"Boss, are we sure that kid's reliable?"
Seated at the bar, Vodka couldn't help but glance at Gin. "If he screws up and the target escapes, it's gonna be a mess. Why not let me handle it instead?"
"Don't waste your energy, Vodka."
Gin set down his now-empty glass, which held only a single slowly melting ice sphere.
He tilted his head slightly.
A rare, razor-thin smile tugged at his lips. "I've got a bit of... curiosity about him right now."
"Huh?"
Vodka looked confused.
The Black Organization was massive—if it weren't, there wouldn't be so many undercover agents from various institutions infiltrating its ranks.
But while the organization had many low-level grunts, members with codenames were far more limited in number.
In fact, Gin considered quite a few of those with codenames to be utterly useless.
Which is why scouting fresh talent had always been part of Gin's routine—and among the recent personnel files he'd reviewed, Hayaki stood out.
The guy had good looks—always a potential asset given how the Organization operated. After all, when you have no moral boundaries, appearances can be just another tool.
But what intrigued Gin more was the fact that Hayaki had authored two best-selling mystery novels.
In this world, the profession of detective held high social prestige.
Perhaps it was due to the legacy of renowned mystery novelist Yusaku Kudo, but public perception often associated a skilled mystery writer with the qualities of a capable detective. Hayaki's recent works, The Kindaichi Case Files: The Opera House Murder and The Village of the Strange Mansion, were selling extremely well and receiving considerable praise—especially the latter, which had sparked lively discussion and fanfare.
That alone had piqued Gin's interest.
After all, the Organization had very few people with detective-type skill sets.
After this explanation, Vodka finally understood.
"As expected from you, Boss. But… you don't think that kid will try to bail, do you?"
"It's just one day. And with the Organization's eyes on him, anyone with half a brain wouldn't try to run," Gin said, his eyes narrowing into a cold, mocking smile. "But once he makes the kill tomorrow night… then he really won't be able to run anymore."
"Heh, so that's why you arranged to give his books a little extra marketing push, right?"
Gin didn't respond.
The more polished someone's public identity, the more they have to lose.
Once Hayaki followed through with the murder tomorrow night, the Organization would have leverage on him. With that kind of dirt in their hands, there'd be no fear of this unofficial recruit turning against them—unless he wanted to fall from beloved mystery writer to hated criminal.
Carrot and stick—that had always been the Organization's way.
Take someone like Pisco, for instance. Old and useless, yet still willing to do the Organization's dirty work. Why? Because he was scared, and because they held something over him. That was all.
---
By the time Hayaki returned to his apartment, it was just past ten.
He stepped inside, flipped on the living room light, and settled down on the couch.
He'd already guessed Gin's intentions the moment he was asked to kill someone. He also suspected that today's book deal might've had some hidden backing from the Organization—but none of that mattered.
What mattered was what came next.
The Black Organization was a serious threat. And in his current state—already marked as one of their own—he had no real means to confront them head-on.
Unless he somehow acquired a complete list of their personnel, complete with names and faces.
But going all-in with the Organization wasn't an option either.
Even though the original manga hadn't finished before he crossed over, Hayaki knew the genre well enough: evil never truly wins. The road ahead for anyone embedded in the Organization led to one of two places—death or prison.
So if he wanted to survive, he needed a cover identity on the "red side."
That wasn't so difficult.
All he had to do was use the Death Note to manipulate someone high up in law enforcement—get his name entered into the list of undercover agents. And if that didn't feel secure enough, he could always make more people corroborate the story.
"Time to start a new round of testing."
Ding.
With a soft click from his metal lighter, Hayaki lit the scrap of Death Note paper and dropped it into an ashtray.
The flickering flame reflected in his dark eyes.
Bzzz~ Bzzz~~!
His flip phone buzzed in his pocket again.
He flipped it open to see a message from Eri Kisaki.
Eri Kisaki: "Are you back yet, Hayaki?"
Hayaki Lin: "Yeah, I just got in."
Eri Kisaki: "Come over, then."
Hayaki Lin: "Alright, give me a second."
After dumping the ashes, Hayaki slipped on his shoes and headed out the door, crossing the hallway to the apartment directly opposite his.
The door was ajar, so he pushed it open.
"Pardon the intrusion."
"Did you go out earlier?" came Eri Kisaki's soft voice.
Hayaki looked up—and saw her.
She had clearly just stepped out of the shower, long brown hair still damp and clinging lightly to her shoulders, soft wisps of steam rising from her skin.
There was no denying it: she was an incredibly attractive woman.
Anyone would think so at first glance.
Her relaxed loungewear did little to hide her tall, shapely figure. Her presence was elegant, mature, intellectual. The looseness in her demeanor—compared to her professional image—gave her a comforting warmth.
She looked like she had just entered her thirties.
A textbook example of an alluring, confident woman in her prime.
"I was a bit bored, so I went out for a walk," Hayaki smiled. "Long day at work, Aunt Eri?"
"It was. That's why I ordered a bit more for tonight's supper," she said with a chuckle, opening the fridge. "Want a beer? Consider it a little celebration."
"Sure."
Hayaki didn't mind.
They lived across the hall from each other. Because of Eri's long hours as a lawyer, they often shared late-night meals together.
Usually without alcohol.
But it was clear she genuinely felt happy for him tonight.