The Death Note sat open like a confession booth, and Squidward had stopped pretending he didn't enjoy its presence.
The guilt, the doubt, the shame—they hadn't left. But now, he'd decided they weren't signs of moral clarity. They were signs of hesitation. Weakness.
And weakness, he realized, was just another form of vanity.
"I'm tired of punishing myself," he muttered, scribbling a name with elegant, inky flair. "It's time I start punishing the world."
He stepped out into the daylight. Not just out of his house—he stepped into town, center stage, center street, under the bright watery sun. In the intersection of Conch and Coral.
Gone were the bloodshot eyes and sunken posture. Today, he walked tall. Chin up. Back straight. Clarinet polished and slung over his shoulder like a saber.
At the busy intersection, a crowds of pedestrians went about their way past a large, decorative fountain. Sometimes, there were buskers playing instruments there. At other times, it's where the Mayor would make announcements. Today, it would the stage for something else.
Squidward climbed the coral steps of the old fountain.
He didn't need a microphone. He had something louder.
"Citizens of Bikini Bottom," he began, "You've known me as a cashier. An artist. A clarinetist unappreciated in his own lifetime."
The legions of pedestrians stopped to glance up the octopus. Someone in the crowd coughed, "Boo."
"I stand before you today to tell you that the days of crime, chaos, and random death are over."
More laughter.
"I—Squidward Q. Tentacles—am your new protector."
At that, the crowd exploded with mocking ridicule.
"You?" someone shouted. "Aren't you just the guy that rings people at the Krusty Krab?"
"Don't you yell at teenagers over spilt mayo?!"
"What are you, like, forty?"
Squidward smiled serenely. "As I said, you might only know me as a mere cashier. Today, I announce to you that I am something different."
At the edge of the gathering, Perch Perkins stood with a mic in one fin and a cameraman to his side. He was halfway through a breaking news segment.
"This just in," he said smugly, "Local loser cashier develops mid-life crisis, publicly declares himself 'hero.' More at eleven."
Squidward turned slowly. "Perch Perkins."
Perch blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I just want to warn you," Squidward said, voice calm, "Stay far away from reef blowers today. Maybe take the day off."
A pause.
Then Perch howled with laughter. "Oh wow! Guys, he thinks he can see the future now!" He turned to the audience, fully playing to the camera. "Should I be worried, folks? Is a leaf blower coming to assassinate me?"
More laughter.
Across the street, a city worker was using a reef blower to clear coral dust off the road. It hissed loudly, roaring over the sound of passing cars.
"Watch this," Perch said, cocky grin wide, and strolled dramatically in its direction.
Squidward checked his watch.
Lurala appeared above him, licking her teeth. "Squiddy…were you holding out on me? What have you done?"
Squidward held up a tentacle to silence her and pointed back at the reporter.
Perch walked past the worker. Then again. Then, for maximum drama, began pretending to struggle in the generated wind like it was blowing him away. The crowd chuckled.
The worker looked up for a moment, distracted by the commotion.
His flipper hit the switch. The switch that engaged "reverse mode".
The reef blower howled with suction. Perch blinked.
There was a moment of stillness.
Then:
FWUUUUMMMMMMMM
The hose lashed like a viper. It latched to Perch Perkins' face with a sickening THOOP, and in the next two seconds, it sucked. Not air. Not leaves. But everything.
Organs. Bones. Eyes.
Perch screamed once—shrilly, desperately—and then it stopped.
What hit the pavement wasn't a man. It was a skin suit.
Blood and viscera painted the plaza. A few fish fainted. A child vomited. The reef blower gagged and smoked before exploding.
Silence.
Everyone turned to Squidward.
He remained standing at the center, unmoved.
He didn't even blink.
Finally, one fish—mouth agape—whispered, "He knew."
Another stammered, "He… he warned him!"
A third: "That could have been any one of us…Perch would still be alive if he heeded his warnings!"
The crowd swiveled, their jeers twisted into awe.
A cheer broke out. Then another. Then full-blown applause.
"Hero!"
"Protector!"
"Visionary!"
Lurala hovered beside him, eyes glittering.
"You know, when you were scribbling names in your bedroom, I wondered who it was going to be."
She flicked undead gunk off her fingernail.
"But I didn't expect this. You're fun again."
Squidward nodded faintly.
Perch Perkins. Cause of death: malfunctioning reef blower.
And now they worshiped him.
For the first time in his life, Squidward was respected.
Feared.
Adored.
And it was only the beginning.