STORY SUMMARY: Being reborn into a Japanese story was bad enough. Being reborn as the twin sister to a certain notorious mass murderer, was another thing entirely. Told in a series of drabbles. Warning: Mild incest themes.

Rating: T (Subject to change)

GENERAL DISCLAIMER: It's not my sandbox. I'm just playing in it.

AN: Happy Valentine's Day! I wasn't originally going to write this interlude at all...but due to popular demand—I caved under pressure. ENJOY!

Chapter Fourteen : Interlude : Anger

Light was fully aware of to what extent Minori valued her privacy—not that he cared enough to acknowledge that fact. It was for her own good that he be fully integrated within her life and all it's problems. Who else was going to look out for her? Who else was better qualified to predict her fluctuating moods and match her sarcasm with skillfully implemented wit.

It was this logic which ultimately lead him to debasing himself by meddling through her bookrest. Not that Light was the least bit interested in her anomalous collection (far too much science-fiction and political satire for his tastes); but because he knew that Minori hid her diary between the spines of one of these numerous hardcovers. His twin, along with Sayu, were currently outside the house—accompanying their mother to the produce shop. Meaning, the adolescent was alone and free to investigate a hunch he'd developed months ago. Until this point, he'd dismissed his premonition as lunacy, and had endeavored to snuff it out; but something Mom had let slip during breakfast had rekindled an old flame.

oooo

Her chosen words (directed towards Minori), verbatim were: "We hardly ever see that nice Kurosawa boy, anymore. I thought the both of you had something quite special."

It'd been ambiguous. At least as 'ambiguous' as his mother was able. But then Minori responded by nearly choking on her miso soup and hurriedly steering the conversation into safer waters. A keen move, because at that moment, Light's impulsive grip had nearly snapped his chopsticks in half. Kurosawa. That invalid hadn't stepped foot within their home since early spring—he'd made sure of it. So why was his mother bringing him up, now of all times. With narrowed eyes, Light scrutinized the kitchen occupants. What was going on?

oooo

That suspicion also played a role in the genius fingering through his twin's many novels and encyclopedias with the intensity of an aspiring detective. Had Minori managed to keep something from him; for all this time? Light's initial response was denial. He and Minori were like the opposite faces belonging to the same coin. While fundamentally different—they were also one and the same and required each other to survive. So did Light think she'd succeeded in pulling the wool over his eyes. No. It was inconceivable. But there was only one way to be certain.

As his digits treaded across an incongruent surface between two fantasy volumes, Light felt his stomach pitch. With steady breaths and steadier hands, he pulled a familiar beige journal from it's hiding place, and leafed through random entries. Many were insipid, and girlish—entirely inconsistent to Minori's true personality, but he disregarded that peculiarity when his eyes zeroed in on a certain passage, marked from the previous year.

"—Tadao and I walked in silence for a while, but every so often I'd glanced over and spot him quickly looking away. The closer we got to the train station the redder his face had grown and I thought for sure he really was sick…but then out of the blue, Tadao grabbed my hand, and just like in one of those corny-romantic sitcoms Mom likes so much—kissed me."

Sometime, while reading this segment, the walls began to bleed. Along with the implicating pages and everything else in sight. It all turned red. Light tried several times to blink the haze away but each attempt made the roaring in his ears worsen. His grip on the faux leather tightened until the circulation of his knuckles was nearly cut off. When? When had that filthy worm touched Minori? The date read; May, 2003. But no specific day was given.

No, the date wasn't important. What was, however, was that Light had missed it? He'd failed to protect his sister from the worse breed of human. One, that would force himself on a woman—because it was only too obvious that this infraction had been unsolicited and unwanted by Minori. She would never participate in debauched behavior with such a lowly maggot.

Seething with anger beyond coherence, Light ripped his hand from the disgusting article and threw it across the room, brutally colliding with Minori's twin stacks of music. The short burst of violence was satisfying enough to dissolve Light's immediate wrath, if only slightly. He suppressed the majority of it with expert care; not moving an inch until his raging emotions were once again simmering beneath the surface. It took severe concentration, yet every time his gaze slid in the direction towards the diary, his temper would rattle it's chains. Fortunately, Light had experience repressing such feelings.

So after a deserving amount of time, Light approached the pile of clutter with a deathly calm demeanor. First, he organized the CDs alphabetically—and collected any shards of broken plastic—disposed of them—and then finally retrieved the journal. But instead of immediately replacing it, he located the offending pages and viciously tore them from the binding. After those scraps of paper where deposited into his pants pocket and the notebook was put back on it's shelf, he returned to his own room and pulled out a patch of matches. Light didn't often use the ceramic ashtray Sayu built in pottery class—but it seemed like a suitable destination to burn the memory of a day that should have never existed.

AN: If you haven't noticed a pattern yet, I usually upload an 'interlude' about once every 2-3 chapters. Please don't get mad if they interrupt the story. Also, please leave a review-obviously I take what you say into consideration. :) Cheers!