Ryuzaki's words had clung to his mind the entire way home. "Sweets are my family." When he'd heard that line, Raito hadn't pressed further. He'd thought it was the wise choice. But even after returning home, eating dinner, bathing, and turning off the lights in his room, that single phrase wouldn't fade. (It's an act. Obviously. A performance to make me drop my guard.) He told himself that, closed his eyes. --- The new year had arrived. Early January 2004. Tokyo's air remained dry. The residential streets of Setagaya still held the quiet of the New Year, and few cars passed on the road in front of Raito's home. Raito woke the next morning at 6:15, as always. He opened the curtains slightly, confirmed that winter's white sunlight was streaming into his room—and then he stopped. (……The outlet.) The power strip beside his desk. Its angle was different from yesterday. Just a few millimeters. An ordinary person would never notice. But Raito had memorized the layout of his room precisely. Somewhere along the way, he'd developed the habit of committing the position of every object to memory each day. Slowly, he scanned the room. The bookshelf. There was a shelf where the dust pattern was different. The corner of the ceiling. The wall seams. The spot where the air conditioner remote sat. (All of it's been touched.) It wasn't anger. Rather, he felt himself slip into cold clarity. Raito's mind switched from "emotion mode" to "analysis mode"—a sensation he knew well. He pulled out a notepad. Sitting on the edge of his bed, pen in hand, he began writing down the estimated camera positions while organizing his memories. Based on the outlet's angle, a lens was embedded inside. The bookshelf shelf that had been disturbed—in the gap between the spines. The unnatural shadow in the ceiling seam—there was another one there. The air conditioner's louver angle had shifted slightly; it had to be inside. Over several hours, Raito catalogued the estimated installation locations for sixty-four cameras. (More thorough than I expected. But there are blind spots.) He opened his desk drawer at a specific angle, angled his body fifteen degrees away from the cameras. It took another thirty minutes to establish this movement routine. He practiced several times, committing the optimal body angle to muscle memory. After that, nothing in Raito's room changed. He opened reference books, took notes. He ate dinner with his family, turned off the lights at ten. There was nothing suspicious anywhere. Just footage of an ordinary exam student studying after the New Year—that was all that would be recorded each day. (Try if you can.) Thinking that, Raito continued to play the perfect honor student. --- Tiara Palace Hotel—a forty-story luxury hotel in Minato Ward, Tokyo, where L had rented out an entire floor as his investigation headquarters—on the twenty-fourth floor, the monitor room displayed twenty-seven screens as always tonight. L sat barefoot on the floor in his characteristic posture, knees drawn up, watching the screens. A fifth sugar cube dissolved into his coffee. On the screen, Raito was turning pages in a reference book. (Statistical processing of behavioral patterns is necessary. The correlation between Kira's crime times and this character's activity periods——) Thinking that, L's gaze stopped. It was footage of Raito's younger sister, Sayu, entering the room. She was holding what looked like an arithmetic worksheet, whining "Big brother, I don't get this part"—audible even through the audio feed. Raito's expression darkened slightly. An annoyed look. But he didn't turn her away. He set aside one reference book and leaned over the worksheet. He explained something, and Sayu's face brightened with understanding. At that moment, Raito reached out and touched her head—just once, a little awkwardly. L stared at that footage for three seconds. (No suspicious behavior. Should switch to the next camera.) But his hand didn't move. It had zero investigative value. He understood that. And yet——L had never known that Raito made that kind of expression. Not his perfect smile, not his calculated look, just slightly annoyed and yet not dismissive, that expression. L took a sip of coffee. He switched cameras. Checking others. Raito's room, Raito's desk, Raito's drawer. Nothing happening anywhere. Past midnight. Raito turned off the lights. The screen went dark——but the motion-detection camera activated. Raito was standing by the window. In the dark room without lights, lit only by the streetlamps outside, gazing vaguely out the window. His profile was captured on screen. L's hand moved unconsciously to the zoom button. The image of Raito's face enlarged. Looking out the window. His expression revealed nothing about what he was thinking. Just quietly, looking outside. Three seconds. Five seconds. (……What are you doing.) L looked at his own hand. The hand that had pressed the zoom button. He quickly cancelled it. Returned the monitor to normal magnification. Dropped three sugar cubes into his coffee all at once. Watari entered the room quietly and spoke. "[serious]Your suspicions regarding Yagami Raito——have you found new evidence?" L answered without taking his eyes from the screen. "[cold]Statistical processing in progress." At the edge of the screen, a graph was slowly taking shape. Kira's crime times. Raito's activity records. Overlaying them revealed subtle correlations. Not yet quantified. But soon. Immediately after. Just past 2 AM, Raito suddenly sat up. L leaned forward involuntarily. (Evidence destruction——? Moving at 2 AM, where to——) Raito got out of bed, went downstairs, headed to the kitchen. Opened the refrigerator. Took out a milk carton, poured some into a cup, took a sip, put it away. Returned to his room and collapsed back into bed. It was over in ten seconds. L stared at the screen for a while. (……His throat got dry in the middle of the night.) He took a sip of coffee. It had no taste. --- The school after New Year's had a vaguely hazy atmosphere. When Raito entered the classroom, Ryuzaki was already in the seat beside him. Slouched, barefoot, his white shirt untucked, with two strawberry tarts lined up on his desk. Where he got them from was genuinely a mystery. Raito sat down and glanced at the tarts. "[serious]Why do you have one for me too." "[cold]I confirmed that you fell asleep immediately after drinking milk last night. Since I couldn't verify whether you ate breakfast, I thought you might need a sugar supplement." Raito froze for a moment. (This guy watched the surveillance footage of me drinking milk in the middle of the night.) "[sarcastic]……Is surveillance a hobby of yours." "[cold]It's not a hobby. I do it because I think it's necessary." Completely matter-of-fact. Not the slightest hint of shame. Raito looked out the window for a second, then picked up the tart. Frustratingly, he was hungry. At that moment, whispers came from the back. "Hey, doesn't Ryuzaki always stay right next to Raito." "They're in their own little world again……" "He definitely likes Raito, right." A flip phone camera shutter clicked once. Raito turned quickly, and the three girls in the back row frantically hid their phones under their desks. All of them turned forward with "It's nothing!" expressions. Heat gathered slightly in Raito's cheeks. "[serious]……Why am I being watched." "[laughing]Raito is quite popular, isn't he." "[angry]Don't laugh." "[cold]I'm not laughing." His face was certainly expressionless. But something was mixed into his voice. Raito couldn't identify what. --- The afternoon class was modern literature. Raito opened his textbook but couldn't concentrate on the content at all. Ryuzaki had his textbook open too, but Raito doubted that man found any meaning in this class. After a while, the girl sitting next to Ryuzaki—on the opposite side from Raito—spoke to him in a low voice. She seemed to be asking to borrow a writing implement. Ryuzaki silently handed her a mechanical pencil. When she thanked him, Ryuzaki answered quietly, "Please do." Raito listened to the exchange while looking at his textbook. The pencil lead snapped. Under the desk, he realized he'd been gripping it too hard. A small crack sounded. Raito looked at the broken pencil in his hand. (……Why am I——) Why did it matter. That was contact for the investigation. L was gathering information. That was all. Nothing more. (It doesn't matter. Not at all.) Raito thought that as he replaced the lead. Made himself think it. --- The classroom was quiet after school. When the last student closed the door and left, only Raito and Ryuzaki remained. White chalk dust drifted through the air. The afternoon sun streamed through the window, casting long shadows on the floor. Ryuzaki stood by the window, looking outside. His usual posture. Slightly forward-leaning slouch, arms lightly crossed in front of his body, gaze directed into the distance. Raito sat in his seat, putting textbooks into his bag, and spoke in a casual tone. "[serious]Did you go anywhere for New Year's. Back home or something." (Today I'll extract something. Disguised as casual conversation, I'll get information about his hometown, his parents, his connections——) Ryuzaki was silent for a moment. One second, two seconds. "[cold]I have no place to return to." He said it flatly, still looking out the window. Raito didn't stop putting his textbooks away. Stopping would reveal his reaction. But his mind was already processing the information. No hometown. Or estranged from his family. Or a lie. "[serious]……Your family." It was the same question as the day after New Year's. But this time——Ryuzaki's eyes didn't freeze. He simply continued in the same tone, still facing the window. "[cold]Since I was born, I've never had a single person I could call a friend." Raito's hand stopped inside his bag. "[cold]The more talented I was said to be, the more people distanced themselves. Once they realized I was exceptionally intelligent, people stopped approaching. It's always been that way, from the beginning." (This is a trap. A performance to make me drop my guard——) He tried to analyze it immediately. But. The moment he saw Ryuzaki's profile, something in Raito stopped. Looking out the window, showing no particular emotion, just stating facts. It overlapped with the profile he'd seen through the camera last night——his own face in the dark room, looking outside. That feeling of an expression not meant for anyone to see. (Wait. Is this——) "[cold]It must be nice that Raito has so many friends." Ryuzaki added that in a normal tone and moved away from the window. He picked up the empty tart container from his desk and headed toward the trash. Raito couldn't say anything. The words of rebuttal wouldn't come. He couldn't say, "Most of my friends are just people I perform for." He couldn't say, "I don't have anyone I can be honest with either." (……Calculation. Or truth.) He couldn't tell. Until now, he'd been able to classify most people's words and actions into one category or the other. But Ryuzaki's words didn't fit into either box. They were unclassifiable. Ryuzaki picked up his bag and said, "Well then." Barefoot, holding his sneakers in his hand, he left the classroom as always. --- On the way home. Raito walked alone along the school route. The evening sky was dyed orange, and the winter-bare trees along the road became black silhouettes. The wind was cold. He pulled his scarf up slightly. (He's an enemy.) Raito repeated that in his mind as he walked. (That guy is trying to catch me. He said "investigation." He installed surveillance cameras. Everything, everything is calculated.) That was true. Logically correct. Not a single point wavered. But his chest kept pounding. He reached the nearest station. Passed through the ticket gate and waited for the train on t