In the days that followed, Haruki settled into a deceptive calm.
There was no immediate task, no specific directive. His routine became one of methodical preparation: honing his skills at the Organization's training facilities and conducting his own, private experiments with the Death Note.
Yet, paradoxically, his public profile grew exponentially.
Fans captivated by his appearance, readers drawn to the intricate puzzles in his novels—the momentum from the Mihua TV broadcast, compounded by Yoko Okino's public gratitude and the subtle, dual-engine push from his publisher and the Organization, had propelled him into a minor celebrity. Going out now occasionally warranted autograph requests.
"Are you truly certain about becoming a detective?" Eri Kisaki asked him one morning, a note of concern threading her typically composed voice. "Haruki, your reputation and income as a novelist are already substantial. There's no need to venture into this."
Her words were careful, not a dismissal of the profession, but a protective instinct. This sudden, blazing popularity worried her. Adoration was a fickle currency, and the higher the pedestal, the harder the fall. She'd seen it too often in her legal career: bright new stars extinguished by the first stumble, the media's darling becoming its scapegoat in a vicious, market-driven turn.
"Aunt Eri, I understand your concerns," Haruki replied, his gaze steady.
"Is that so?"
"I won't deny I enjoy the admiration," he admitted, a warm, confident light glowing in his strikingly handsome eyes. "But even if public opinion were to reverse overnight, it wouldn't shake me. My confidence isn't built on their praise. That's precisely why I want to try this—as a detective, I can expose cunning criminals or help the wrongly accused. I find that… meaningful."
Sunlight streamed through the window, catching the earnest conviction on his face. Eri Kisaki felt a corner of her heart soften.
She let out a soft sigh, as if relinquishing her worry. "You're always so composed, Haruki."
"I try my best not to be a source of worry for you."
"You…"
She was momentarily at a loss for words, but then, mirroring his expression, a graceful smile touched her lips. "Get ready. I'm going to change."
"Alright."
It was Eri's rare day off, and she was in the mood for an outing.
She emerged shortly, transformed. The beautiful lawyer had dressed with elegant precision. Her chestnut hair was swept up in a chic style. She wore a white camisole beneath a perfectly fitted gray shirt that accentuated her curves, paired with a black pencil skirt and stockings that showcased her long, shapely legs.
"How do I look?"
"Stunning, Aunt Eri."
"Heh, otherwise I wouldn't dare be seen out with you," she teased with a graceful smile. Her makeup accentuated her eyes, adding a touch of alluring charm that spoke of a mature, confident woman in her prime.
"Don't say things like that."
"It's true. It's a shame Ran is in school and can't join us."
Eri leaned against the wall by the entrance, slipping on her heels. "Teitan High lets out fairly early. We could pick her up afterward?"
"We'll see."
Keys in hand, she waited for him by the door.
Downstairs, Eri took the wheel of her Mini Cooper—the driver's seat was a tight fit for Haruki's frame.
As she navigated out of the garage, she asked, "Shall we get something to eat first?"
"Breakfast… How about McDonald's?"
"Why are you so fond of that?"
"…Because it's genuinely good," Haruki replied, his voice softening slightly, a hint of boyish embarrassment peeking through.
Eri glanced over, her moist lips curving into an amused smile at his tone. She shook her head fondly and turned the car towards the familiar golden arches.
This child always projected such reliability, yet these occasional glimpses of a more boyish side were… endearing.
"Alright, let's go. It has been a while for me, too."
"Sounds good."
"After that, we can head to the department store. I need to restock the pantry… and perhaps browse some clothes? You're something of a public figure now, Haruki. Your image matters."
"I'll follow your lead. There's a bank near that mall; I need to withdraw some cash."
A society without ubiquitous mobile payments was tedious, a constant dance of cards and bills. His editor, Asamiya, had mentioned yesterday that last quarter's royalties had been deposited. Haruki needed to verify the amount at the ATM.
But had a whole quarter already passed? The thought struck him as belated, and he instinctively pulled out his phone to check the date.
A single glance made him freeze.
"Is today… April 13th?"
"Yes? Why?"
"But yesterday wasn't…?" Seeing Eri's puzzled expression, he decided to let it go for now.
Conan Edogawa…
It seemed that ever since that boy had shrunk, time itself had begun to fracture. He'd known, intellectually, about this world's erratic timeline, but experiencing it firsthand—where yesterday was clearly April 2nd and today was suddenly the 13th—was profoundly disorienting.
Even more surreal was the fact that, despite this temporal leap, the date Gin had designated as "next Friday" had, by some warped logic, now arrived.
A chill, unrelated to the car's climate control, traced his spine. Good thing I checked. Standing up Gin was not an option with acceptable consequences.
From now on, checking the date would have to be a rigid morning ritual.
Another, more critical question surfaced: would these temporal distortions affect the Death Note's functionality?
---
*Later, a separate scene:*
"The human whose name is written in this note shall die."
"What a preposterously unscientific notion."
"If it were true, you could rule the entire world."
"You think so too, Mr. Gin?"
"Oh, and would you mind writing your name for me?"
"Use your real name."
---
Those with the resolve to command their own destiny can command the destinies of others.
Closing the black notebook with a soft thud, Haruki turned a gentle smile toward the petite, silver-haired girl whose world had just been upended.
"So, will you entrust your life to me, Shiho Miyano?"
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