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

Rainwater washed over the rusted church iron doors, making a mournful sound.

Curaçao, like a wandering ghost, pushed open the heavy, creaking door.

It wasn't completely dark inside. Through a few windows under the dome, beams of pale moonlight mixed with the faint red glow of the distant industrial area shone through the opening, illuminating the dust suspended in the air.

The wooden pews in the church were neatly arranged, and the stained glass windows shone like crystal in the moonlight. However, the place was indeed a bit old, and on rainy nights, it would unconsciously be filled with the damp smell of dust and a deathly coldness.

In the very center of this tranquility and gloom, under several interwoven beams of dim light, like stage spotlights, stood a figure.

Lin Jiashu.

He was still wearing an elegantly tailored knit sweater, out of place in this old-fashioned environment, looking as clean as a nobleman who had wandered into ruins.

Rain dampened a few strands of his black hair, but it did nothing to diminish his composure. He turned slightly to the side, his gaze fixed on the stained glass windows of the church, which were no longer as bright. The moonlight outlined the perfectly sculpted jawline, his expression focused, as if admiring some incomplete work of art. In his hand, he held a black, thin notebook.

Hearing footsteps, he slowly turned around.

There was no surprise on that handsome face, only a smile. The smile was still gentle, but in Curaço's eyes at that moment, it felt like mockery, fueling her anger.

Good evening, Curaçao.

Lin Jiashu's voice wasn't loud, yet it strangely pierced through the sound of rain and the emptiness of the space, carrying its usual relaxing and gentle rhythm, lightly tapping on Curaçao's tense nerves: "Or do you prefer the name 'Shimizu Rei'?"

"Are you still trying to fool me now?!"

Curaçao's voice was hoarse and broken, like sandpaper rubbing.

She took a sudden step forward, her body trembling slightly from excitement and the cold. Her silver hair clung damply to her pale cheeks, and her striking heterochromatic eyes were filled with rage. "What is your purpose in deceiving me with lies?! Or is it that you are naturally inclined to fool everyone—just like how you deceive the world with your superficial identity!"

Her question echoed in the empty church, carrying a hateful accusation.

Lin Jiashu did not respond immediately.

He closed the open notebook, which he had been holding in one hand, and his smiling face returned to calm.

He walked slowly toward her, his leather shoes making clear footsteps on the smooth church floor, each step carrying an invisible pressure.

"Fooling? Why don't you think I'm temporarily covering up your pain as 'Curaçao'?"

“Pain?” Curaçao let out a short, cold laugh, as if he had heard the most absurd joke. “Before today’s memories, I never felt pain.”

"Then tell me, when you're on the Ferris wheel and those lights force 'Curaçao' back into your head... how do you feel?"

Curaçao's body stiffened abruptly, her anger replaced by deeper pain. She instinctively bit her lower lip, tasting the metallic, metallic flavor of blood.

"Is it the relief of regaining memories? Or a... deeper sense of suffocation?"

"..."

"When that 'Shimizu Rei' was torn apart, Curaçao, did you feel relief, or... the excruciating pain of being skinned alive? A void colder than death?"

Facing Lin Jiashu's gaze, which seemed to pierce through her soul, Curaçao's breathing suddenly quickened, and she involuntarily took a small step back.

The memories of the killers that were forcibly awakened were cold and sticky, while the emptiness left behind when "Shimizu Rei" disappeared carried a heart-wrenching burning pain. She could not accept the reality that this identity was false, yet she could not deny the real warmth brought by that falsehood.

“That’s not fake, Ling.”

Lin Jiashu caught the fleeting wavering in her eyes, and his voice suddenly became even softer, with a hypnotic magic, like the fingers that had brushed her forehead in the white room last time.

"That was a window I opened for you, allowing you to see another possibility."

"A possibility that doesn't require killing, mission reports, or trembling under Rum's cold orders."

Lin Jiashu's notebook began to unfold silently again, but Curaçao's attention was no longer able to wander to check the words recorded inside. "Look at yourself now, Curaçao. Pain, confusion, self-loathing... This is not because you have 'recovered' the behavior that your memory should have, but because of the longing for 'normal' that has been forcibly buried deep in your personality and heart."

"The name Shimizu Rei is fake."

"But the fragrance of those flowers, the unreserved smiles of those children, that small, sun-drenched balcony... the peace and warmth you felt at that moment, the ripples they stirred in your heart, were they also 'false' things that I imposed on you?"

Curaçao's pupils contracted violently.

The innocent smiles of the Detective Boys, their carefree movements under the sunlight, their joy as they paused to admire the flowers—these images flooded her mind uncontrollably—and the feeling of her heart being filled with a strange warmth resurfaced with unparalleled clarity. This contrasted sharply with the cold, cruel images in her memories as "Curaçao."

“The organization treats you merely as a tool, a useful, cold tool that can be discarded at any time when necessary.”

Lin Jiashu's voice turned cold.

Beneath that gentle undertone, for the first time, a clear and sharp edge emerged:

"They don't allow you to have a 'self,' they don't allow you to have 'choices,' and they don't allow you to hesitate... Your abilities are a double-edged sword for the organization. You can memorize the organization's member list and research data in an instant. This dangerous ability means that from the very beginning, you have no room to be anything other than a tool."

"Poor Curaçao."

"How pitiful, Ling."

"All your pain, your sense of being torn apart, your uncontrollable self-loathing—it all stems from this: you can't accept betraying the brief light yet can't throw yourself back into the darkness!"

Chapter 18: Welcome back, let's start pruning those excess branches.

"All your pain, your sense of being torn apart, your uncontrollable self-loathing—it all stems from this: you can't accept betraying the brief light yet can't throw yourself back into the darkness!"

The unprecedentedly strong shaking made Curaçao feel as if all her strength had been drained, and her body swayed.

Every word Lin Jiashu uttered was like a precise scalpel, peeling away her bloody disguise and pointing straight to the core.

She couldn't refute it.

Beneath those dark eyes, her heart was as transparent as if it were transparent, with nowhere to hide.

“You yearn to be redeemed, Curaçao.”

Lin Jiashu finally reached a conclusion.

He calmly revealed a deep longing that she herself was acutely aware of but dared not express: "You long to break free from that boundless darkness, to yearn for sunlight, to have the simple yet real warmth of 'Shimizu Rei.' Even if it's just for a day, even if it's just a fleeting illusion..."

He leaned slightly forward, lowering his voice even further, with an encouraging tone: "You must know, this is absolutely not a wrong feeling,"

"That is your humanity, even if it is suppressed or distorted, it still exists."

"And the organization is the root cause of your distortion and repression."

He silently flipped through the black notebook in his hand.

On the pristine white paper were beautifully written words in black characters that Curaçao could not read. Her pale hand, with the notebook open, stood out starkly in the darkness.

"...What is your purpose?"

Curaçao was utterly exhausted, but she was even more eager to understand what Cointreau was trying to do.

What was his intention in deliberately leading me here and telling me these things?

She suddenly raised her head, her heterochromatic eyes fixed on Lin Jiashu's eyes. There was no sympathy in them, only a calm that knew everything and an absolute confidence that awaited its prey.

"I'm looking for companions."

Lin Jiashu said, "A companion who can keep up with me and shares my ideals."

"...What can you give me?"

It's not 'give'.

Seeing her wavering and asking questions despite her lack of understanding of his purpose, Lin Jiashu's lips curved into a perfect smile. He said with a gentle, warm smile, "It's cooperation. I'm giving you a chance to see the truth, a possibility to break free from your shackles, and..."

He abruptly closed his notebook.

"The path leading to the organization that distorted your existence and trampled on your soul, to seek revenge for the blood debt. But I do not belong there either."

He readily admitted his position, his tone as calm as if he were describing the weather: "My goal is to dismantle it, starting from within. And I need a pair of eyes, a pair of hands, and a heart that burns with the same flame."

"bring it on."

What choice would you make?

Lin Jiashu extended his fair hand forward; under the moonlight, only the spot where he stood shone with a faint glow.

"The choice is yours, Ling. Do you want to return to the organization, become that walking corpse 'Curaçao' again, and wait for the next scrapping while hating yourself and being exploited by the organization? Or do you want to hold my hand and choose your own life from this moment on?"

The church was deathly silent, with only the monotonous and cold sound of raindrops pattering against the broken dome.

Curaçao's gaze lingered between the pale palm and Hayashi Yoshiki's unfathomable eyes. The organization's cold shackles, Gin's indifferent face, Rum's gloomy orders... clashed fiercely in her mind with the innocent smiles of the children on the Ferris wheel, the warmth of sunlight streaming through the florist's glass, and the lingering, false yet unforgettable fragrance of roses on her fingertips.

Pain washed over her like a tsunami.

But at the heart of this extreme vortex of pain, Lin Jiashu's words were like a lighthouse in the darkness, clearly pointing in one direction—a direction that, apart from escape, was fraught with danger but also more likely to end all suffering.

Slowly, very slowly, she raised the hand that had once been stained with blood and had clumsily stroked the child's head.

Her fingertips trembled slightly from the cold and her inner fear, but her gaze no longer wavered. Finally, with a desperate gamble on the unknown future, her trembling hand landed on Lin Jiashu's palm.

The moment their fingers touched, the gentle smile on Lin Jiashu's lips deepened silently.

"Don't dwell on the pain that your identity as 'Curaçao' brings you; it's just a nightmare in your long journey."

Lin Jiashu's tone was deep and mellow, like the finest poison, gently enveloping her cold fingers, "Now, it's time to wake up from the dream."

"A dream...?"

"Yes, it was just a dream."

Lin Jiashu's voice was so gentle it seemed unreal.

He gently tightened his grip on Curaçao's hand, his movements as tender as if he were handling a rare treasure. Curaçao offered no resistance, and Lin Jiashu gently pulled her into his arms, his long, slender fingers softly stroking the smooth silver hair at the back of her head, conveying an undeniable sense of comfort.

His gaze passed over her dazed head and landed on the deep, dark night outside the window, where no more light could penetrate. A slow smile curved his lips.

"Welcome back, Ling."

"Let's start by pruning away the excess flower branches."

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.

Everything is developing as expected.

Curaçao doesn't know Rum's name, but that doesn't matter; she'll get things that reflect Rum's personal characteristics... like his signature.

Even if all else fails, she's skilled enough to kill Rum.

The formula for victory has been laid out.

All that's left is to wait.

With a sense of triumph, Yoshiki Hayashi went to the Kindaichi Detective Agency the next morning.

As soon as he reached the entrance, he heard voices coming from inside.

"good to eat!"

"Really? This is an apple butter spread I found in Nagano Prefecture. It's quite an unusual combination with toast. Would you like some more?"

“Okay, I’d like to try again. But so Mr. Amuro’s hometown is Nagano Prefecture?”

"No, why are you suddenly saying that?"

"Because Mr. Lin said you probably left to go back to your hometown for a blind date...Is that not true?"

"...What blind date? Couldn't he come up with a more plausible excuse?"

Through the door, one could hear Nanatsuki Koshimizu and Tooru Amuro talking.

As Yoshiki Hayashi's footsteps approached, the two people in the office turned around at the sound. They saw that Nanatsu Koshimizu was holding a piece of toast, while Tooru Amuro was holding a jar of jam and a jam knife.

Good morning, Mr. Lin.

"Yo, BOSS."

After Nanatsuki Koshimizu greeted him, Tooru Amuro also greeted her with a calm smile.

His acting was superb, as if nothing had happened.

Yoshiki Hayashi also responded with a smile:

Good morning, it's been a long time, Mr. Amuro.

"Ah, after taking so many days off, I really missed the work environment here. So after finishing up, I decided to come back to work today." Amuro Tooru smiled and looked at Hayashi Yoshiki, saying, "After missing so many days, the boss shouldn't lower my salary, right?"

"You definitely don't need to worry about perfect attendance."

"It was expected."

Lin Jiashu smiled and walked to the sofa.

Koshimizu Nanatsuki, who was munching on toast nearby, raised an eyebrow slightly as she watched the two conversing as usual.

So they didn't have any conflict after all?

Previously, Mr. Amuro had stopped coming to work at the agency without a word, and Mr. Hayashi said he was on leave. This wasn't strange, but what was strange was that Mr. Hayashi specifically told her not to contact Mr. Amuro anymore…