"All of it," I say firmly. "I want all of it gone."

The stylist nods as she cards her fingers through the lower half of my hair. "Any particular style you'd like, hun?"

I nod and take a picture out of my pocket. I hand it to her, and she studies it for a moment, I watch in the mirror as she looks at the picture and then at me and then at the picture. It's difficult not to laugh when she furrows her brow as she looks at the picture, probably wondering about the resemblance between myself and the person in the photo. Finally, she nods and puts the picture on her workstation.

"Alright, dear, follow me," she says as she heads over to the shampoo station. I hop out of my seat and follow her, somewhat giddy with anticipation at the prospect of a makeover.

I sit down in the chair she indicates and recline back, assisting her in putting my long hair into the sink, and she runs the water moments later. I close my eyes and relax as she combs my hair with her fingers, allowing the water to penetrate the thick barrier and soak the layers underneath. The gesture calms me, and I let myself to unwind further, feeling a lifetime's worth of stress gradually melt away with each passing of her fingers.

"All right everyone, I have your results from the last exam," said my teacher as she held up a stack of papers. Everyone else groaned but I was almost literally on the edge of my seat, I was finally going to get my answers.

She passed out the answer sheets, sprinkling words of encouragement to those whom failed and praising those who passed, smiling at each of them. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to go to her and demand my answer sheet before she came to my desk. Finally, she arrived. She looked at the sheet and then at me, hesitating for a moment before she placed it on my desk, offering me a shaky smile before she hastily went to the next desk. She didn't offer any words to me, her smile was far from genuine, and I could only imagine what horrible grade would make her break her pattern.

With trembling hands, I flipped over my paper and nearly fell out of my seat when I saw it. I got a perfect score. I passed. Without thinking I stood up, causing my chair to fall behind me, and the noise drew everyone's attention to me.

"Matsuda, is there something wrong?" asked my teacher, sounding a touch nervous.

I looked at her, my eyes wide and jaw slack. 'Yes, there is absolutely something wrong. You passed me when I failed, and I know I failed,' I thought as I stared at her, trying to find the right words to express my thoughts.

"I failed," I finally said, just barely audible to even myself.

My teacher looked puzzled. "What did you say, I couldn't hear you?"

"I said I failed!" I shouted as anger and frustration twisted in my gut. "I failed this test, and you still gave me a passing grade!"

She paled. "Wh . . . What do you mean? You passed, it's right there in black and white."

I pulled out my phone. "I took a picture of my answer sheet before I handed it in. I know exactly what it says and none of what I wrote is on this answer sheet."

She frowned and gave me a harsh look. "The use of technology during an exam is expressly prohibited, Matsuda, you of all—"

"That's what you took away from what I just said?!" I exclaimed, my voice just shy of an unacceptable volume. "I failed this exam on purpose, and I can prove it!" I looked at my answer sheet, and just as I thought, the correct answers are penned in, in what appears to be my handwriting. I snort. "You switched my answer sheet with one that has the correct answers. Very clever."

"Matsuda, I don't know what you're implying, but you need to take your seat and calm down," said my teacher, clearly grasping at straws in her attempt to regain control of the situation.

Instead of listening, I reached down and picked up my satchel. I stuffed my books, supplies, and papers into it and headed for the door. "No, I don't think I will," I said as I left.

Someone pats my cheek lightly. "Sorry to disturb you, but it's time to go back to my station," says the stylist kindly when I open my eyes. I didn't even realize I had fallen asleep in the first place.

"I'm sorry," I say bashfully as I sit up. She quickly wraps a towel around my wet hair and pins it together. "It was so relaxing; I couldn't resist."

She smiles at me as she helps me up. "It's alright, hun, everyone does it at some point."

We head back to her workstation, and I sit down in the chair while she ties a cape around my neck. I assist in straightening it out over my front, and she unpins the towel from my hair, allowing the sodden tresses to hang freely before she chops them off. She then starts combing my hair with a real comb, bringing it to ramrod straight perfection.

"So what made you decide to get that haircut?" she asks, gesturing at the picture of a man on her station.

I look at it and shrug. "I guess I just wanted a change."

She nods. "Fair enough. It's kinda funny how much you two look like each other, you related to the man?"

"Yeah," I say with a gentle smile. "He's my father."

I see the stylist smile wolfishly in the mirror. "He's handsome, is he single?"

A hollow chuckle escapes my lips. "He's dead."

The woman's face falls, and she assumes an expression that is probably reserved for funerals. "I'm sorry," she says, and I shrug.

"It's alright, I didn't know him, he died before I was born," I explain, although that doesn't completely erase the pity in her eyes, in fact, it seems to deepen it.

"Poor child," I hear her whisper as she starts to cut my hair.

I watch as the pieces flutter to the ground, landing on the white tile with a soft splash, water that escapes pools around the parts. It almost looks like they're crying like they're sad to be gone from my head and I'm a little sorry to let them go, they were part of me for so long, and now I'm gracelessly removing them. Excising them like they're a foreign and dangerous body. I only wish I could do the same for myself. Remove the sickening parts of my life and free myself from whatever hell I've discovered.

I felt numb. Completely, absolutely numb. How could this be true? How could I have missed it? I looked at my exam answers again and compared them back to the picture on my phone. There wasn't any doubt these were two different documents. I couldn't even begin to wrap my mind around it.

"Noriko," said Kira and I looked at him. I couldn't tell if he was concerned, but I didn't care one way or another. He probably found this whole situation funny. "Noriko, you shouldn't stand in the rain."

I looked up at the sky. Oh. It was raining. I hadn't noticed. Wait, where was I? A quick glance around told me an alleyway, one of the many that litter this city. Where exactly, I wasn't sure, there wasn't anything familiar or discernable. Wait, how did I even get here? I tried to remember, but there was nothing between my argument with my teacher and now. It was completely blank. I obviously left, but I didn't remember exactly how or when. I didn't even know how long I'd been standing here.

I looked back down at my answer sheet, now soaked from the rain. I didn't care; it didn't mean anything to me except proving a point I didn't want to see to fruition. I could almost laugh. Why did I expect it to be different? Considering all the evidence against me, why did I hope? Hadn't these past few weeks more than proved that nothing in my life is as I thought? I'm not as in control of my destiny as I always assumed. How pathetic. Some detective I'd be, I couldn't even figure out that outside forces controlled my every movement, that in reality, I was no more than a doll being directed without any say or knowledge. Even if I was aware of my strings, I couldn't do anything; I didn't know who to demand my freedom from, I didn't know what direction I was being moved in, I knew nothing.

That was probably why I thought nothing would happen with this exam. I was stupid enough to believe that my intelligence was something that couldn't be faked. Throughout my life, whenever things didn't go the way I wanted, I could always fall back on the fact that I could perform well in school. I was smart, the smartest kid in school and everyone knew that. Now that reassurance has been taken from me, too.

"Noriko, you should probably get home," said Kira, seemingly reaching out to me and I shrugged.

"I don't have a home," I said as I started walking in the direction of where I lived. "I don't have anything anymore."

Something touches my neck, and I jump slightly. The stylist jumps too and we look at each other, neither one of us speaks.

"Sorry, hun," she says gently, holding up her hands, there's a brush in one and a hairdryer in the other. "I was just going to blow dry your hair; I'm already done with the cut."

"I'm sorry," I say quietly. The smallest of smiles pull at my lips. "You must find me incredibly boring. I haven't really spoken to you."

The stylist shrugs. "Doesn't matter to me, so long as you don't complain about having short hair." She glances at the picture of Light again. It's the picture from his obituary, the only recent one I could find. "How'd your dad die? Illness? Accident?"

"He was murdered," I reply, and I see the pity in her eyes double. "He was murdered by a police officer."

Fear flashes in her eyes. "Why?"

"He was a mass murderer," I reply with a shrug, my voice barely above a whisper. "He was confronted and killed." I then reach up and unfasten the button behind my neck, releasing the cape. I pull it away and stand up. "I don't need my hair dried. It's raining outside anyway, so it'll just get wet again." I reach into my pocket and pull out my wallet. I count out what I assume I owe her plus tip and put it on her workstation before grabbing Light's picture. "Thank you for your time."

"You . . . You didn't even look at your hair," says the stylist gently, although she seems relieved to see that I'm leaving.

I shrug and stare into the mirror. The cut looks exactly like his if a little more feminine at the base. She didn't cut everything at the nape of my neck and left some covering it. I run my hand through it, watching as the shorter stands jump at the movement, it almost makes me smile.

"It looks good," I say, bowing to her. It's all I can manage these days. "Thank you again. I'm sure someone will be in touch with you in a couple of days to pay you to forget what I just said. Please, don't spend it stupidly."

The woman gapes at me as I head out of the salon. Eyes follow me as I leave and I don't even blink, I'm so used to being stared at and watched now, it doesn't even really register anymore. When I step outside, rain splatters on my head and shoulders, but it doesn't bother me; I don't even feel it. Kira is following close behind me, almost hovering, which is unusual. Usually, he stays a respectful distance from me; only close enough so we can hear each other speak. Now he's almost pressed up against my back. I shrug it off. He probably just doesn't like the rain. I recall he did this when I ended up in that alleyway. Maybe he's using my lifespan to keep himself dry. Someone should at least use it for something.

"I'm back," I say quietly as I enter the house. Silence greets me as I take off my shoes and jacket. I didn't expect anything different; I haven't seen much of them in the last few days. It seems to be deliberate on both ends. Even Koji has stopped speaking to me, or maybe that's how I rationalize it because I can't bring myself to talk to him anymore. I love him, he's my baby brother no matter what blood runs through our veins, but he shouldn't be near me. Especially after the other day, after he saw me like that. He probably sees me as a monster, and I'm glad, he needs to stay away from me. Everyone does.

I head upstairs to my room, my steps heavy and measured. They echo in the small space; a small reminder that I'm still attached to them, to this moment, that I'm still here. When I enter my room, I lock the door without even turning on the light and drop my bag haphazardly on my desk before going over to my bed where I fall. I bury my head in the pillow and put my back to the room.

"Noriko, aren't you going to do your homework?" asks Kira, sounding like he's on the other side of the room.

"No," I say half into the pillow. I'm a little curious as to his choice of conversation; he usually doesn't mention my homework or other responsibilities. Most of the time, he's content just to be quiet and make occasional talk about something of interest to him. My homework has never held any interest.

"What about cram school?" he presses. "Shouldn't you go?"

I shrug. Now he's acting a little strange. "What's the point?"

"You haven't been in a while, they're going to call," he argues, and again I shrug. Why does he care? If they call, they call, and I'm left to deal with the consequences.

"It doesn't matter," I say vaguely as I curl up, my back still to him. "Go find something else to entertain you; I'm too tired."

That doesn't sound like my daughter. I watch as she curls up on her bed, refusing to even acknowledge the world and I long to reach out to her, to reassure her that whatever she's feeling will pass. My heart aches as I watch her withdraw from the world, becoming a shell of a human, a shell of the person she used to be.

I watched her as she grew up, my only solace in death. She was a happy child, a cliché, but it applied greatly to her. She always seemed to be smiling about something or doing something that brought her joy. I enjoyed watching her learn how to play a song on the piano, watching as her eyes lit up when she mastered it enough to perform it all the way through without a break. I cheered for her during her first tennis match, my eyes glued to her and the way she moved across the course on sure footing. She didn't win, but it wasn't an easy loss, and she handled it well. I was so proud. I laughed when she and Koji would play Ping-Pong together, it was always entertaining and so full of sibling rivalry that it reminded me of my times playing games with Sayu. Koji reminds me a great deal of my little sister, especially when he's letting his competitive nature show.

Then I watched as Noriko played the piano less and less in favor of studying and perfecting her projects. The rare times she did play, she would only play one song and then be done, and oh how my heart sang when she played. I watched, as tennis became less about playing for fun and more about playing to win, how she pushed herself harder and harder each practice until she didn't make a single mistake. Her form flawless and her shots perfectly calculated. To the world, she appeared to be a stellar athlete, naturally gifted and unbeatable, but only I saw how she punished herself for falling short of perceived perfection. Only I saw the endless hours of practice she did at home in her backyard, cutting into the time she used to spend with Koji.

All of this I watched and let pass because I couldn't do anything about it. I was stuck on the other side just waiting, hoping for a chance to stand in front of her and tell her that it's okay not to be perfect. That it's okay not to achieve. That she doesn't have to try and prove a point to anyone. I wish Matsuda and his wife had never told her to keep her head down; they should've known it would just do the opposite, which may have been the intention all along. Now that we know Near was pulling strings and allowing her to succeed no matter what. The thought makes me sick.

Now I have her in front of me, hurting, crying out for help and I refuse to let that call go unanswered. I will not just sit and watch as my daughter retreats from the world, she needs to know that she is loved and wanted and the answer to someone's prayers, as blasphemous as they might be, those prayers were pure; at least when I uttered them.

"She's going to crack soon," says an unwelcome voice and I look up to see him standing in front of me. I hate him, with a deep burning passion. I hate what he made us. I hate what he's doing now. "Just another push and she'll be mine."

"She's stronger than you think," I say firmly, glaring at him as he turns to look down at me.

Kira smirks. "And you were weaker than you thought. All it took was two deaths. Two people died at your hand, and I was born." His smirk deepens. "I guess that makes you my father, Light, in a twisted perspective." He hums as he turns his head. "Does that mean Noriko is my sister? Or am I her father because we both created her out of our own desires? You longed for a child, and I longed for an heir. We got what we wanted in her. Well, I will, once she uses the book."

"And what makes you think that in her current frame of mind she'll use the book?" I demand as I rise to my knees. He keeps me chained to stay in control, to be the primary user of this body but he doesn't know I'm growing stronger and have been for seventeen years.

"She'll use it when I offer her the names of the people hurting her," he assures me, or himself, as he turns to look back at her. "She no longer cares about investigating anyone, now that her confidence in herself is completely shattered. She's just a shadow now, a being without purpose that used to serve one, looking for salvation. I'll deliver it to her. I will give her what she needs and then, she will be mine."

I try to launch myself from the wall when he says that, but my chains hold me fast, preventing me from moving more than a few feet. Not close enough to reach him. He's just out of reach like always, and I'm still held back, like always.

With an annoyed frown, Kira reaches over and slaps me hard in the face. "Impudent brat. No wonder she's so stubborn, with you for her father." He shoves me back onto the ground. "Learn your place, Light. You've had seventeen years to get used to being at my feet; I wouldn't aim for higher if I were you." He then kicks me in the stomach, hard. "And don't think I didn't notice you trying to talk to her. I didn't interfere because I need her to trust me and if it takes you to do that, then I'm prepared to let you have a moment with her but only a moment. Don't you dare try it again."

I glare at him, disgusted that we share the same form, that we were even at one time considered the same person. I was never him, not in the ways most think. When he took over, I was caged and unable to fight, the Death Note fueling his power and determination. He tried to destroy me but found he needed me; he needed to be like me enough to mask his true self, so he let me stay, and we formed an uneasy symbiotic relationship. He helped me, and I helped him, in doing so we both survived. It worked out well until he lost ownership of the Death Note.

Then I was free and in complete control of myself again. I couldn't remember much of when he was in control, but that didn't bother me as much as I thought it would, in fact, I was elated that I didn't have those memories. It meant I could start fresh. I could begin again. I could be anyone I wanted. I could be with anyone I wanted.

"Thinking of him again, Light?" asks Kira mockingly, a sneer on his lips. He looks terrifying like that. "Don't bother to deny it; I always know when he crosses your mind." He leans down and pats my head. "Don't worry your pretty little head, Light. You'll be with your precious detective just as soon as my agreement with the King is fulfilled. Until then, just sit back and be patient. Your eternity of nothing will come soon enough."

It doesn't even occur to him that my eternity might be his if this deal he's made doesn't go the way he's planning. He was arrogant and foolish to try and manipulate the Shinigami King, and it's starting to show. I can tell he's betting everything on Nori reaching her breaking point and begging for his help, but I can tell it won't come. She'll do something far more drastic before she even considers that option.

The night on the bridge wasn't the first time she thought of ending her life. She has a history, a dangerous pattern of becoming overwhelmed and feeling helpless. It happens to people like us, like her and I, people who want a more meaningful existence and feel it harder than others when we're knocked down. Her first attempt was when she was eleven before she found reprieve in tennis when her temper and other emotions were drowning her; she didn't follow through with it, didn't come close, but I nearly died when she held Matsuda's gun in her hand. Koji saved her; he knocked on her door and asked her to play. It was enough for her, to know that not everyone around her found her to be a burden or a nuisance. Koji earned my eternal gratitude that day.

I'm sure to an outsider; it would sound like she's more like her mother. Considering Misa wore her heart on her sleeve, it wouldn't be a bad assumption, but it would be wrong. Unfortunately, Nori is a great deal like me in many negative regards. She has my explosive temper, my predilection for making mischief when bored, and she's just as emotional. If I hadn't learned to hide and control my feelings when I was young, I would've lost my mind and blown my brains out long ago. I think it's part of being so intelligent; we're more aware of ourselves and situations and we just . . . Feel more than others. Until you learn to stem the tide, it's like swimming in a riptide with no hope of escape.

Noriko won't ever use the book. She's better than I was. She has no delusions of grandeur; she doesn't want to be anything other than herself, now more than ever. She just wants to feel whole and complete again; she wants things to go back to before she uncovered all of this and learned so much that made her doubt herself and the world. No, Noriko won't use the book to take down those who have wronged her, if she uses it, it'll be to take herself down.