodka, while appearing focused, kept glancing into the rearview mirror. When he suddenly noticed Hayashi Yoshiki staring back at him, his grip on the steering wheel visibly tightened.
"Why are you staring at me like that?"
He couldn't help asking, a note of anxiety slipping into his voice.
Even Gin hadn't fully unraveled Hayashi Yoshiki's murder methods, but Vodka had heard the analysis. He knew just how sharp and calculating this man's mind was.
To that level of precision… Was he now analyzing me?
Gin raised an eyebrow.
"Your sunglasses are pitch-black. I was just wondering if you could really see the road." Hayashi Yoshiki replied calmly.
"…I can see just fine. I won't crash."
"Good."
Once Hayashi Yoshiki turned away, Vodka exhaled in quiet relief.
The car lapsed into silence again.
Gin didn't explain the purpose of the outing, and Hayashi Yoshiki didn't ask. Instead, while monitoring the passing environment, he casually retrieved a pen and notebook from his coat.
"What are you doing?"
"Writing. Want to see?"
"Boring."
Gin scoffed with disdain.
He had never had any interest in mystery fiction or detective dramas. He found their methods of killing laughable—why go to such lengths when a bullet to the head sufficed?
Hayashi Yoshiki peered out the window.
"This route… isn't it heading toward the aquarium we visited last time?"
"Yes," Vodka answered flatly.
A faint smile crept across Hayashi Yoshiki's face.
"So we're executing a traitor tonight?"
"Quick-witted, aren't you," muttered Gin without praise or mockery.
"Well, that place is remote. No foot traffic at night. Not many spots in Beika fit the bill for execution grounds."
Gin cracked a grin. Something about the phrase execution ground pleased him.
That confirmed it.
Hayashi Yoshiki knew Gin wasn't the type to lie about a mission like this.
By his calculations, they'd arrive at the aquarium around 10 p.m.—which meant the target had likely been lured to the area sometime around 22:00.
He recalled the list of wanted suspects from the Organization's internal database and quickly pinpointed one that matched the profile.
He flipped to the Death Note section of his notebook and began writing:
Taku Tsukita
At 21:46 on the night of April 13th, he drives a motorcycle around Beika City Aquarium and begins a robbery spree.
Successfully robs ¥23,601 in cash during the first two incidents.
At 22:09, after forcing a new target vehicle to stop, he approaches to extort money—
And is shot in the forehead by the man in the passenger seat with a pistol.
The next second, he is stabbed in the neck and dies.
After finishing, Hayashi Yoshiki checked the page thoughtfully.
He was running an experiment.
The Death Note could function like a "script" for orchestrating events.
The first test was the amount of money—¥23,601. If that exact amount appeared in reality, then the notebook had a level of causality control.
The second was the context of death: the vague wording of "target vehicle" and "man in the passenger seat with a pistol." Given the location, that could only be Gin and Vodka's car.
In a prior test, Hayashi Yoshiki had written a criminal being killed by an RPG on a city street. The result? The man died of a heart attack—likely because no one on that street plausibly had access to such a weapon.
This time, the scenario was far more grounded. Though he didn't specify Tsukita's target as this car, all signs pointed to it.
The third test was the method: Gin was infamous for killing with a single shot. He would never stab someone afterward. Would the Death Note force him to act out of character?
By 10 p.m., just as predicted, the car neared the Rice Flower Aquarium.
Vodka's driving grew tenser the closer they got. His eyes, hidden behind his dark lenses, flicked toward neon signs and dim streetlights. Something about the road unsettled him.
"Faster," Gin said sharply.
Vodka pressed the accelerator, finally braking in front of a man standing under a flickering streetlamp at the alley's entrance.
Gin lowered his window.
The man took a step forward to speak—
But the barrel of a gun was already aimed at his face.
BANG!
The shot echoed, clean and final. The bullet tore through his forehead.
A spray of blood painted the pavement.
Then came the thud of a body hitting the ground.