Death Note:Starting from Detective Conan

·Chapter 4: Eri Kisaki6dShare"Big Brother, is that kid really reliable?"

Vodka, sitting at the bar, couldn't help but turn to Gin. "What if he fails and the rat escapes? Wouldn't that be a lot of trouble? Why don't I just go and kill him?"

"No need to do anything extra, Vodka."

Gin spoke calmly, setting down the transparent glass in his hand—only an ice sphere remained inside.

He tilted his head slightly. A rare, razor-sharp smile surfaced on his otherwise cold face.

"I'm actually... looking forward to him a little now."

"Huh?"

Vodka blinked, confused.

The Organization was massive—so much so that agents from multiple global agencies had managed to infiltrate and embed themselves within its layers. But in contrast to the sheer number of grassroots members, the true elite—the ones deserving of code names—were few and far between.

Too few.

And in Gin's eyes, some of those with code names were barely competent. He had always been searching for new blood, new talent that could shift the balance.

Among the latest personnel files, the one that caught his attention most was Haruki.

Firstly, his appearance—clean-cut, elegant, adaptable. The Organization had always valued those who could blend into any situation, use charm as a weapon. But more than that, Gin was intrigued by Haruki's mind.

The man had authored two bestselling mystery novels.

In a society where mystery authors were often perceived as amateur detectives—thanks in no small part to figures like Yusaku Kudo—that meant something.

Haruki's two latest works, Kindaichi Case Files: The Opera House Murder Case and The Strange Mansion Village Murder Case, had ignited discussions and climbed charts with startling speed. The latter, in particular, had captivated the public imagination.

A novelist with a brain for deduction. Rare.

And perhaps... useful.

After Gin laid it all out, Vodka finally understood.

"As expected of Big Brother... But that kid won't try to run, right?"

"He only has one day," Gin said, his eyes narrowing. "And he's already under the Organization's watchful eye. Anyone with half a brain wouldn't dare think of escaping."

His voice dropped, low and deadly.

"But the moment he actually kills tomorrow night... that's when he truly won't be able to escape."

"Heh... so that's why Big Brother had his books promoted. Make him more famous..."

Gin said nothing.

People with a sparkling public image often value their reputations even more than their lives. Once Haruki stained his hands with blood, with the Organization holding all the evidence, they wouldn't have to worry about him straying.

He'd be owned.

Unless he wanted to fall from the heights of literary stardom to the infamy of a cold-blooded killer.

Coercion and temptation. The Organization's oldest, most effective weapons.

Why else would someone like Pisco—a decrepit old man with an empire in finance—still obey orders? The only reason he did dirty work was fear. Fear of being destroyed by the very group that made him powerful.

It was just past ten when Haruki returned to the apartment.

He stepped into his rented room, flicked on the living room lights, and dropped into the sofa, letting the silence settle.

The moment Gin told him to kill someone, Haruki had already understood everything. It wasn't just a contract he had signed today. The entire scenario had likely been orchestrated—his career, his rise, even the handshake that sealed the deal.

All of it... a setup by the Organization.

But that didn't matter now.

What mattered was the next step.

The Organization was dangerous. And now that his hands were metaphorically dirty, he had no leverage to fight them directly. Not yet.

Unless he could somehow uncover the identities, photos, and files of every single member.

A full takedown from within.

But that was easier said than done.

Though the original series hadn't ended before he transmigrated into this world, Haruki knew how stories like this usually went. The logic of good versus evil always prevailed in fiction, but this was no longer fiction.

He was living it.

If he continued to walk in the Organization's shadow, there would be only two outcomes: death or prison.

So... the solution was clear.

He needed to build a Red-side identity—an affiliation with law enforcement or intelligence, something that could keep him afloat in this murky underworld.

And with the Death Note in his hands, that was entirely possible.

He could manipulate a high-ranking Red-side agent, get himself added to their undercover roster. If it wasn't safe enough, he could go further—puppeteer multiple individuals to cooperate in the illusion.

A clean infiltration.

"...Next, let's conduct a new round of tests."

Ding.

A soft flick from his lighter.

Haruki dropped a torn page from the Death Note into an ashtray and lit it.

Flames danced. Smoke curled upward.

The firelight reflected in his obsidian eyes.

Buzz~~Buzz~~~

His flip phone vibrated in his pocket. Haruki pulled it out.

A message from Eri Kisaki.

Eri Kisaki: "Have you come back yet?"

Haruki: "Ah, yes."

Eri Kisaki: "Then come over now."

Haruki: "Okay, wait for me a moment."

After emptying the ashes from the tray, Haruki stood, walked to the entrance, slipped on his shoes, and stepped into the hallway. He crossed to the apartment directly opposite his own.

The door was slightly ajar. He gave it a light push and entered.

"Excuse me."

"You went out just now?"Eri Kisaki's soft, elegant voice drifted from the living room.

Haruki looked up.

The woman before him had clearly just come out of the shower. Her hair, still damp and slightly tousled, clung gently to her cheeks. A faint trail of steam lingered behind her.

It had to be said—Eri Kisaki was an exceptionally captivating woman.

Her beauty wasn't the fleeting kind of youth, but the settled, graceful charm of a woman in her prime. With her casual homewear loosely draping her figure, she looked relaxed and at ease, her posture natural yet exuding confidence.

Her usual workday professionalism was absent, replaced by something more intimate, more real.

She didn't look a day over thirty.

And right now, standing barefoot in her softly lit apartment, she radiated the kind of quiet, mature allure that was difficult to put into words.

"I was just a little bored, so I took a walk," Haruki replied with a warm smile. "You've been working hard today too, Auntie Eri."

Eri chuckled lightly. "That's exactly why I ordered something fancy for a late-night snack tonight." She turned toward the kitchen, opening the fridge. "Want a little beer? Let's call it a small celebration—for you."

Haruki didn't hesitate. "Sure."

Currently, he and Eri lived in the same apartment building, directly across from each other. Because her work as a high-profile lawyer often kept her late at the office, it had become a quiet ritual for the two to share late-night snacks.

Alcohol, however, was rarely on the menu.

Which made tonight... different.

Subtle, but different.

It was clear she was genuinely happy for him.