**"Mihua TV Station Murder Case!?"**
**"An Excellent Mystery Novelist Is Also an Excellent Detective"**
**"Police's Fastest Solved Case Record!"**
**"A Mystery Novelist's Method of Solving Cases"**
**"A Mystery Novelist's First Deduction Show!"**
Last night's live broadcast on Mihua TV Station's evening news had fermented overnight, and by the next morning it had exploded into widespread attention.
Several major morning newspapers discussed the incident at length, and professional mystery magazines even placed it on their front pages.
Haruki skimmed through them with mild interest.
But when he noticed how many headlines deliberately emphasized the phrase *"Mystery Novelist,"* it wasn't difficult to guess who was behind the publicity push. Futaba Publishing clearly planned to leverage the case to boost book sales.
Not that Haruki minded. Whether they called him a detective or a mystery novelist, it was still his name being discussed. And in a world where detectives enjoyed extremely high social status, there were virtually no downsides.
"Let's continue today's test."
Haruki opened the Death Note and tore out a blank page. The paper itself felt unremarkable—smooth, good quality, but nothing special. Still, it tore cleanly every single time, almost unnaturally so.
He uncapped his pen and wrote:
**"March 28, 10:47 AM — arrived at Beika Town, 3-chome, No. 16. Stayed at the entrance of Kawano Sushi for 15 minutes, then left.
Afterward, on April 16, 10:08 PM — died from a knife wound."**
According to the rules, the Death Note allowed him to write the cause and details of death before writing the person's name, and the note would still function.
Once the text was finished, Haruki folded the sheet in half, creasing it sharply. Then he tore it along the fold. The lines he had written split neatly into two parts.
*A page or fragment torn from the Death Note still retains its effect.*
*The full name must not be written across multiple pages. But if both sides belong to the same sheet, even writing the surname on the front and the given name on the back will still work.*
These rules were clearly stated.
But the notebook said nothing about writing the surname on one half of a torn page and the given name on the other.
Haruki wrote **"To Misawa"** on the left half, and **"Tomoya"** on the right. Pressing the torn edges together, he formed the full name momentarily—**"Misawa Tomoya."**
He waited until it was nearly time, then pocketed the two paper fragments, grabbed his pen, straightened his clothes, and headed out.
---
March's spring air still held a trace of coolness, but the weather today was warm and pleasant. Bright sunlight, soft breeze—the kind of day that felt gentle from morning to evening.
Mihana City always moved at a relaxed pace.
A cluster of small shops lined the residential streets, including a café Haruki frequented.
"Hello. One Cialo Latte, please."
"Of course!"
The barista prepared it quickly. Haruki accepted the warm cup, stepped outside, and sat on a bench. He lifted the lid. The lightly roasted aroma—milk blended with biscuit-like sweetness—rose with the steam.
*Cialo,* he recalled, meant "light-colored" in Italian.
He took a slow sip, then checked the time.
**10:51 AM.**
Misawa did not appear.
"So it doesn't work."
He let out a quiet sigh.
"I see… even if the fragments come from the same page, once they're torn apart, they function as independent sheets."
He tapped the two halves lightly together.
"I wonder if gluing them back would work…"
But that would defeat the purpose of the test.
If the method had worked, he would have gained a powerful contingency—pre-writing split names of dangerous individuals, then assembling the fragments in a moment of crisis to trigger death with a completed name.
But in reality, it was impossible.
After crossing out all the previous notes, Haruki began writing again.
He still had many experiments he wanted to conduct.
Once he finished this round of entries, he quietly waited for the appointed time.
Moments later—
**"Ding-a-ling-a-ling! Ding-a-ling-a-ling!"**
The public telephone booth beside him suddenly rang.
Haruki glanced at his watch and allowed a faint smile to surface.
**"Miyazaki Michiko."**
**"March 28, 11:03:09 AM — on a sudden impulse, look up and call the public telephone booth beside Kawano Sushi at Beika Town, 3-chome, No. 16. Hang up after 30 seconds."**
*Miyazaki Michiko,* or properly *Michiko Miyazaki.*
The Death Note wasn't restricted by written language—Japanese names and causes of death all worked. But what about a translated name? Would writing the English version—or any other language—still activate the effect?
That was precisely what Haruki wanted to test.
And the test succeeded flawlessly.
He concluded that **translating the target's name into another language still worked**, as long as his subconscious recognized the translation as referring to the same individual.
The mechanism seemed dependent on the writer's internal comprehension, not the linguistic form.
"I'll need to test it several more times…
If it holds true, learning a few rare languages might be worthwhile."
Even with all his caution, Haruki couldn't ignore the possibility that someone might one day glimpse fragments of the notebook. Writing in obscure languages would be a layer of protection.
He continued his tests—until—
**"Ding-a-ling-a-ling~"**His phone vibrated.
Haruki answered, seeing the caller ID: **Yamagishi Sakae.**
"Hello? Yamagishi-san."
"Good afternoon, Haruki-sensei."
But the voice wasn't Yamagishi's. Instead, a gentle, sweet female voice came through:
"This is Yoko Okino."
"…Yoko-san?"
"Yes." Her tone was pleasant, but unmistakably weary. "I saw the news last night… I never imagined something like that would happen. But Haruki-sensei, you were incredible. Just like a real top-class detective."
"Thank you. But… Yoko-san, is something wrong? You sound exhausted."
"Yes… Actually, that's why I called."
Her voice trembled slightly—fear slipping through despite her training as an actress.
"I wanted to ask… do you know a reliable detective?"
"A detective?"
"Mhm… Lately, it feels like someone has been following me. And… someone may have broken into my home."
A stalker. Illegal entry. Her unease resonated clearly.
"So I asked my agent for your number. I was hoping you could recommend a trustworthy detective."
"I understand." Haruki nodded. "In fact, I know a detective who will definitely help you wholeheartedly. I'll text you his address."
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