The orphanage did not receive many visitors. This could be attributed to a number of things; the remote location, the lack of publicity, even perhaps the intimidating iron gates. However, really it just came down to one thing: those at the orphanage did not want any visitors.
Of course, there were the inevitable few. The occasional curious, distant relative that would drop in from time to time, wondering how 'that child' they hardly knew was doing.
They would walk up the wide gravel driveway in awe, staring up at the beautiful old manor house, imposing in its sheer size and grandiosity. They would peer around corners into rooms, marvelling at the tasteful décor and shelves stacked high with books.
"It's such a shame, though," they would whisper to each other, mouths twisting as they spoke behind their hands, "that such a wonderful place is wasted on children like this."
They would wander through the elaborate gardens, those intruders, those outsiders , and the children would simply watch them, and wait for them to leave.
Lour was one of those who never received visitors; older than the others, and with no friends of his own among the orphans, he would spend much of his time sitting alone on the grass, thinking. He hated attention, but attracted much of it.
"Oh, isn't he odd?" The voices carried on the soft wind, barely masked by the rustling of the trees, "I wonder what's wrong with that one? Poor thing…"
He would sit and gaze up into the grey sky, watching the clouds roil and shift until they were gone. It never once occurred to Lour that he should care what others think; that he should change his behaviour or even attempt to conform. No-one need affect him except himself; it simply wasn't important, because it wasn't what he was there for.
It hadn't taken him long to pick up the language; it was something intriguing and new, and it pleased him to become proficient. Similarly, when he was later encouraged to turn his hand to tennis, he played methodically and tirelessly until suddenly, there wasn't anyone around who could beat him anymore. Lour found tennis to be much less interesting after that.
When he was twelve, Lour began to read the broadsheets. The politics did not capture his attention - if taxes were being lowered, what was it to him? If less money was being put into the health service, why should he notice? Those kinds of things were abstract and far removed from their lives at the orphanage. What Lour followed most avidly, and scoured the pages for details of, were reports of crimes, and of on-going court cases.
Guilty. Not Guilty.
Many of the papers talked about 'justice' in relation to those cases - and Lour found the concept to be fascinating. Too often, though, he found himself frustrated by the lack of information given; he knew, instinctively, that had he all the facts, he would be able to solve it. Would be able to determine who the blame lay with; who the guilty party was.
Occasionally, there would be reports on killings committed in a religious fervour, and at first Lour did not understand these; could not comprehend the motive behind them.
He did not believe in a God.
For a while, Lour had spent his nights awake pondering this - but it just wasn't logical, and in Lour's eyes, there simply wasn't enough evidence. He remembered years ago, back home - fuzzy memories of shrines in the cold and the smoky scent of incense; hollow, empty rituals (be sure to observe them properly, ujiko, even if you don't believe), a plethora of non-divine kami, vying for attention.
No, he did not believe that Shinto's gods were any more real.
Lour preferred to ignore religion, choosing to rely on himself. Frequently, he would sit perched on a chair, feet bare, toes curled around the edge of the cushion, and play chess. Some of the staff thought it a little strange that he preferred to play against himself - but then, those would be the ones who had talked about him when he was new, puzzling over the name he had chosen for himself.
"It's a bit worrying, don't you think? He's always alone, and if he has such low self-esteem…"
Lour would just stare at them blankly, dark eyes underscored with thick shadows from his strange sleeping patterns, and say nothing. He was perfectly aware of his abilities; evidently they just had no sense of humour.
Time had passed quickly, and eventually Lour's time in England came to an end. On his final day at the orphanage, Lour sat on his bed and piled sugar cubes into his tea, sucking honey off a spoon. It hadn't occurred to him before that he might be nervous about leaving.
------------------------------------------
Years later, after he had assumed the even shorter pseudonym of 'L', he found himself back in his homeland again. The Kira case was a fascinating affair, and it intrigued L that there were several aspects of it all which frequently left him perplexed.
He was not used to having so much contact with people, but he adjusted, and before long he was surprised to discover that he had met his match in a boy named Yagami Light. A boy with keen instincts and brilliant deductive reasoning; a boy with faith in himself and a strong sense of justice.
A boy who was also, most likely, Kira.
But it was in Light that L found his first friend, and it troubled him that he suspected Light was guilty.
L didn't like to spend much time looking back on the past; though with Watari thoughts of the orphanage frequently lingered in the back of his mind, shadowy and unwanted.
("Oh, isn't he odd? I wonder what's wrong with that one…")
L had never cared what people thought of him. L had never believed in God. The good guys always win, he had said, and had had faith in that until the end.
But sometimes, someone comes along who makes you question yourself; question your beliefs. In the end, L was still only human, and he faltered.
So I… I wasn't wrong…but…I…
And for L, Yagami Light was such a person.