Isn't it very scientific to use the Death Note to kill people?

"boom!"

A deep, penetrating gunshot pierced the night sky.

The high-speed spinning sniper bullet, carrying devastating kinetic energy, accurately struck the front wheel of the Curaçao-bound vehicle.

In an instant, accompanied by a sharp, ear-piercing sound of metal tearing and rubber bursting, the car's right front tire blew out completely and twisted and deformed. The enormous impact and the sudden loss of support caused the high-speed car to feel as if it had been struck on the side by a giant hammer, and the front of the car lurched violently to the lower right.

Curaçao only had time to grip the steering wheel tightly, but the entire car body still used the right front wheel as a fulcrum, resulting in an uncontrollable and violent fishtailing and tilting.

Originally intended to run over Kevin Yoshino, the car drifted past him, its rear end sweeping violently and slamming into the sturdy red metal bridge railing on the right. Sparks flew from the massive impact, the railing was twisted and deformed, and the recoil caused the car to crash into a tanker truck that had stopped due to a previous accident. In that accident, the tanker truck had also fishtailed while trying to avoid other vehicles, its body breaking through the bridge railing and creating a huge gap in the overpass. Now, half of the truck was hanging precariously on the overpass.

The impact at Curaçao was the final straw that broke the camel's back.

The teetering oil tanker suddenly lost its balance and plunged off the bridge, slowly pulling Curaçao's vehicle down the viaduct along with it.

Time seemed to stretch out at that moment.

As the car drew a desperate arc in the air and began to fall at a near-vertical angle, Curaçao immediately noticed that the ground beneath her was the port, not the sea, and the sea was more than ten meters away. She immediately pushed open the car door and, ignoring the howling wind, stepped out of the car, using the open door as a stepping stone in her high heels, and leaped out!

boom!!!!!

A deep, loud sound shook the entire port.

Immediately afterwards, a deafening explosion rang out.

The oil tanker that crashed into the port exploded, the shock and flames even reaching the cross-sea bridge dozens of meters above the water, and creating incredibly violent waves on the sea.

Curaçao, who fell into the sea, was instantly swallowed up and disappeared without a trace by the cold, deep, dark water.

The sea gradually returned to calm, leaving only the broken bridge railings and the deathly silence of the night sky, witnessing this thrilling sniping and fall.

Amuro Tooru, who rushed to the crash site at full speed, braked suddenly, unbuckled his seatbelt, and got out of the car.

When he stood on the completely stalled overpass, he could feel the lingering heat and smell of burning fuel in the air.

His eyes quickly caught sight of a man in front of him wearing a motorcycle helmet and holding a sniper rifle.

"Who are you!?"

Kevin Yoshino did not answer.

He threw the sniper rifle he was holding directly under the bridge into the sea, then got on his motorcycle, started it, and prepared to leave.

However, Amuro Tooru pulled out a gun and pointed it at Kevin Yoshino's head.

"Stop! Who are you?!"

"..."

There was still no answer.

But Kevin Yoshino heard police sirens coming from afar.

Did the police act so quickly this time?

Amuro Tooru also heard the sirens, which gave him even more confidence, but before he could try to stop Kevin Yoshino, the other responded by twisting the accelerator.

Boom!

With a furious roar, the tires screeched wildly against the ground, and the motorcycle shot off like an arrow.

Amuro Tooru's pupils contracted, and without hesitation, he pulled the trigger.

boom!boom!

Kevin Yoshino narrowly dodged the bullet as he swayed his body, but Amuro Tooru was not in a hurry. He was anticipating Kevin Yoshino's escape route and was about to shoot out the motorcycle tires when he did not expect that the other party would suddenly turn the front of the motorcycle, and the motorcycle roared and flew out through the gap in the bridge railing that had just been hit by the tanker truck.

"Varied!?"

Amuro Tooru was dumbfounded when he witnessed this behavior.

He rushed forward to the bridge railing and immediately saw a motorcycle with its engine at full power flying in a parabola for more than ten meters in the air before plummeting into the sea. At the last moment, the mysterious man used the motorcycle as a stepping stone to jump into the sea.

"..."

The sirens still echoed in his ears, and Amuro Tooru remained silent for a long time.

But regardless, with such a huge explosion, Curaçao is probably dead.

This gave him some peace of mind.

Do not……

However, we cannot let our guard down completely, because Amuro Tooru is unsure whether the other party has actually passed on the information.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The icy smell of disinfectant, like countless tiny needles, stubbornly pierced deep into Curaçao's nasal cavity. Each unconscious breath brought a subtle yet undeniable stinging pain.

She struggled to open her heavy eyelids, and all she could see was a blurry and dizzying pure white—the ceiling, the walls, the thin blanket covering her body, all of it was this pure white, so clean it was blinding, and so empty it made her uneasy.

My head... felt like it was filled with scalding lead, and every attempt to turn it was accompanied by a dull, sharp pain and a nauseating dizziness.

Nothing at all.

I can't remember.

Who am I? Where am I? What happened?

No matter how hard she tried to recall, all she could find in the depths of her mind was a chaotic fog, like turbid seawater churning after a storm, unable to retrieve any meaningful fragments.

But as a member of the organization, even after losing her memory, she still had a deep-seated, sharp sense of vigilance when facing unfamiliar environments, and she instinctively tensed up.

The door hinges let out a very slight sigh, and someone walked in.

There were no footsteps, like a ghost gliding across the water. Curaçao caught sight of it almost instantly, his unfocused gaze straining to focus, a wary look like that of a trapped animal, as he looked toward the doorway.

A young man walked in.

He was tall and slender, wearing a soft, well-fitting off-white knit sweater, exuding a gentle and tranquil aura.

His presence was so conspicuous in this pure white space.

With just the right amount of concern and sincerity, he approached Curaçao with a smile.

"how do you feel?"

His voice rang out, gentle as silk soaked in moonlight, each syllable carrying a soothing rhythm: "Don't be nervous, you're safe now."

Lin Jiashu walked slowly closer, his demeanor calm and composed, holding a cup of warm water that was emitting steam.

Curacao felt her throat was as dry as if it had been sanded by sandpaper. She instinctively tried to speak, but only managed a hoarse, breathy sound. Her body instinctively recoiled, aggravating an injury somewhere, and a sharp pain made her frown slightly.

"Don't move yet. You have some bruises, and it will hurt quite a bit if you move them."

Lin Jiashu stopped her slight struggle at the right moment. He sat down in the armchair by the bed, at a distance that was neither too close nor too far, and gently held the water glass to her dry lips. The water was warm through the glass, a comforting warmth.

"Drink a little, take it slowly, you need to replenish your fluids."

His movements were incredibly natural, carrying an air of taking care of her as a matter of course.

The warm water soothed her parched throat, bringing a touch of real comfort. Curaçao sipped it slowly, her cold fingertips unconsciously curling up. That sharp wariness seemed to have been pried open a tiny crack under the warm water and the man's gentle gaze. But the fog deep in her mind remained thick, and that empty sense of nothingness made her uneasy.

"I..." she finally managed to squeeze out a hoarse word, filled with deep confusion and a barely perceptible tremor, "...Where is this? Who am I?"

Lin Jiashu did not answer immediately.

He put down the water glass, his movements so gentle it was as if he were afraid of disturbing the air.

Then, with remarkable ease, he reached out and gently brushed away a few strands of silvery hair damp with cold sweat from Curaçao's forehead with his fingertips.

His fingertips were warm, yet their touch carried a strange sense of stability, as if possessing some kind of magic that smoothed out wrinkles.

“Don’t be afraid,” he repeated, his voice deepening with a seductive rhythm. “You’ve just experienced a terrible accident. Your brain needs rest, it needs time to recover.” His fingertips rested on her forehead, pressing gently without force. A strange, drowsy comfort seeped into her tense nerves and chaotic consciousness like a warm stream from where his fingertips touched.

Curaçao's eyes began to glaze over.

Thick, silver eyelashes trembled slightly, like weary butterfly wings. The ever-present pain and dizziness seemed to be temporarily dispelled by the gentle pressure and soothing whispers. Although the lingering fear, stemming from emptiness, still flickered weakly on the edge of consciousness, it could find no foothold.

"Shimizu Rei"

Lin Jiashu pronounced the name clearly.

The sound was like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, creating ripples on the surface of her consciousness.

This is certainly not Curaçao's name, and it doesn't matter... but it's important for what he's about to do.

"This is your name. A woman who lives quietly and earnestly."

His words carried an undeniable certainty.

As the name fell, Curaçao felt a strange fluctuation, she couldn't tell if it came from the depths of her mind or from the changes in her vision... but Lin Jiashu's gentle voice seemed to possess a tangible power, and began to weave.

“You work at that flower shop on the corner,” his voice flowed softly. “Every morning, you carefully arrange the freshly delivered flowers, trimming the thorns from the roses and changing the water for the tulips. You love the quiet atmosphere, you love how the sunlight shines through the glass window, refracting tiny rainbows onto the dewdrops on the petals…”

Curaçao's breathing became deeper and longer.

The icy, pungent smell of disinfectant at her nose faded away without warning and very naturally, replaced by a completely different, vibrant scent—fresh, slightly astringent, with the aroma of earth and morning dew, as rich as being in a sea of ​​flowers.

It smelled of flowers; she could even distinguish the rich fragrance of roses, the cool elegance of lilies, and the faint grassy scent of daisies… so real, so concrete.

Chapter 10: Can you keep this a secret?

The pure white room had no windows.

In the quiet of the night, only the streetlights cast a dim glow in the residential area.

The occasional sound of passing car tires and the footsteps of pedestrians cannot penetrate the building's walls to reach the rooms.

However, the silence that lingered in Curaçao's senses began to twist and deform under the weaving of Hayashi Yoshiki's voice. That blank expanse, as if kneaded by an invisible hand, gradually blended and stretched, eventually transforming into a completely different kind of clamor—the sounds of the city streets at dawn!

The low hum of a car engine, the faint sound of a horn in the distance, the crisp tinkling of a bicycle bell, even the footsteps of pedestrians and the indistinct sounds of laughter...

Lin Jiashu still wore a gentle smile.

However, in a corner completely unnoticed by Curaçao, a strange red light continued to emanate from the ordinary room.

—From the very beginning, this was just an ordinary bedroom.

An illusion obscured the view of the room as seen through Curaçao's eyes.

The pure white color draws her attention, and it can only focus on Lin Jiashu.

Curaçao is a type of liqueur produced in the Dutch archipelago of Curaçao, primarily flavored and infused with orange peel.

Interestingly, Curaçao is a colorful wine without a strict definition—depending on the ingredients and production methods, Curaçao can be colorless and transparent, or it can be red, green, blue, orange, or white.

Just as she was originally colorless and transparent, she was controlled by Rum and thus stained with the organization's black, but now, without any memory, she has reverted to her original state where she had no color at all.

That's why she was moved by the children in the Junior Detective Club.

That short day standing in the colorful sunlight dispelled all the darkness that had existed in her world.

"You rent a small apartment with a small south-facing balcony, and you keep a few easy-to-grow pothos plants..."

Lin Jiashu continued speaking, his voice calm yet guiding.

Curaçao tried to imagine the scene, but there was no need for her to imagine it at all—

The pure white room was silently permeated.

Curaçao's real sensory experience was guided toward the "reality" he described.

The room had unknowingly transformed into an exquisite flower shop. Outside the brightly lit shop window, adorned with colorful flowers, came the ceaseless sounds of a bustling commercial street.

The last vestige of vigilance remaining in Curaçao, the instinctive feeling for danger ingrained deep in his mind by the code name "Curaçao," began to melt irrevocably in this warm, pervasive, suggestive, and sensory illusion.

Her tense body gradually relaxed, and she leaned back against the soft pillow.

When he saw that her eyes were no longer sharp, no longer filled with painful searching, but replaced by a huge emptiness and bewilderment, Lin Jiashu smiled.

"Shimizu Rei...? My name?"

She held the warm water glass with a careful, delicate voice, as if she were touching a fragile soap bubble.

"Of course."

Lin Jiashu's affirmation was like a rock, completely crushing the last faint struggle within the bubble. "Those chaotic images, those frightening fragments..."

He leaned slightly forward, lowering his voice to a whisper of intimate intimacy and unquestionable authority, “That’s just a stress response to trauma, meaningless fragments your brain produces in the chaos. They’re not real memories, just nightmares that need to be soothed and sorted out.”

His words, like the most precise carving knife, gently yet firmly removed the sense of incongruity that had surfaced in Curaçao's mind.

The woman's unique heterochromatic eyes revealed a newborn, innocent clarity. It was a childlike, pure bewilderment, as vast and white as a field covered by the first snow, waiting to be written—all the darkness of the past was temporarily erased, and the consciousness named "Shimizu Rei" was quietly born on this pure white void, as if on a temporarily formatted hard drive.

“…Thank you.” Her voice was soft, but a new confusion arose. “But may I ask who you are?”