The black van slid to a stop outside the abandoned warehouse.
Light Yagami sat in the back, his reflection staring back from the tinted glass.
The faint vibration of the idling engine hummed through his bones.
Around him, the Task Force sat in tense silence, their eyes fixed forward, faces unreadable.
Outside, the winter sky was a sheet of steel, clouds thick and low, pressing down on the earth like a lid.
Aizawa broke the silence.
"Light… are you ready?"
Light didn't answer immediately.
He looked up from his hands, a small, polite smile touching his lips.
"Of course."
The back doors swung open. Cold air rushed in, sharp and biting.
Light stepped down, his shoes crunching on frost-stiffened gravel.
Ahead, the warehouse loomed like a giant carcass — rusted steel, shattered windows, the bones of a place that had once been alive.
Ryuk floated just behind him, invisible to everyone else, a thin grin stretched across his face.
"This is it, huh? The big finish."
His voice was almost sing-song.
Light didn't glance at him. "No. This is the new beginning."
Inside, the warehouse was a tomb of shadows and echoes.
Near sat at the far end of the room at a long metal table, white puzzle pieces scattered before him like a snowdrift.
The SPK flanked him, silent and armed.
Rows of mounted cameras recorded everything — every twitch of an eyebrow, every shift in breath.
The feed was live, piped to government offices, law enforcement agencies, and unseen eyes around the world.
Light knew it.
He counted on it.
"Light Yagami."
Near's voice was calm, almost bored. "I suppose you already know how this will end."
Light walked forward with unhurried steps, the click of his shoes ringing in the hollow air. "I do. That's why I'm here."
Near's gaze didn't leave him. "Then you must also know you've already lost. Every move, every word… I've accounted for them all. The notebook in Mikami's possession is a fake. The moment he acts, your mask will fall."
Light smiled faintly, tilting his head. "You sound very sure of yourself."
"I am." Near's fingers toyed with a puzzle piece, turning it over slowly. "It's inevitable. I already have every piece of the truth. I'm just watching it fall into place."
Light studied him for a long, silent moment.
In the original timeline, this was the part where he had pretended to laugh in disbelief before Near revealed his evidence. Where his world collapsed in on itself.
But not this time.
This time, he held the winning piece.
Mikami, halfway across the city, would still play his part — but the real notebook wasn't in his hands.
It was in Light's. And no one here suspected it.
Light took a slow breath, feeling the weight of the Death Note in his briefcase. His fingers tingled with anticipation. The plan was simple, brutal and final.
Near's death, right here, on camera.
And no one able to prove a thing.
Ryuk drifted to his side, eyes bright with mischief. "You're gonna do it now, huh? I can feel it. Ohhh, this is gonna be good."
Light's lips barely moved. "You'll want to watch closely."
The conversation between Near and the Task Force wound on — Near explaining his deductions, Matsuda shifting nervously, Aizawa keeping his eyes sharp.
It was all noise to Light now. His focus tunneled on Near's pale face, the boy's eyes gleaming with a quiet certainty that would be snuffed out in seconds.
Light reached down, almost casually, and unclasped the briefcase.
No one noticed.
The Death Note slid into his hand like an old friend.
His pen followed, smooth and ready.
Near kept speaking. "Even if you deny it now, the evidence will speak for itself. This is your end, Light Yagami."
Light's voice was a whisper. "No. This is yours."
The pen touched paper.
Light wrote each letter with precision.
Nate River.
Time seemed to thicken, sound stretching like syrup.
Near's voice faltered midsentence.
His pupils dilated, just slightly.
A single puzzle piece slipped from his fingers and landed on the table with a tiny click.
Then another.
His breathing hitched.
"What's wrong?" Gevanni's voice cut the air.
Near's eyes widened — not in fear, but in dawning realization.
He turned toward Light, lips parting as if to speak.
But the words never came.
His body slumped forward, scattering the pieces across the table.
The cameras caught everything — the way his head hit the steel with a hollow thud, the slow, unnatural stillness that followed.
In the Task Force's eyes, shock bloomed.
Matsuda stood up so fast his chair clattered to the floor.
"Near?! What the hell—"
Aizawa's gaze snapped to Light — but Light's face was a mask of confusion, mirroring theirs perfectly.
Across the world, in hidden rooms and government offices, gasps erupted.
The feed carried every second — the fall of the prodigy detective, the boy who had been L's heir.
Nations that had once cooperated with him now sat in stunned silence.
No one knew what had just happened.
But everyone knew who was gone.
Light straightened slowly, letting the weight of the moment settle over him.
His heart pounded, but not from fear. It was exhilaration — pure and sharp.
The god of the new world had just struck down his last great rival.
And he had done it in front of the entire world without a single thread tying it to him.
Ryuk chuckled behind him, low and pleased.
"Oh, man… you really pulled it off. That look on his face before he dropped — priceless."
Light didn't respond. He let his eyes sweep over the room, watching confusion curdle into panic, watching the realization ripple outward like a shockwave.
Then —
A sound.
A soft, wet, tearing sound.
Everyone froze.
Near's body twitched. Once. Twice.
Then, slowly, impossibly, it pushed itself upright.
The air in the warehouse seemed to curdle.
The cameras kept rolling as the skin at the edges of Near's face seemed to… shift.
His features warped, blurring, the pale hair darkening, the eyes sharpening into something colder, older.
By the time he stood fully, the boy genius was gone.
In his place was a tall man in a white shirt and jeans, dark hair hanging in untamed strands, hands buried in his pockets.
Light's breath caught.
Ryuzaki.
L.
The Task Force froze. Matsuda's mouth worked soundlessly.
The man looked at Light and smiled faintly.
It wasn't warm. It was… knowing.
"Well," L said, his voice exactly as Light remembered, "it seems my bet paid off."
Light's grip on the Death Note tightened. "…Bet?"
L's gaze flicked downward, and for the first time Light noticed the black notebook in his hand — but it wasn't the Death Note.
The cover read: Mind Note.
"I wondered," L continued, "if my death could be reversed… if the right precautions were taken." He tilted his head, eyes half-lidded, studying Light as if they were back in that cramped investigation room years ago. "This… was the result."
Ryuk let out a low whistle. "Well, that's new."
L took a step closer, and Light realized with a cold twist in his gut — this wasn't Near anymore.
This wasn't the boy he had just killed.
This was the original L, reborn, holding something that felt wrong in a way even the Death Note didn't.
The air between them thickened.
Light's victory, just seconds old, was already slipping through his fingers.
L's eyes glittered. "Shall we continue our game, Light-kun?"
End of Chapter Three.