Daikoku Building.
At a glance, it looked like any other ordinary office complex.
The bar on the top floor, Cocktail, was inconspicuous—foot traffic was sparse even on regular days, and it occasionally closed its doors to guests altogether.
Hayaki arrived right on time.
As he pushed open the door, his first impression was how quiet it was.
The bar wasn't large.
Dim amber lighting spilled from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the polished cypress counter and shelves lined with liquor. Behind the bar, a bartender was meticulously polishing each glass until it gleamed. Only two patrons sat at the counter, both clad in black.
The tall, burly man resembling a bodyguard was Vodka. Beside him sat Gin, cigarette smoldering between his fingers.
"He's here, boss," Vodka said, flashing a cold smile as Hayaki approached.
Gin's gaze shifted toward him too.
His face, half-shrouded by a wide-brimmed hat and long bangs, was dominated by those sharp green eyes—cold, emotionless, and utterly inhuman.
"Good evening, Mr. Gin. Mr. Vodka," Hayaki said with that same unnerving calm in his voice. He offered a soft smile. "What can I do for you tonight?"
Compared to earlier in the day, Hayaki now wore a pair of silver-framed glasses.
His smile hadn't changed a bit.
But when he narrowed his eyes behind the lenses, though they still seemed warm on the surface, something sinister always lurked just beneath—like a predator wearing a pleasant mask.
Vodka instinctively felt repulsed by this kind of "civilized scum" and let out a quiet snort.
Gin, however, allowed a faint smirk to tug at the corner of his lips.
His irises were unnaturally small, lending his gaze a cold, predatory menace.
"There's a job we want you to handle."
"What kind of job?" Hayaki asked, without missing a beat.
Gin didn't answer.
Vodka passed over an envelope from beside him.
Hayaki accepted it without hesitation.
As he took a seat at the counter, the bartender glanced over. "What can I get you?"
"I'll have what they're having."
"Understood."
The bartender began mixing the drinks in silence.
Hayaki opened the envelope. On top was a photograph of a man in his early thirties, wearing a black turtleneck under a pale blue jacket. His features were sharp and refined.
Beneath the photo were the man's name and a brief dossier.
Hironobu Kisho.
Just as Hayaki finished memorizing the man's face and name, Gin spoke again:
"Tomorrow night. 11:00 p.m. Second alley west of Beika Aquarium. Kill him."
"Exactly 11:00?" Hayaki asked without pause. "Can you guarantee he'll be there at that time?"
"Of course," Vodka said with a mocking tone. "That guy won't suspect a thing—he thinks it's just a routine meeting."
"So… a traitor to the Organization?"
"More like a rat sniffing around where he doesn't belong," Gin sneered, that grin of his oozing menace. "If he were a real traitor, I'd handle it personally."
Charming.
Gin's reputation as the Organization's most "productive" operative was well-earned—not a day went by where he wasn't either killing a mole or heading off to kill one. But truth be told, it was also his favorite pastime.
He never showed mercy to traitors or weak links within the Organization.
Only the soft clink of cocktail shakers filled the silence at the bar.
"Gypsy. For you."
The bartender slid a glass of amber cocktail in front of Hayaki.
He took a sip, then set the drink back down.
The Gypsy was a vodka-based cocktail, made with Grand Marnier and a few drops of bitters. Slightly sweet and herbaceous, but the potent alcohol taste remained dominant.
The bartender, unfazed, served a second drink.
"Orange Blossom. Enjoy."
A vibrant orange-red drink served in an old-fashioned glass.
Hayaki tasted this one too.
It was far more palatable—a gin-based cocktail mixed with Cointreau, fresh orange juice, lime juice, and grenadine. Fruity, tangy, and deceptively strong.
Vodka and Gin.
Both of them had ordered cocktails named after their codenames.
Amusingly enough, Gin and Vodka were quite similar in composition. Both were high-proof spirits made from distilled grain alcohol. The main difference? Gin is flavored with botanicals like juniper, citrus peel, or herbs—then diluted with water. Vodka, on the other hand, is simply diluted without added flavoring.
No wonder Gin kept a "watered-down" companion like Vodka around.
Leisurely finishing his Orange Blossom, Hayaki tucked the dossier back into the envelope and stood up.
"If there's nothing else, I'll take my leave."
Neither man replied.
He walked out of the bar and onto the street.
At 9:30 p.m., Beika's nightlife was still in full swing.
After passing a particularly thuggish-looking pedestrian, Hayaki raised a hand and hailed a cab. He got in, gave the driver an address, then reached into his coat for a pen and a slip of paper.
A page torn from the Death Note.
He hadn't expected that crossing into this world would land him in the Organization's ranks right from the start—his record marked with a permanent black stain. Officially, he was a low-level operative without a codename.
In the manga, Gin's overachieving "company man" persona had become almost comedic later on. But Hayaki knew full well the man was lethally dangerous.
Which is why he came prepared.
If the Death Note can be used like a script—controlling death, yes, but also everything leading up to it—then everything becomes manageable.
---
"Murawo Inoue"
March 18th, 9:00 p.m., loitering around the Daikoku Building in Beika City.
Stays in the vicinity until he sees a young man wearing a black coat and silver-framed glasses calmly flag down a taxi and leave. Remains at the location for 48 more minutes, then resumes normal life.
Dies by hanging at 3:46 a.m. on April 10th.
---
Murawo Inoue's death and its timing didn't matter.
What mattered was that during that specific window, he would witness a young man with silver glasses get into a taxi and leave.
"…"
As the cab made its way toward Beika Second Apartments, Hayaki glanced up—suddenly alert—and checked the rearview mirror, observing every vehicle trailing behind them.