The pain didn't come immediately.
Death crept in like a whisper, not the cinematic flash of life's greatest moments, not the triumphant speech he deserved. It was only a cold, quiet unraveling.
Light Yagami lay on the warehouse floor, breath ragged, vision narrowing. The smell of blood mingled with dust in the air, each heartbeat slower than the last.
The moment replayed in jagged fragments: Mikami's trembling hands flipping the Death Note too soon, Near's smug voice announcing victory, Matsuda's gun spitting fire.
And above it all, Ryuk's voice came, casual, almost bored.
"It's been fun, Light… but I told you. When your time comes, I write your name."
The scratch of pen on paper was louder than the gunshots.
Light's chest seized, a crushing weight forcing the last of the air from his lungs. Failure sank its claws into him, deeper than any wound. Every perfect calculation, every godlike move, undone.
'No… I'm not… done…'
The darkness came, swallowing him not like a void but like an eraser scraping his existence from the page.
And then it was gone.
…
He opened his eyes.
Light blinked against the sudden brightness. He was no longer in the warehouse. No Near. No Mikami. No guns.
The faint hum of traffic drifted through the window beside him. The familiar desk in his room stood exactly where it always had. His untouched cup of coffee rested nearby. His wristwatch blinked softly.
11:39 a.m.
He sat up slowly. The Death Note lay on his desk exactly where it had been yesterday. His fingers closed around it, feeling its familiar weight. The pages were intact. Every name was still there.
He froze, the truth seeping in like ice water. This was not yesterday. This was today, only earlier. Exactly twenty four hours before the moment of his death.
Light leaned back in his chair, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.
How?
Had Ryuk made a mistake?
Had some other shinigami intervened?
Or had the rules of life and death themselves bent to his will?
The thought sent a slow, satisfying chill down his spine.
No… it wasn't luck. It wasn't mercy. It wasn't chance.
It was because he was Light Yagami.
It was because he was Kira.
It was because he was a god.
Even death itself could not hold him. The world, the laws, even time, everything bowed to his will.
Light's smile widened, becoming something cold and sharp.
Now he had twenty four hours. Twenty four hours to prevent Mikami's blunder.
Twenty four hours to crush Near before the trap could be sprung.
He knew every step Near would take, every word, every move the task force would make.
Even Mikami's fatal mistake, the bank visit, the premature writing of names.
All he needed was to change one thing.
One thread in Near's perfect trap, pulled quietly enough to bring the whole structure crashing down.
He ran his fingers along the notebook's cover, his reflection staring back in the polished black.
"You think you've won, Near," he murmured. "But now I've already seen the ending."
The watch read 11:41 a.m. Twenty four hours to rewrite fate. Twenty four hours to kill Near first.
Light sat perfectly still, the Death Note resting on his desk like a sacred text.
The seconds ticked by, his mind slicing through the next twenty four hours as if they were already carved in stone.
He needed to be certain this was real, not a fever dream born of death's final moments.
His gaze shifted to the digital clock on his desk. 11:45 a.m.
In exactly fifteen seconds, a delivery truck outside would stall at the intersection, its horn blaring twice before the driver cursed under his breath.
Ten… nine… eight…
Right on cue came two blasts, followed by the muffled curse. Light allowed himself the faintest smirk.
Yes. This was reality.
Which meant Mikami already had his orders.
They had been perfect in theory.
He would come to the appointed meeting and write the names of everyone present except Light into the real Death Note. That was all.
But Mikami's fatal flaw was his predictability. Blind devotion was an asset only when it didn't hand your enemy the script. Near had counted on it and won.
Light's jaw tightened.
At 1:00 p.m. today, Mikami would go to the bank before the meeting.
He would write the names in advance, revealing the real Death Note to Near's people. They would swap it for a fake. And the end would come.
This was the hinge. The single deviation that had destroyed everything.
Now, Light would force that hinge to hold.
He could not contact Mikami directly, that would risk suspicion. Instead, he would send the message in a way Mikami would see as divine providence, not human interference.
Light opened the Death Note to a fresh page.
His memory sifted through the crowd of Kira supporters until it found the right pawn, a man who had once met Mikami at a rally, forgettable but loyal.
His pen moved with surgical precision, forming the name and instructions:
Encounters Teru Mikami at 12:52 p.m., delivering the message "Judgment must be delayed until nightfall." Collapses moments later from heart failure.
It was perfect. The words would lodge in Mikami's mind as a direct sign from Kira himself, aligning with his religious zeal while subtly replacing Light's original timing with a safer window.
Light closed the notebook. The change was planted, invisible to Near, irreversible to Mikami.
He leaned back, glancing at the clock. 11:51 a.m.
Every movement from here on had to match his previous self, same tone, same confidence, same arrogance, until Near was too deep into the altered game to crawl out.
This was no longer the story Near thought he was reading.
This was a new scripture. And Light Yagami was writing it.