[Damn it! Four bullets shattered my dream of becoming God!]
[But this time… God won't lose again!]
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Four sharp gunshots tore through the air—Touta Matsuda was the one pulling the trigger.
Light Yagami hit the ground hard, disbelief frozen in his eyes. That idiot—that idiot—actually dared to shoot him.
"God…" Teru Mikami's broken whisper echoed from not far away. He watched the scene unfold, eyes wide, voice trembling on the edge of collapse.
He couldn't accept it. His God—the supreme creator of the New World—couldn't fall like this, so pitifully, so human.
In one swift, desperate motion, Mikami yanked the pen from his pocket and drove it straight into his own heart.
The sudden act of suicide sent shock and chaos rippling through the task force's tight formation.
Just a few seconds—brief, but priceless.
Enough for Light Yagami.
Pain burned through his nerves, but he forced his body up, staggering to his feet. With a burst of willpower, he lunged toward the warehouse door.
Outside, dusk had fallen.
The sunset painted the sky a tragic shade of orange-red, the fading light draping over the world like a funeral song.
The God of the New World was facing his end. Light had never looked so desperate—dragging his wounded body, he ran, unwilling to fall, as the shadows of death closed in behind him.
But this wasn't where a god was meant to die.
As the darkness crept closer, memories flickered uncontrollably through his mind: carefree childhood days, his warm family, the stern yet loving gaze of Soichiro Yagami, his mother Sachiko's gentle smile, his sister Sayu's innocent laughter... fragments of a time untouched by the Death Note—pure, ordinary moments.
One by one, the images shattered and faded, leaving only the road ahead—narrow, bleak, and final.
He stumbled, fell to his knees, and collapsed against a cold concrete step. His fingers twitched once, then went still.
"Heh... heh heh heh..."
A low chuckle echoed from the top of the tower. Ryuk sat perched there, wings folded, his red eyes glowing faintly in the twilight.
"I told you, Light," the Shinigami said in his flat, eerie voice. "I'll be the one to write your name."
He pulled out the Death Note and a pen, licking his sharp teeth before flipping to a blank page. With slow, deliberate strokes, he wrote:
Light Yagami.
The name settled on the paper—clear, final.
The warehouse, Ryuk, the darkening sky—all blurred together in Light's fading vision. For one fleeting instant, he thought he saw L crouched in the distance, those calm black eyes watching him, as if he'd known it would end this way all along.
Light's eyes finally closed.
---
Darkness.
Then—light.
He gasped and opened his eyes.
No pain.
He was sitting upright at his desk, back straight, hands resting neatly before him. The computer screen glowed, displaying unfinished homework.
He froze.
The warm glow of the desk lamp washed gently over the room. Outside, it was night. The only sounds were the soft hum of his computer and his uneven breathing.
This wasn't the warehouse. Not the stairs. This was his bedroom.
The year—2003. Just another ordinary night.
He raised his hand. Long, clean fingers. He pressed a palm to his chest—unmarked skin under his uniform, heartbeat fast and strong.
His gaze snapped to the corner of the screen.
[October XX, 2003]
His breath hitched.
He yanked open the drawer.
There it was.
The black notebook lay silently among his school supplies, "DEATH NOTE" engraved across its cover.
He picked it up. The leather was cool under his fingertips, heavy—like fate itself.
It was real. All of it was real.
Light clutched the notebook tightly, trembling.
Failed? Ended?
No.
Not yet.
He lifted his head, the confusion in his eyes melting away, replaced by something else—loss, death, and a mad, burning resolve to begin again.
The reflection in the window showed a young, pale face—and eyes reignited with fire.
"…I won't lose again."