CHAPTER 1: THE GOLDEN CHILD


Once upon a time, there was a boy who wanted to change the world一and who did so, from the warm comforts of his own bedroom.

He rid the world of vermin and scum. He created a utopia where good men could flourish and bad men would go to hell. He was seen as a god in a world he'd shaped, paved, and breathed into existence from sheer will and incredible wits. He was a high-school graduate with strong prospects of being a detective, but in the darkness, in the shadows of his room, he also sought justice through peculiar, supernatural means.

His name was unimportant, a mark of his simple, common humanity; what was important was that he was Kira, a great symbol of justice and rightness.

As time wore on, his labels didn't matter to him. For in the end, whether he was called "god" or "murderer," it all meant one thing: he was an immortal force, out to secure his reign over a new world, where his justice was law一where villains died. Where innocents could walk the alleyways at night-time without fear of brutality and criminality.

Some may call his methods callous, but justice was just that: rough and punishing.

This boy became a god at the prime age of seventeen.

And for six long, peaceful years, the boy reigned.

But even the greatest civilizations crumble, and although the boy was prodigious and powerful, his world was just that: another empire of history, made by a cocky human.

He fell alongside his creation, and the world eventually got back to its feet, slowly and arduously, moving on from the terror-filled governance of Kira, the most infamous serial killer in history. Despite his dreams of justice, the god who was really only a boy was left forgotten in the history books, a torn-out page in the 2000s. His legacy was left forgotten, and he was left in a cold grave.

However, this is not that story.

Because although the notebook falls一and the same revolutionary boy picks it up一the god of death makes a mistake.

The small book is dropped nine years earlier.


"Instead of loopholes for the laws to fall between, let some good old-fashioned payback grease the wheels of the machine."

一Death Note Musical


The boy is eight years old when he sees a book descend from the heavens and hit the murky pavement.

At first, he dismisses it, and continues to jot about polynomials and equations, literature and politics. The boy is intelligent一far beyond his years一and knows that the book has probably been dropped from the nearby school roof. He tells himself there is nothing special about the notebook. He even writes half a paragraph detailing why it's a stupid idea to pick up someone's litter. He distracts himself with schoolwork.

However, there is a tickling at the back of his head, itching, itching, itching… It is no mystery that Light Yagami is an inquisitive boy.

Light likes unraveling riddles, understanding the world. Sometimes he wonders if he is the only person who acts this way, in the middle of a classroom of blubbering fools with question marks dancing in their eyes. In the middle of his unassuming, regular family. Every person on earth plays by a set of rules, and they are controlled like pre-programmed machines. Light is nothing like…that.

Light Yagami needs to hold some semblance of control.

This somehow extends to tiny books that fall from the sky.

At recess time, while the other kids giggle and run across the grounds, eight-year-old Light walks over to the book, squats down, and picks it up. The notebook in his hands is…irregular. It is all black, rough in his hands, and the pages are flimsy and scarce. The cover's script reads "Death Note" in choppy letters, and Light wrinkles his nose, quietly assessing.

Light knows this must be a prank—a scary, edgy way for a mischievous student to scare his peers. However, Light doesn't feel peeved or pranked in the slightest; he feels curious. He flips through the blank pages again, then stops when he notices a dark page of script with an inky-black skull.

The human whose name is written in this notebook shall die.

Light's eyes widen. He slides the book into his schoolbag and hurries along, avoiding making a scene.

Light sits at a bench. He politely waves off the kids who ask him for homework answers, or the shy girls who tell Light his hair, or his outfit, or his eyes, look nice. Light offers a genuine-sounding apology and tells them he's busy, and he is, after all, with his eyes squinted at that journal.

Death Note一a joke, a trick, or…something more?

Light has never believed in fairytales. Unlike his tiny sister, Sayu, who constantly goes on about princesses and magic, Light has always believed in hard, realistic facts. Light believes that anything in the world can be boxed. That anything in the world can be understood, classified, and categorized, as long as Light puts his mind to it and thinks. So why then does Light feel something magical about a single, black-bound book? Magic doesn't exist! Light is eight, and even he knows that magic is for fools. Light Yagami is not一and will never be一a fool.

Yet, yet, yet一

Light thinks about writing something. Like a note. Or a name.

What if the teacher finds out? Light muses to himself, frantic. They'll kick me out, expel me, and I'll never be able to pursue law!

His mind eases these doubts. No one has to know. His teachers have no proof.

Still, his mind reaches for possibilities and scenarios. Light can't waste his time on a prank book, made by a foolish child, for a foolish child. Light is so much smarter than his peers; he will rise above them…become famed, wanted, known. This is his first mental hurdle一throwing this childish, prank book out and saying "no" to being an immature eight-year-old child.

Light is far too intelligent.

He is far too mature.

He is far too一

He takes the book home in the end.


The notebook is still cluttering back and forth in his bag when Light goes home. His lips are pulled into a strict line, and when his mother chats with him at the door, he only exchanges a brief greeting. Light can hardly wait to unravel the Death Note. He slides into his room, like a shadow, and draws the door shut.

He pulls out the notebook and stares at it, entirely blank-faced.

He uses a hand to run down the notebook's flimsy spine, then drags it down the white lettering (Death Note, Death Note, Death Note, his mind whispers like a chant). Light is fascinated by this simple book, engrossed in everything about it. He scans the directions again and again, and it sounds so real. Hopelessly real. He revels, running his hands reverently on the peculiar pages, because he knows what his dad will tell him when he sees it; "You can stop all the bad guys now!" his dad will say. He will ruffle Light's wavy hair, laugh, and delight him with a "My smart boy."

Light doesn't live for his father's praises, but that sort of respect from a man who believes in justice tastes sweet. He wants this book to be real because if it is, if it can be used, equipped, weaponized

The bad men would die. Light could make sure of it; he could pluck the weeds out, root and all.

"Hello," says a curious, monstrous voice from behind Light.

Light flips his head quickly, his eyes narrowing. His heart feels as though it's beating out of his chest. For a moment, he wonders if Mister Takahashi, his strict history teacher, has somehow materialized and found out about Light's new notebook. He is just about to make an excuse: "I only saw it, and I was going to show my dad. Then we were going to report it to the school, or police. I didn't plan on using it!"

And he will understand...because along with being intelligent, Light is believable. He's practiced lying on classmates and teachers, and Light has found a pattern that makes sure he is never caught. Light is an actor, the world is his stage, and they will believe every performance... He will will it so.

Instead though, he doesn't find any teacher behind him. Light sees a strange dark figure with a pale face and glowing yellow eyes with blood-red irises. Smears of ink-like paint run around his eyes, and the creature's face is pale, as if powdered. Dark wings protrude inelegantly from his back. A single silver earring dangles from his ear.

A nauseating fear grips at Light.

He feels very small in front of this monster. Light hasn't even hit five feet yet.

He briefly tries to shut this unwanted feeling down: the being wasn't really here. A hallucination. A dream. An imaginary friend, who's come for tea.

But Light cannot dismiss this creature as fake. Light Yagami is the fakest boy alive, and he knows to spot a lie on the spot. This creature...this monster...is real. A god of death, Light reasons, and he wonders if the god is going to kill him. To send him to hell.

He comes up with a million reasons for him to not die. Perhaps Fate has sent this god of death down to earth to...test Light and his silver tongue. Can he, an eight-year-old child, escape death with only his cunning alone?

The thought fills him with joy and pride.

"Hello," Light says politely in return. He stares deeply at the Shinigami, his coffee-brown eyes meeting red-lined ones. He wonders if he should put a hand out, but that might be seen as too "human." While in front of a god of death, Light wants to appear as inhuman as possible.

The god of death tilts its head. "Wow, you're a lot younger than I thought you were," the god says, his voice gravelly.

Light tilts his chin up, confident. Like many children, he doesn't like being reminded of his age.

The god cocks its head, a peculiar, unsettling smile etched on its face.

Light finally interrupts the silence with a curious: "Who are you?"

"Ryuk," it says, and it laughs, high and loud. "And you must be Light Yagami."

Light shivers at the sound of his name on the god's tongue. It sounds like the beginning of a eulogy. But as soon as he recovers from the thought of his own death, Light smiles pleasantly and says, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

The god's lips twist. "Yeah...you really aren't what I expected of you."

"Is that right?" A thrill races up Light. He's always wanted to be different. Special, powerful, godly: these are all words that've occupied his brain late at night.

"You're a human kid," Ryuk says. "I didn't mean for a kid to pick it up. That hasn't happened in...centuries."

"What?" asks Light, brows drawing together. He doesn't like hearing himself一intelligent, gifted, special一be brought down to two words.

Human kid. Light would rather be called a cruel, unfeeling, sadistic psychopath than a human kid. One alludes to a certain sense of power; the other, although true, speaks of weakness and lack of experience.

"My age doesn't matter," Light says pathetically, ignoring a clench in his gut. "I'm going to use this Death Note either way. You can't stop me from extracting justice from this cruel excuse of a world."

Ryuk holds both his disfigured black hands up. "I didn't mean to, kid. If you want to play around with the note, be my guest."

Light doesn't like the way Ryuk treats him: with words like "play around" instead of "become God and forge the world anew."

"My only question is..." Light says carefully, "...whether or not you plan to kill me."

"Of course I am," he says, and Light briefly thinks that at least the god is being honest about it. Then the gears in his mind turn a bit longer, and he realizes that, honesty or not, he is going to die

(He cannot die. He must not die. He will not die. He will be a god. Gods do not die.)

Ryuk stares at Light having a panic attack with blank, unimpressed, unblinking eyes. It makes everything worse, and Light resists the urge to curl up in a ball and hide himself from the rest of the world. He resists the urge to scream and scream and scream, because he, Light Yagami, is going to die. He is going to leave the world and become nothingness.

"I can't die," he finally forces out. He is ashamed at how many times his voice breaks in those three simple words.

"Oh!" Ryuk finally says with a hearty, long laugh. Light clenches his teeth furiously, wishing he could ascend to godhood. To become greater, immortal, lasting... It sounds like a dream come true, but Light knows that no human lives forever, and Light is still in that category: human. Breakable. "I'm not going to kill you, right now!" laughs Ryuk. "I only meant that eventually. When the time is right, I'll have the honor of writing your name in my own death book."

Ryuk points at the notebook attached to his hip, and Light feels panic unfurl in his gut...

Light jumps at it, his hands out and clawing.

Ryuk only moves away, considering Light carefully. Light makes a few more pathetic attempts, pouncing and jumping as high as short legs can take him, but Ryuk shifts in and out of existence. Light forces himself to move fast, faster than he's ever been on the tennis court, and he's left scrambling pathetically, as the monster in front of him chuckles and dodges. Ryuk moves a few centimeters to the right or left, or he flaps his dark wings and hovers on the ceiling. Light feels very much like an incompetent predator, who'll starve for his stupidity.

Light must've made a very pathetic sight: hopping back and forth to Ryuk.

Finally, when his cheeks are colored and his hair is matted with sweat, Light stops and pants for air. Their little hide-and-seek, tag-me-if-you-can charade has ended, and Light has lost.

Light Yagami does not like losing, especially when something as valuable as his life is at hand.

If he cannot win against the Shinigami with speed, strength, and tenacious athletic ability, Light will have to play his strongest suit: outwitting the god.

He sits down on his grey bed, his coffee-brown eyes boring into the god's clown-like ones. He feels like this must be some sick, twisted joke. A god of death has given him the power to extract justice, through the elimination of human life, but has also condemned Light to die. He wishes he could switch places with Ryuk. He wishes he was powerful, not born into this human, weak body. Not born into this child's body.

Ryuk eyes him curiously, as Light situates himself on the bed, digging his behind into the mattress's sheets. Light needs to appear relaxed, but it's hard when he's a sweaty, angry mess. He takes an easing breath and begins to speak:

"Ryuk," he says, tasting the death god's name like it's candy on his tongue. He folds his hands neatly in his lap. "I'm sorry for my earlier...advances."

Ryuk cocks his head, utterly confused. "You mean the jumping and kicking?"

"My aggressive tendencies," corrects Light, his lips twisting uncomfortably.

"That's all right, kid!" Ryuk cackles. "You're just scared of death, and that's okay!"

"I'm not scared," Light says.

"Aren't you?" Ryuk smiles widely, and with broad, intrigued eyes, he tilts open his giant Death Note equivalent.

Light's heart shudders in his chest. "Wait, no, stop一" he shrieks, just as Ryuk clicks open a pen.

Ryuk obediently stops, waiting for the ball to drop.

"I'm scared," he admits, like it's a weakness. In many cases, the fear of death is a weakness, just one Light doesn't broadcast to the rest of the world. It's a fear that's clawed him since he was in preschool, since he was able to properly define the word "death." He has never been scared of losing his family: his mother, father, and younger sister... He will grieve and mourn, but he is not scared of their absence. Instead, selfish as he is, he fears his own non-existence. "I'm scared of death," he breathes out.

An unwelcome silence falls over Light's declaration. Ryuk scratches his back awkwardly. "Er, okay?" he says.

"That's besides the point," states Light, shaking out of visions of death and nothingness. He redirects his eyes to the Shinigami. "What is your purpose here? Giving me all this power... Letting me use it..."

"I'm bored," says the Shinigami petulantly. "And you were simply there. A matter of coincidence, I'd think."

Eight-year-old Light blinks owlishly, his nose upturned. The thought of him being chosen, being special, instantly flees his mind. In another world, one that parallels and intersects his own, some other self-righteous child would've picked this Death Note up. It could've been anyone.

It could've been that playground bully, who picks on kids for fun. It could've been a brainless idiot, who rough-houses and fails basic reading comprehension. It could've been anybody.

It could've been a nobody.

He is not special. Picking up the Death Note is coincidence. Luck. A random draw of a lucky Ace card.

He feels about as important as an adult who's stumbled upon a four-leaf clover.

"You'll let me kill who I want," Light says. Even if it is a matter of luck, Light is never one to let an opportunity pass him by.

He cannot let this Death Note slip between his fingers, into someone else's.

He looks at his locked door, hearing his mom and sister's steps click around. He cannot let them find out about this notebook. He cannot let them hold this much power in their hands. His thoughts fly down a very steep, narrow line of thinking一

"Though I must warn you," says the god of death, "that those who use the Death Note may neither go to heaven or hell."

Light tries to think of what's in between heaven or hell. He has many Buddhist classmates, who believe in a concept called "reincarnation," where the soul is transported into a new body. He doesn't believe it, and he instantly crosses it off his list. There is a place many believe in, after death: nothingness. The feeling of being there one second, then gone. Evaporated off the face of earth, dropped into...nothingness.

Because it is not whiteness, or stationary movement. It is the fact that Light Yagami will become nothing, and it hurts.

It hurts a lot, whether that be two years down the line or ninety.

"I become nothing," he says in a clipped tone, staring down at the floor.

The death god looks at Light, bringing his head down to match Light's height. His back arches, and his wings flutter about, as if anticipating.

"Well, I don't know," Ryuk finally says, a croak-ish sound escaping him. "I've never died. You wanna ask someone who has?"

Light groans, hating how the god can simply talk about death like it's a joke. For Light, it has never been a joke. It has been a shadow looming over him, freakish and upsetting and impossible to ignore.

"Anyway," Ryuk says, "you got any apples here? I'm starving, and apples are the best part about living in the human realm..."

"My mom has apples."

"Then what're you waiting for?" Ryuk barks out, his eyes wide. "Go!"

"Don't be seen," says Light.

"Only those who have touched the Death Note can see me," the Shinigami proclaims.

"Even better," says Light, and he unlocks the door, walking through. He wonders if there's some kind of symbolism in a god of death eating apples, but he shoves those thoughts aside. If only he could get immortality from simply eating apples alone.

An apple a day keeps the doctor away, his mind plays the phrase from England. That was a coincidence, of course, but still, Light's mind latches onto everything, like a greedy leech sucking out information.

He politely chats with his mom. He talks about winning the tennis championship, and how he's so excited to play more. He talks about how much he loves his younger sister, Sayu, and how he thinks she's the best sister in the world. He levels the conversation out with how he's determined to do better in his studies. It's meaningless, boring chatter, things a child would say. It's an easy way to seem more human.

She gives him a plate of neat apple slices. They are blood-red apples, bright and shining. He thinks, somehow, that Ryuk will like them.

And he does, as Light predicted. Ryuk cleanly takes the slices into his spidery fingers and chomps on them loudly. Light sighs at the display, but watches as a curling smile takes over Ryuk's whole face.

Light Yagami directs his attention to the black-bound notebook.

He wishes he could use it on a bully in his classroom, but that doesn't seem quite right. He doesn't want to pretend to feel sorry and grieve over the kid's loss; that'd be tiring work, even for him. And if heart-attacks become common, someone might trace it back to his little elementary school. That'd be...obvious. And petty, considering how Light would use the power of death on an elementary-age bully. He can do... so much more.

Then he decides.

There is a teacher in one of the upper classrooms, teaching children from ages eleven to twelve. The teacher is old with a greying beard and malicious eyes, and although Light doesn't fear the teacher, he is a rotten one. He eyes the children like they are fresh meat, especially the girls. There's been more than one attempt at telling the school's principal, but no one has done anything about the old teacher, who's worked there for years. In a way, it serves as a metaphor for reality: a criminal, a horrible person, escaping punishment because of some twisted reason.

Whether it is money, or fame, or connections, or power, or how long you work at an elementary school.

Light writes the teacher's name down in small, neat writing:

Teruya Yoshiyuki.

Then he flips the Death Note shut, and he holds it in his hands. He doesn't know how to hide the Death Note away from his prying family, but he has to. He could hide it in a magazine, but his mom has never been good about respecting the privacy of his items.

"How did previous Death Note-owners hide their books?" he whispered into the morning air.

"Mix of different ways," says Ryuk off-handedly. "No one's asked me that question before, though."

It just seems obvious to Light. To become better or greater, he needs to be able to learn from the mistakes of past users. How else can he ascend? To learn the history of something is to become more intelligent, and Light fancies himself as incredibly intelligent in that degree. He is a master at collecting data and working with it, learning and adapting and changing. His mind cannot stay fixed, stagnant.

Ryuk takes another relishing bite of the bright apple. Bits of drool get onto Ryuk's pale face, ringlets of the liquid on his chin. Light briefly wonders how death gods produce something as human as saliva, but he moves past that noted observation.

"And the answer to it?"

The death god shrugs and takes another bite. "In trash cans, in their arm-pits, in books, in folded pieces, in their underwear."

Light wrinkles his nose at the options. What tomfoolery.

"Which worked the best?" he asks.

"Probably the book one," Ryuk says with a few nods. "Yeah, that's right. But it didn't work too well considering the owner's death."

Light's grimace becomes suddenly more pronounced. He is tempted to go back to the school-ground and place the Death Note back there. But he doesn't want to attract trouble, and he can't fathom someone else, student or adult, taking this weapon away from him. Why would he willingly give someone else his own gun?

He holds it tightly, and he decides that there's no way to keep the Death Note perfectly. In every scenario, the note might be taken from him. So he wraps tight fingers around the Death Note and thinks.

But Light is only a child, and he has no way to buy a safe or make one himself. Instead, he simply grabs the Death Note fervently and sets it in the middle of his most boring law book.

In the end, it works and serves its job well. After all, who would ever check the contents of a boring book?


A/N: I haven't planned everything out, but this is my brain-child, and I just want to live, knowing I put something out in the Death Note fanfiction archive. I love Death Note (to death), but I just haven't found a Death Note fanfic that's tickled my brains yet with L and Light's cat-and-mouse dynamic. I'm not really into reading about OCs or Lawlight (but all the power to you, if you do enjoy either), so this was born. Slow updates because I haven't mapped everything out. Please review, and tell me your thoughts. Prove to me the Death Note fandom is still somewhat alive.