"Do you think it's okay for criminals to die?"

Light looked at me, intrigued by the question. Of course, he had no idea why I'd asked it, but now was the perfect time: we were both eleven, so it was at a point where he'd developed his own perception of right and wrong, but he wouldn't remember the question by the time he would get the Death Note.

"I guess it depends on how," he mused. "If a killer dies by accident, then not many people will miss them, but if they're killed, that just makes the person who did it the same."

Phew, I thought. "Like, if executions and stuff became used frequently again, all over the world."

"But criminals are still executed," Light pointed out.

"I meant in a sense like . . . if one person was the one to choose whether or not criminals should be executed, and they would carry it out in the same method."

"One person?" A frown made its way onto Light's face. "That leaves a lot of moral implications, and it means that the person would probably be biased towards people they know or can relate to."

A valid point. "Assuming this person is completely unbiased, has never met the criminal, and looks at things without considering the emotional side of it," I clarified. I didn't want to get too specific, of course, but I wouldn't get anywhere without some specificity.

"Well, in that case, the person shouldn't be with any kind of government, because otherwise they could be swayed or corrupted—no, even without government involvement, that level of power could corrupt a person."

"You're definitely right about that," I agreed. After all, knowing what I did, it wasn't like I could disagree. "The sheer gravity of what they're doing could probably make them feel like a reaper or god of sorts, since they choose what qualifies death and then carry it out."

"Or it could have the opposite effect," Light continued, "and they would slowly lose their mind by constantly killing people—it's gruesome, especially if it's bloody."

"Bloody deaths would be unlikely with executions, though," I argued. "People are only executed by hanging, injections, or electrocution."

"How do you know that?" Light asked, slightly disturbed. Okay, maybe that wasn't really the most appropriate trivia for an eleven year old, but I'd done my research for a reason.

"Someone at school mentioned that the last execution by guillotine was twenty years ago, and I decided to do some research."

"And that's why you're asking me?" Light tilted his head to the side, questioning.

"Yep," I said, popping the 'p'. "You've got better judgement than anyone I know, so I wanted to know what you think about it."

Light seemed satisfied with my answer. Stroking his pride always works, I noted, and I couldn't help but laugh at that.

"Hm, but with corruption aside, if the person didn't have any legal influence or wasn't with any governments or police, then the public would start losing faith in them, since there's someone with their own agenda deciding who lives and dies," Light continued. "They could even start rioting or protesting."

"Or if it was a vigilante," I countered, "they may start choosing to place their faith in this person instead of the people who are actually in charge, especially if they remain anonymous."

"Either way, it's a bad idea and wouldn't work in the end," Light asserted, nodding decidedly.

So Light was completely against the idea—victory. Satisfied, I grinned. "Think you can beat me running from here to the football field on the other end of the park?"

"Oh, you're on!" Light laughed, jumping off the rock we were sitting on, and we both ran. He won't remember this conversation, I assured myself. And even if he does, it'll seem more like a coincidence.

"Ha, I won!" I cheered, having jumped over the grassy area to get to the field, as Light reached a moment after.

"But you aren't allowed to go on the grass!"

"No one saw me, Light," I laughed, then added, "you don't count."

Light shrugged, but laughed all the same. "Fine, you win this time, but I'll definitely win next time!"

"We'll see!" I glanced upwards, to see that dusk had already fallen. "Say, Light, we should probably go back home now, don't you think?"

"Yeah, you're right," Light said appraisingly. He dusted off his pants as I picked up the small backpack I'd brought with me. "Let's go."

"Mhmm," I hummed, instinctively reaching for his hand as we left. "By the way, your dad's now chief of the NPA, right?"

Light's eyes shone with admiration the moment I brought it up. "Yeah! He got promoted yesterday, so we're going out for dinner tomorrow to celebrate! I think Mom's gonna call your mom about it so we can go together."

"Uncle Soichiro's really cool," I said. He definitely deserved that promotion, no question about it.

"Yep! I wanna be a cop like him when I grow up!"

"A cop, huh? Why?" Surely it wasn't just because his dad was one, I figured, so what other reasons did he have?

"Well . . . because they stop criminals and stuff, mostly," Light said, thoughtful. "They can protect the people they care about, like Dad does. And they even end up saving people they don't even know from those that could harm them, and just end up making the world a better place in general."

I bit my lip. "You're . . . wow. You're amazing, Light. That's way more virtuous than any reason I'd have had."

"Why, what would you have said?"

I smiled sheepishly. "Maybe 'cause you want to be one?" At Light's look of Seriously? I added, "Also because detective work and looking for clues and stuff sounds kinda cool. Plus, job stability, and I can legally beat jerks up for a living."

"What the heck, Mikko."

"You asked, I answered."

"You want to be a force of justice so you can solve puzzles and throw hands."

"I told you your reason was way more virtuous than mine! You're practically a saint, you goody-two-shoes!"

Light cast me a glance of mock offense, and we both burst out laughing. "Well, see you at school tomorrow," Light said as we reached home.

"See you!" I said, opening the gate to my house. I saw Light nod, then he went into his own.

Save and protect people, huh . . . if I'm not wrong, that's what Light told himself—or, well, will tell himself when becoming Kira. His basic morals and philosophy are the same, I guess, but how he feels about killing off criminals should be different now . . .

I sighed, relieved as I laid my hand on the doorknob, turned it open, and—

The overwhelming stench of vomit hit me, as did the urge to gag. Covering my nose, I raced into the house, doing my best to ignore the smell, only to see Dad on his knees on the floor, hunched over while trying to cover his mouth.

"Dad! Wh-what happened? Are you okay?"

He didn't react to my presence with anything but another heave of his chest.

I need to call Mum, I realised belatedly. She wasn't at home, since she was volunteering to teach at a nearby orphanage, but she could only make it within half an hour if she rushed. I raced for the landline, punched in the number, and waited.

Mum picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Mum! You have to come home right now; Dad's sick—he's vomiting!"

"Right. I'll be there in twenty minutes—get Aunt Sachiko over if you can; she can help. You should stay with Light and Sayu until then."

"I can't leave Dad like that!"

"Kimiko. Please try to understand that there isn't anything you can do. Please, get Sachiko there." Mum's tone didn't leave any room for argument, so I relented.

"Okay," I said, put the phone down, and ran back outside and next door, to where the Yagami family lived. The door, I realised, was locked now that Light was back home, and Uncle Soichiro wouldn't be back for at least a few more hours. Frantically, I pressed on the doorbell several consecutive times until Light opened the door.

"What is it, Mi—"

"No time to explain, get Aunt Sachiko right now, please Dad's sick and I'm scared—"

"Calm down, Mikko," Light said, putting his hands on my shoulders. "I'll get her, but you get some water, okay? You need to calm down, or you won't be able to think straight."

I nodded and inhaled shakily, following Light into his house.

"Mom, Mikko needs you and it's really urgent!" Light called, barrelling into the kitchen, where Sayu and Aunt Sachiko were making dinner.

"Kimiko? What's the matter?"

"It's Dad—he's sick or—or something, I don't know, he just—he's thrown up all over the floor and I don't think it's stopping—I called Mum but she won't be here until at least twenty minutes but she said that you could help—"

"Mikko, breathe."

I did as Light said and took a deep breath. "Can you help him? I don't know what to do."

Aunt Sachiko wrung her hands, but nodded firmly all the same. "You three sit at the dining table and wait until I get back, okay? Don't open the door for anyone; I have the key. Kimiko, don't worry, okay? It's probably just a bug."

I nodded, but I wasn't so sure. Even when I vomited, I had enough energy to make it to the bathroom before anything actually happened. For Dad to not even be able to get up . . .

"Uncle Hayato will be fine," Sayu asserted, hugging me from behind. "If you believe he'll be fine, then he'll definitely be fine."

"Yeah . . ." I mumbled, still faraway. It can't be a bug, I figured, since we haven't eaten anything out of the ordinary or been around anyone that could possibly have spread it. That immediately rules out any sort of sickness or disease—

"Right." Light's voice, accompanied by a loud slam on the table, jolted me out of my thoughts. "Since you're not calming down about this—even though there's nothing else you can do—we're going to do our homework. Sayu, do you have any homework?"

"Not much," Sayu shrugged. "A little bit of fractions and highest common factors."

"Alright, bring your math book here. Mikko, you can use my textbook and some scrap paper, then you can copy it into your notebook later."

"You're good at taking charge," I mused, reaching to get the paper Light had brought. It had an old worksheet printed on the other side, but was otherwise blank. "We're doing the nth term in class, right?"

Light nodded. "And after that we'll be starting speed, distance, and time. I've read through the chapter, and it looks like it'll be easy."

"Yeah, I think Mum taught it to me a few months ago. What's important is remembering the triangles."

"Triangles? You mean in the graphs?"

"Uh . . . no, I'll explain when we get to that part."

"O . . . kay." I knew Light didn't like not knowing something that I did, but he brushed it off.

"What's a reciprocal?" Sayu asked, having sat down with her books.

"It's like . . . with a fraction, you've got to switch the numerator and the denominator," Light explained to her, "and when you multiply any number by its reciprocal, you'll get the number one."

Sayu seemed a little confused by the last part.

"Okay, say you have half. That's one over two, right?" I asked, prompting.

"Yeah . . . so its recipriocal—"

"Reciprocal."

"—its reciprocal would be two over one."

"Which is?"

"Two!"

"Right! Now, multiply them."

"Two halves are one. Hey, you're right, Light!"

Light smiled proudly. "Of course."

I flicked his arm. "Have a little humility!"

"I'm just being honest," Light teased, and Sayu and I laughed, earlier tension forgotten.

Until Light looked out of the window. "Mikko, your mom's back."

My head snapped up, and sure enough, Mum was opening the door to our house. "I'm gonna go—"

Light grabbed my shoulder. "You can't. You have to stay here until my mom comes back. If your dad's sick, you could get sick too."

"But—"

"You aren't going. I won't let you."

"Light—"

"No, and that's final."

It was another half hour before Mum and Aunt Sachiko came back. "Micchan," Mum said, yawned, then continued, "come on; let's go home."

"Is Dad okay? What happened?"

Mum's smile was terse. "He's fine now, Micchan. It was just a minor—"

"What happened, Mum?"

"Kimiko. Come on, let's go home. Now." Mum had never used that tone of voice before, and honestly? It scared me. Silently, I took the pages I'd been working on my math on, and took Mum's hand. I didn't ask what had happened again, and if Mum's expression was anything to go by, it wasn't something I should want to know the answer to.

"I . . . did my math homework at Light's place," I offered.

"I'm proud of you for that, sweetie," Mum said, rubbing the bridge of her nose, "but I'm a little worried about your father right now, so forgive me. I'm just stressed."

"Oh . . . okay," I just said. I didn't press further, even when Mum brought a bowl of instant ramen to the table instead of miso soup or anything remotely close to what we usually ate. Instead, I just ate quietly and went up to bed.

Why won't Mum tell me what happened? Mum isn't one to keep secrets, and this isn't even something major enough to warrant this weird . . . silence!

Unless it was.

What could be so bad that she can't even tell me what's up with Dad? It's obviously not a stomach bug, or it would have been in the open way earlier; it can't be an infection either, since all that would need was a simple explanation and a trip to the doctor. What could possibly make her not want to talk about . . . oh. Was it something personal? What could be personal and make someone vomit? Or was it something I specifically wasn't supposed to know?

. . . Alcohol? was the only conclusion I was able to draw from the situation. No. No way, right? Dad would never let himself get drunk. I've never seen him have a sip of alcohol in my life! But what else could it have been?

I felt sick to my stomach. I didn't want to accept it. I couldn't accept it. Dad wasn't . . . wasn't like that.

Was he?

Of course, me being me, at the time, I figured there was only one way to find out: stake out my parents' room until I heard something that could either prove or disprove my only guess.

That was why I ended up outside, pressing my ear to the door to try and catch any snippets of conversation after my parents had tucked me in and I'd pretended to fall asleep.

"It's . . . it's changed now. I'm not sure what, but it's different now . . ."

"What do you mean, different? You said there was no way things would change . . . Hayato, what's going on?"

"I . . . I'm sorry, love, I don't . . . I can't explain this."

"Why?"

I leaned closer to the door as their voices quieted—

—and slipped, barely managing to break my fall with my palms. A loud thud resounded from the impact.

I sprinted for my room, dove onto the bed, and pulled the covers over me, just when my parents opened the door. "No, she's still asleep," Mum said, the tension in her voice palpable, then closed the door behind her.

What's going on here . . . ?

Over the next two years, I saw less and less of my father. He was almost constantly sick or out of the house, and slowly, it got to the point where he lost his job because of it.

But he was still almost never home. Mum even started taking a full-time job at the orphanage she used to volunteer at in addition to her late night online teaching, too. Even if she never said anything, it only could be to make ends meet, because Dad never worked.

I didn't know what he was doing, and I didn't care to. I started spending even more time with Light whenever Dad was home, and Light would often come over when he wasn't, largely because I didn't want to be alone.

Today was one such time, when the two of us were sitting in my room, talking over a board game of Scrabble.

"We used to play with your dad," Light mused, putting down a piece in the Double Letter bonus square. "He's good at Scrabble."

"Maybe he'd play if he actually cared," I grumbled, "rather than spending all day out while Mum works herself to death, just to come home and sleep late."

Light hummed in acknowledgement. "Any ideas about where he's going each day?"

"Certainly not to work, if Mum's schedule is anything to go by. I don't think I ever see him around the house after we get back from school." I drew a couple more pieces from the bag, arranging them in the little stand. "For all I know, he could be going out drinking or something whenever he's out."

"Actually, now that you're saying that, I just realised that I've never heard either of your parents talk about having any friends other than my parents . . . so maybe drinking is a little farfetched?" Light pressed a tile to his mouth as he thought aloud.

"It is possible to go drinking alone," I pointed out.

"Yeah, but it's less likely."

"I guess. But anyway, I honestly don't really want to care."

"Mikko . . ." Light just sighed, about to continue, when the phone rang.

"I'll get that," I said, getting up to answer the landline. Unlisted number . . . ? Picking it up, I said, "Hello?"

"I need to speak to Annelyse!" the voice on the other end said in English. It was a male voice, and sounded as though it belonged to an adult.

"I'm sorry, I don't know an Annelyse," I answered, switching to English too. "I think you've got the wrong number."

"Please, she doesn't have much time left," the person seemed to plead. "I need to speak to her. This is the number she gave me to call her, I'm sure of it!"

"I'm really sorry," I said again, "but there isn't an Annelyse here. Maybe the number is outdated, or she gave you a different one. I do hope she gets better, though. I'm sure she's grateful to have someone call for her, but I'm positive that she isn't here."

"No, you don't understand. Annelyse is—"

"Not here. Look, I don't know who you are, and I don't know who Annelyse is, but—"

"Who are you, then?" the man interrupted, voice sharp.

Exasperated, I answered. "Look, I'm Kimiko Yamada, and you've got the wrong number. Have a good day, but please don't call this number again."

"Two weeks," was all the person said before the line went dead. Shaking my head, I went back upstairs.

"Who was it?" Light asked as I closed the door behind me.

"Heck if I know," I mumbled, reclaiming my spot on the bed to scowl at the seven-letter word Light had made while I'd been on the phone. "Some random weirdo asking for an Annelyse and saying she didn't have much time left."

Light looked wistful. "Well, wherever this Annelyse is, it's nice that there's someone out there who cares for her."

I sighed. "Yeah."

A month later, I found myself staring at the kamidana, looking hollowly at the picture of Mum that had found a home there.

"Why?" I whispered. "Why now, Mum?" I miss you. Why did you have to go? Why can't . . . why did you have to—!

I couldn't even think the word 'die'.

I could feel the slow descent of a tear making its way down my face, but I didn't bother wiping it away. Instead, I just stared up at the framed picture, as the smell of the burning incense filled my nose with the scent of sandalwood.

I'd always liked the smell of sandalwood. It was both strong and unique—distinguishable—but not overpowering or stuffy; instead, somehow gentle.

Just like Mom was.

I swallowed thickly, and diverted my thoughts to the incense itself. Each morning, it was Dad who burned it—it had to be, since it wasn't me—even though I'd never seen him do it. He always seemed to be awake before I was, but in the last two weeks, he hadn't gone out as much, instead staying home each day to burn incense and place offerings on the kamidana, and he'd make three meals each day—including my lunchboxes in the morning—but we never really talked to each other. At least, not as much as we ever used to.

"Kimiko, I'll be late tonight. I've gotten a job interview," Dad said, as if on cue. I'm not Micchan anymore, I realised dully.

I hummed noncommittally. "Good for you."

I heard him sigh in a way that sounded like he wanted to say something, but I didn't turn to look, even as I heard the door close behind him.

"Why . . . why does he only care now, after you're gone?" My voice was little less than a whisper, but it carried through the room more than anything I'd said before.

Or maybe he didn't stop caring, but I was too stubborn to notice.

There's a lot going on in the Yamada family . . . so it's probably best not to draw any conclusions yet.

Anyway, this was a little later than I anticipated it to be, but real life got in the way. Actually, I'm going on holiday soon, so packing (plus moving to a new house) ended up taking a lot of my time. Just note that this isn't going to be a common occurrence, okay?