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

In the dimly lit command room, only the faint glow of several electronic screens illuminated Rum's face, twisted with ambition.

He stared intently at the coordinates "5-39 Beikacho" on the map with his one eye, his brain racing.

He had already obtained the map of the surrounding area and the exterior of the buildings through covert drone photography.

There are three Japanese-style buildings standing side by side there.

According to Vermouth, these three buildings are likely all the lair of Karasuma Renya, who will move to one of them at random times... and the way he moves might be from underground.

In addition to this, he also needs to deploy defensive forces around the building—

Rum's face was somewhat gloomy.

That old guy is definitely overly cautious.

But this also shows that he has lost so much of his sense of security that, after becoming a helpless infant, he can only strengthen his defenses in this way.

Meanwhile, another hidden danger also surfaced in Rum's mind—gin.

The loyal hyena is currently active around Mika. If he makes too much noise and Karasuma Renya gives him an order to turn back and protect her, he will become even more passive.

We must lure this dangerous hyena away before taking action, or... ideally, take this opportunity to strangle it completely.

A sinister glint appeared in Rum's eyes.

After all, a hyena that loses its master would be a lot of trouble, not to mention that Gin would never work for him again.

A ready-made bait came to Rum's mind—the FBI.

The hyena is now actively carrying out the task assigned to him by Karasuma Renya. All he needs to do is cooperate with James Black and throw out this bait so that Gin won't take the bait.

However, given how troublesome that guy is, dealing with him requires a meticulous plan.

Besides that, Rum couldn't help but think of another person.

Cointreau——

Rum hadn't touched this guy who secretly protected Sherry and had almost fooled the age tracking system last time. One reason was that he needed to hide the age tracking system, and the other was that he felt this deeply hidden traitor might have some value.

For example, right now, we can use this guy's ability to create an accident in the area where Karasuma Renya is hiding, and confirm whether Vermouth's information is true or false based on the surrounding reactions.

This will provide crucial data for his subsequent fatal blow.

(Cointreau, let you, this traitor, do one last bit of good for me before you are purged.)

A cold smile curled at the corner of Rum's mouth.

He wasn't worried that Cointreau would refuse; if he did, it would simply be a way to threaten him with something.

Victory is within reach. Even if the methods are a bit crude, as long as it doesn't affect the outcome, it's all fine.

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.

Ring ring ring! Ring ring ring ring!

Lin Jiashu's phone vibrated in the quiet night, displaying a string of garbled characters whose source could not be traced after multiple transfers.

He pressed the answer button.

"Cointreau."

A strange, distorted voice, electronically altered, came out, exactly like the one from the warehouse where Eri Kisaki was kidnapped, just like the one from my memory.

"Rum?"

Lin Jiashu's voice sounded somewhat surprised, "A call so late at night, is there anything I can do for you?"

"I have a small task for you." Rum got straight to the point, his tone commanding and leaving no room for argument. "The day after tomorrow at 3 PM, at the intersection near the old shopping street in Beikacho 5-chome, a man named Nakamura Yuta will be passing by. Stir up an accident; I need you to get rid of him."

"It doesn't sound difficult. Are there any specific requirements?"

"We could make an even bigger commotion," Rum added, his electronic voice carrying a hint of elusiveness.

Lin Jiashu picked up his black tea, gently blew on it to cool it down, and asked with a smile, "Make a bigger commotion? You mean... for example, dragging in those innocent residents and passersby?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, followed by Rum's cold, emotionless reply: "It's up to you."

Upon hearing this, Lin Jiashu gently put down his teacup, the porcelain cup making a crisp clinking sound against the saucer.

"Giving me only one night and restricting the area is troublesome. Could you please change the location? For example, a quieter warehouse area, or a less congested highway access road? That would be more effective and less likely to leave any loose ends."

"No." Rum refused decisively without offering any explanation.

"Oh?" Lin Jiashu seemed to have heard something interesting, his voice rising slightly at the end. "Mr. Rum insists on this specific location, demanding a bigger commotion, even at the cost of affecting innocent bystanders... You wouldn't happen to be... waving a different hand at the bar? Is that unlucky guy named Nakamura Yuta just a cover?"

On the other end of the phone, Rum's one eye narrowed in the shadows, a glint of shrewdness flashing in it as if his scheme had been exposed, but he immediately masked it with a cold, mocking laugh:

"Ha... Of course not. Nakamura Yuta must die, that's an order."

"You just need to do as instructed, Cointreau. Don't have any unnecessary curiosity."

His tone became tough and threatening again.

"Remember, 3 PM the day after tomorrow, at the intersection of Beikacho 5-chome. I want to witness a truly spectacular accident."

Don't let me down.

After saying that, Rum unilaterally cut off the communication without waiting for Hayashi Yoshiki to respond.

Hearing the busy tone on the phone, Lin Jiashu slowly took the phone away from his ear and placed it on the table.

He then received the target's information in his email inbox.

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 old shopping street intersection in Beikacho 5-chome in the afternoon carries a sense of languor and tranquility, as if forgotten by time.

There are few pedestrians here, and occasionally a vehicle slowly drives by.

Yuta Nakamura, a middle-aged man in a suit and carrying a briefcase, was walking briskly on the sidewalk while glancing at his watch.

An untimely gust of wind swept across the street without warning, making the signboard of an old restaurant creak and blowing down a few half-dried leaves, which just happened to brush against Yuta Nakamura's cheek.

This made him subconsciously tilt his head and pause in his steps.

Just as his gaze drifted away, the metal clip securing the wiring on a seemingly sturdy utility pole beside the sidewalk snapped with a soft "click" due to years of rust and the vibration from the gust of wind.

A small section of tangled black wire hung down, dangling in the air, its end flickering with tiny, almost invisible sparks.

Almost simultaneously, across the intersection, a small truck transporting bottled liquefied gas slammed on the brakes to avoid a stray cat that suddenly darted out from the alleyway. The truck jolted slightly. The rear door, already loose from years of use, sprang open a crack with the impact, and a fully loaded empty gas cylinder rolled out, crashing onto the road with a thud. It then rolled smoothly down the slight slope towards the center of the intersection.

Yuta Nakamura didn't notice any of this; he just wanted to cross the road as quickly as possible.

When the green light came on, he stepped onto the zebra crossing.

A young student with dyed hair, looking down at his phone, and a woman with a mean expression both stepped onto the zebra crossing at the same time.

The rolling empty gas cylinder attracted the attention of everyone at the intersection. The truck driver hurriedly got out of his vehicle to retrieve it.

Just then, the dangling wire swayed more and more violently in the wind, crackling with electric sparks, until it finally made contact with the metal lamppost next to it.

Sizzle—!

A dazzling blue arc of electricity suddenly shot up, accompanied by the popping sound characteristic of a short circuit.

The sudden noise and light startled the woman on the zebra crossing. She tripped and fell forward with a scream, grabbing a student who was looking down at his phone. The student lost his balance, his earphones fell off, and he instinctively waved his arms to try to regain his balance, but his arm struck Nakamura Yuta hard in the back, who had just walked to the middle of the road.

Yuta Nakamura was thrown forward by the sudden impact, staggering.

At that moment, the empty gas cylinder rolled right to his feet.

boom!

His shin slammed hard against the hard metal can, the excruciating pain causing him to lose his balance and fall forward uncontrollably. His forehead landed squarely on a thermos flask that had slipped from the woman's grasp and rolled to the ground after her fall.

The blow, though not fatal, left him dizzy and unable to get up for a moment.

In the chaos, no one noticed that the short-circuited, electrified wire ignited the oil-soaked dead leaves and discarded paper bags piled at the base of the utility pole. A small flame quietly flared up and quickly spread along the leaking oil, like a living hellworm, silently reaching the pickup truck with its back door open, emitting a strong smell of gas, and the gas cylinder that had rolled to the ground—which wasn't empty but had a slight leak...

Time seemed to freeze for a moment.

next moment--

boom!!!!

The deafening explosion shattered the afternoon tranquility!

An orange-red fireball, carrying shattered metal, glass, and debris, shot into the sky. The powerful shockwave instantly overturned the trash cans and the small truck near the intersection. The scorching airwave, like an invisible giant hand, engulfed Nakamura Yuta, the woman, and the student on the zebra crossing, throwing them violently into the nearby walls and ground, whereupon they fell silent.

The flames spread rapidly, engulfing the storefronts of nearby shops, and thick smoke billowed into the sky.

The piercing sirens of car alarms rose and fell, and panicked screams and shouts began to echo in the distance.

Chapter 109: Prelude

The billowing smoke and the still-simmering secondary explosions shattered the long-standing tranquility of the Beikacho 5-chome area, like a boulder thrown into calm water.

As the chaotic crowd fled in terror at the sudden commotion, two figures joined the scene as if to join in the fun.

They were dressed casually, indistinguishable from the nearby residents—one looked like a shop owner who had just finished his work and rushed out, wearing an apron stained with oil; the other looked like an office worker who had been disturbed during his lunch break, still holding an unfinished drink in his hand.

The two men's eyes seemed to be scanning the area.

Unlike the others who were pointing and gesturing around the burning ruins, the shop owner strolled seemingly casually along the outer edge of the blast wave, his sharp gaze sweeping over every speck of debris and twisted metal as he assessed the explosive force and possible causes.

The company employee was closer to the center. His gaze lingered briefly on the corpses before quickly sweeping across the windows and high points of the surrounding buildings, as if checking for any unauthorized observers.

The two men kept a close ear to every whisper in the crowd: "It looks like a gas explosion," "There was a short circuit," "Those people are in terrible shape"...

After confirming that it seemed to be just an accident, the two did not exchange words and quickly and discreetly left the scene with the first group of evacuated and uninterested onlookers, returning to their respective positions.

What they didn't notice was that on the third floor of an inconspicuous commercial building across the street, in an empty office with its blinds drawn—

Curaçao stood silently in the shadows like a ghost, her heterochromatic pupils taking in everything happening downstairs through the gaps in the blinds, especially the actions of those few passersby who were behaving strangely.

The small, high-definition camera in her hand captured those two faces.

Curaçao looked away, removed the camera's memory card, and left before the fire trucks and police finally arrived.

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 night outside the window gradually deepened, and only a lonely desk lamp lit up the study, casting Lin Jiashu's shadow on the bookshelf behind him.

This is probably the last bit of peace.

Various events and omens will subtly guide people, and the worst thing to do before a storm arrives is to do nothing.

Time is running out for Rum—

After he attacked Vermouth, time was already running out.

Once the organization—especially Karasuma Renya—discovers Vermouth's disappearance, given their cautious nature, they will likely abandon their current hideout and relocate immediately. At that point, they will inevitably become even more careful.

What's more troublesome is that the guy also knows about the problems with the cross-age tracking system, which is why he was so angry and ordered Gin to find Naomi Algent quickly.

Therefore, it must be a fatal blow.

Lin Jiashu's hands were typing on the keyboard.

He watched as the text on the screen rapidly refreshed line by line. Suddenly, the screen of his phone, which was on the corner of the table, lit up, and the vibration was exceptionally clear in the quiet room.

He wasn't surprised; he slowly picked up his phone and pressed the answer button without speaking first.

"Looks like you've got a lot of free time right now, Cointreau."

The voice coming from the other end of the receiver was Gin's familiar one, cold and oppressive.

"How to say?"

Lin Jiashu leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping across the deep night outside the window. "Is there something you need?"

"—Even with your identity potentially exposed, you still have the mind to stage an accidental murder." Gin's tone was slightly impatient. "It seems you don't really care about the danger of your identity being exposed."

It was indeed because of what happened in the afternoon.

Interestingly, Gin shouldn't have bothered with this kind of thing... or rather, given that he should be focused on causing trouble for the FBI right now, he shouldn't have noticed such trivial matters at all.

Lin Jiashu's smile remained unchanged, even becoming a little more gentle: "There's no other way, it's Rum's order."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. He asked me to get rid of a man named Nakamura Yuta at that time, and I didn't refuse."

Gin frowned on the other end of the phone.