Firstly, the elderly, white linen suit and straw boater-wearing British gentleman standing in front of him was praising every merit listed on the extensive resume Light had sent two days prior.
Secondly, the offices of this camp were housed in a massive structure of woodsy elegance and grandeur that suited Light's vision of camping exactly. Besides, a camp that boasted training in falconry wouldn't send its tender, rich wards off into the wild housed in measly little shacks to be barraged by beasts, would they? They would not.
Thirdly, they had pleaded a desperate need for someone with Light's intelligence, physical stamina, and inherent charisma. And they were willing to pay him a half million pounds for three months to do what simply came natural.
Yes, Light thought as he shook the gentleman's hand and thanked him, this is no short of perfect.
Yet Light had no idea what was in store as he stood in his sensible camping shoes, khaki cargoes, and violently blue polo at the entrance of a building he assumed was his private quarters. He'd been ordered here by the elderly British gentleman to meet the counselor who would train him. Said counselor needed a partner in order to manage his charges as they were becoming emotionally and physically taxing (Oh, the lies Light had eaten!). Rather than take a break and show a laxity in dedication the counselor requested help. And Light was giddy to help.
He'd rightly assumed that Wammy's Sleepaway-Camp was much, much more than the frolics and rainbows its name implied. A camp that had claimed existence for seventy years that went unlisted in every index of summer camps, that hadn't registered with the Association of British Sleepaway Camps but with governmental authorities in no less than one hundred and three countries was hiding something. Light wanted to discover the something and exploit it until it was an empty husk, only good enough for rubbish.
Which is why he had to make an excellent impression on the person exiting Light's quarters.
And suddenly, in a moment Light could have never prepared for, Light's imagined ideal of what a trainer at a secret camp for spies or detectives or world leaders was shattered.
Standing above him on the steps, almost huddled into the doorframe, was a personage who may have been the same age as himself, or older, or younger. He couldn't quite tell. But Light had expected a uniform. He'd expected a shiny zeal and confidence that matched his own. He'd expected a person who scrubbed their face with wholesomeness in the morning before settling down to a breakfast of zesty love-of-life.
Instead—messy hair the color of pitch. A thin white undershirt and loose jeans. A blank expression devoid of any emotion excepting an almost-mocking glint in his eyes, but Light hardly caught that in lieu of the smokey smudges insomnia had drawn beneath them.
Bare. Feet.
"May I help you?" The creature shifted on the steps and Light noticed an infinitesimal stain on his collar. Disgusting. Light wiggled his toes and wondered if this was an errant camper forced to give the new staff member the grand tour. Most likely. But no matter—first impressions were first impressions, so he bounded up the steps with an outstretched hand.
"Hi, I'm Light Yagami. I was supposed to meet a counselor here to be given a tour of the camp. Do you know where he is?"
L almost laughed. Light was immaculate. Toffee-colored bangs brushed from his eyes, back erect, manner utterly confident as he shifted his weight to one foot and waited for a return gesture of welcome.
It was not forthcoming.
Instead, L pulled a bag of gumdrops from his pocket. "Why did you assume I wouldn't be the person you were seeking?"
A muscle in Light's temple quirked and the hand returned to his side, fisted. "I–are you?"
"Yes," was the rather anticlimactic reply. "Shall I give you the tour, then?" The counselor fished out a red gumdrop and popped it into his mouth before sliding past Light, who had no choice but to follow.
Stalling for time while Wammy prepared himself, L led Light through the parts of the main building the latter had never seen (nor would he ever see again, but that was a trifling matter, and this thought amused L as he noted Light obediently memorizing rooms and faces and activities with dedicated vigor). The other counselors, Light was noticing with a sneer, wore matching shirts stamped with Wammy's logo in bright comforting colors. And, it seemed, every one of them stared after his companion with envy, awe, or both entwined in their vacant eyes. The mystery of this idolization was sliced apart inches further when Light was shown a veritable water park. L dipped a dirty toe in the wave pool as he explained to Light the need for physical activity to stimulate young minds in a toneless sort of voice that suggested total boredom.
"L!" screamed a voice from the far end of the pool. The shout was taken up by every child in the vicinity, and L's skinny ankles were clutched in pure hero-worship as kids swarmed him like bees around their queen. A bit too much shoving, a tad too much tugging, and L fell into the pool on a heap of children screeching with joy.
Light seized the opportunity at once.
A young girl no taller than his waist stood next to him looking unsure of herself, as if she didn't know whether to jump in and join the mad frenzy of bodies or spare herself the danger of drowning. He poked this wunderkind on the shoulder. (At this point L managed to wiggle free and escape without a single pause to see how Light was faring.)
Asked the curious Light, "Who's L?"
She stared it him with a blush, rubbing where he'd touched. "That's a stupid question. L's the best." She was frowning up at him, annoyed now.
"At what?"
The girl, who's name was Edwidge, and who will never again appear in this story, thought. He was either stupid or L had told him nothing. If the latter, there had been reasoning she wouldn't try to match. So she became vague. "At everything. The best ever. Who are you?"
"I'm a counselor."
"Your shirt is a really pretty blue."
"Thank you," Light said through gritted teeth. "What do you mean by ever?"
Then Light tensed as a counselor-with-a-uniform suddenly appeared at his side, blank eyes reminiscent of something dead. "L requests your presence in the men's shower room," quipped this person. "I'll lead you." Claws descended upon Light's arm, and the teenager was drug away from Edwidge and hauled off towards the south end of the pool with all the ceremony of disposing of an especially odorous bag of refuse. The counselor thrust their prize through a door, and there was L, fully clothed and dripping.
L's eyes widened slightly before he ripped off his sopping shirt and threw it at the wall. "Hurts, doesn't it?"
"Pardon?"
"Not having the answer."
"Who are you?"
"What you were told." L stepped out of his shorts.
"You don't know–"
"The best." His hands went for his boxers.
Light fumed as he politely gazed upward. "Did you train them to say that?"
"What do you think?"
Light heard a zipper being tugged shut and finally snapped his head down to glare at his tormentor properly. "No. It's never what I think, it's what I know. This isn't a summer camp. You're training a secret army to shove into government positions or something. The kids in that craft room were quoting Marx in the original German. Just the power..." He swallowed hard, eyes growing dim as he fantasized. "You...you've..." Light faltered.
L's thumb hovered over his bottom lip, marring the smirk that was disturbing Light. "Go on."
"The way the kids worship you and the other counselors look at you like you're the best they've got means you're the smartest here or have already...done things and they respect you," he finished lamely.
Yes, that must have been bitter to swallow. Light's own starry path had left a wake of admirers and for the first time he wasn't the center of attention, hadn't been the one turning heads or drawing out whispers. It must have been annoying in the extreme to be so obviously looked over, the irritant of it itching under the excitement of his new position.
"I'm guessing they reserve you to train the best children," was the brilliant brat's next theory.
"And?"
"I'm second best."
L shoved his hands in his pockets, but there was no bag of candy to wrap one hand around. "Why?"
"I'm working directly under the best." He did not hide the sarcasm.
"Perhaps I've chosen to keep a closer eye on you that way." L kicked the other parts of his wardrobe over to join the shirt. He'd changed into the exact same ensemble. At least this shirt looked cleaner.
"Then why give me authority?"
"When did you ever have authority?"
Light blinked, wondering how he could even ask so idiotic a question. "Since I was hired. I read my contract. I have joint charge with you over several–"
"The paragraph before that, Yagami."
"I'm your subordinate."
"Yes, which means if I tell you to sit on your hands in a corner the entire time and if you move one finger you're under breach of contract."
"But you wouldn't because the expense of hiring me would be wasted."
Did he really consider himself so valuable that he was taking L seriously? This was fascinating. "Why is it automatically an expense?"
Light choked down a bubble of rage. "It wouldn't be just monetary. You'd be wasting me. You should exploit me."
Deciding that any more of this earnest narcissism would make him gag, L shambled over until the two were no more than a few inches apart. He flicked the upturned corner of Light's collar before murmuring, "But how much exploitation can you take?"
Light gaped.
L regretted his impulsiveness; Wammy was going to have a fit if his newest treasure was marred by suggestive threats after barely two hours. But as if to spare Light everything L's expression was implying, a uniformed counselor appeared in the doorway.
"The Aston is waiting, L."
"Good," said L, eyes never leaving Light. "It's time to drive to the campsite."
"I thought this was the campsite." The word campsite reeked of fires in pits and gathering wood. It suggested tents made of nothing but thin nylon and sleeping inside human-sized mesh pockets. Campsite was closely linked to bugs, smoke, discomfort.
The over-chipper counselor had the nerve to titter. L ignored her. "No. We will be immersed in activities illegal in most countries and have found it best to conduct them in places people don't think exist. Those satellite maps you looked at were faked."
Had Light not felt defeated he may have replied with something witty and scathing. Instead, he chose to follow L.
It was half a million pounds. It would be worth it.