---
The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of paper.
Near sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by files stacked in uneven towers. A single binder lay open in front of him. Its label was simple:
KIRA CASE — CLOSED
He adjusted the sleeves of his white pajamas and turned the page.
Photographs.
Timelines.
Names circled in red.
Near paused at one.
"Light Yagami," he read aloud.
He flipped further.
Arrest records.
Interrogation summaries.
Medical reports.
The final page was brief.
Subject deceased in custody. Case formally concluded by L.
Near stared at the line longer than the others.
Footsteps approached. The door opened.
Roger stood in the doorway. "Still reading?"
"Yes," Near replied without looking up.
"That case was finished before you were brought here," Roger said. "You don't need to—"
"I know," Near said. "But it's incomplete."
Roger raised an eyebrow. "It says closed."
Near turned another page. "Closed is not the same as understood."
He reached a section marked L — FINAL ASSESSMENT. Most of it was redacted.
Only one sentence remained untouched.
> The danger was not the notebook, but the belief that justice required a single hand.
Near read it once. Then again.
Roger crossed his arms. "What do you think?"
Near gathered a small white cube from the floor and placed it on top of another.
"I think," he said, "that L solved the case."
Roger nodded. "And?"
Near added another cube. The structure leaned slightly.
"And I think," he continued, "that if L had been wrong… the world would look very different."
Roger watched the tower. "Do you admire him?"
Near looked down at the file.
"I respect his conclusion," he said. "Not his method."
He closed the binder carefully.
On the cover, the word KIRA looked smaller than it should have.
Near set the file aside and stood.
"Roger," he said, "how old was Light Yagami when he died?"
"Thirty-nine," Roger answered.
Near nodded once. "That means," he said, "he lived long enough to see the world continue without him."
Roger was silent.
Near returned to the floor, rearranging his blocks into a new shape.
"L didn't win by surviving," Near said calmly. "He won by ending the idea."
Roger smiled faintly.
As the lights dimmed for the evening, the closed case file remained untouched on the table—
Read, understood, and quietly set aside by someone who would never need to reopen it.
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