June 17, 2004. Day seventeen of confinement. All you have to do is outwait Kira, if Kira isn't killing; or the task force, if L is lying to you about Kira not killing. L might have infinite patience, but the task force doesn't. Something will move.
It has to.
Unless…
There remains, of course, a third possibility. If Kira is, in fact, trying to frame you, then he is someone intimately associated with the task force. In that case, there is only one possible suspect: L himself.
And if L is Kira… then the entire psychological profile you built about Kira is wrong. The reason Kira's psychology so closely fits your own thought processes is because L created him to be that way. He is only an avatar in a game. Under that assumption, Kira doesn't see killing criminals as his mission, and he might be perfectly content to frame you, see you dead, and "solve the case" that way. It doesn't seem like L's or Ryuzaki's way of working, but… you know he, like you, is motivated by avoiding boredom. Creating this "perfect case" and a "perfect criminal?" Convincing the task force, your father, and even you, that the culprit had to be you? That would be an interesting game indeed.
In which case… you've already lost.
No.
You're sure you aren't Kira, and so long as you keep telling the camera that… so long as you act as distraught and wounded as you actually are… if L is Kira, he won't have won. Because if L is Kira, he's not looking for hard evidence—he can create that easily—he's looking for you to fold to his line of thinking; to admit defeat. That would be his ultimate win, so as long as you don't give it to him, he loses.
And one thing about Kira you know for sure: he hates to lose.
April 12, 2004. This week you're determined not to fall for Ryuga's bait. You've had time to think, to settle yourself over the weekend, « time to write in the Death Note, » and even if he is L—it doesn't matter. He has nothing on you. At this moment, all he can do is put a line out and hope you'll bite.
You can already tell your Macroeconomics class is going to bore you, at least for the first few weeks of class. It's definitely boring Ryuga; the man's sitting next to you again and his eyes are pretty much glazed over. One hand is tapping against his baggy jeans in some kind of repetitive pattern that's becoming more irritating the more you have to listen to it—it doesn't matter that it's so soft you can barely hear it in the first place. There's something too regular about it, it's not just a nervous tic.
No. You can't read into it. After all, he's also pressing the thumb of his other hand absently against his teeth, like he doesn't even realize how that comes across, or doesn't care.
It's not a pattern.
Except that it is.
A quick, barely-heard tap, almost sharp, using his nail. A longer, softer one using the pad of his finger. The sequence moves between both until it reaches the end of a predetermined set, and then repeats. Wait a minute…
You listen to the sequence again. He's using wabun code.
'Yagami-kun, what are you thinking about right now?'
Your eyes narrow, and you can tell he's recognized that you've caught on, because a small, self-satisfied smile quirks the corner of his mouth, though he doesn't look at you or act as though he's noticed your reaction in any other way.
You shouldn't answer.
But if he doesn't know you've figured it out…
'Ryuga,' you reply, by tapping one finger absently against the pencil in your hand, 'what's this all about?'
The sequence of Ryuga's tapping stops as he listens to your reply, then starts up again.
'Entertainment. Unless you can actually say you're fascinated by this lecture.'
You really aren't.
June 17, 2004. Day seventeen of confinement. You sit on the floor in front of your bed and stare up at the camera. You blink. Long ones, short ones. The message is quite clear, as long as L is looking he'll notice it eventually.
'L. Are you Kira?'
Whenever you've brought up the possibility of being framed since that first time, L has quickly shut you down by speaking over you, reminding you that you're Kira, and then closing the microphone connection. He obviously doesn't want the rest of the task force getting any ideas. But as long as you make sure to structure the game so he knows it's only between the two of you…
The connection must be opened—you can hear some vague murmurings in the background, and there's a steady, booming hiss-tap of L flicking the microphone with his finger. None of the task force will hear it or notice it as anything more than L's constant fidgeting. Maybe Soichiro, but certainly not Aizawa, or Matsuda. L wouldn't answer unless he knew for sure your messages weren't being intercepted, therefore you can predict with a good amount of confidence that your father isn't in the room.
'Light-kun. You're the one who's Kira,' L is replying.
'So it seems. At least, so you say. I've been thinking a lot about why I put myself in here. Because you were so sure I was the culprit… and you're never wrong…'
'You put yourself here because you're Kira.'
'Really?' You try to convey how dumb you think that is without accidentally blinking your eyes and saying something you don't mean to. 'If I were Kira, you think I'd actually put myself in jail willingly? How stupid do you think I am?'
The tapping stops for a long moment. In fact, if it weren't for the very slight hum of background noise through the speakers, you would've been sure that L had cut the connection. He hasn't, though, which means you've got him.
'If you were Kira,' L finally responds, 'which you are, you put yourself in here as part of a longer plan.'
'That makes sense,' you answer. 'In fact, if the killings had started up again, I'd even say it's the most logical deduction. But you told me yourself the killings stopped. …Right?'
'...Of course.'
'Then, even though the evidence is against me… can you really believe I'm Kira? I certainly can't. Not only would I have to have memories of killing that I don't have, I'd have to be a complete idiot.'
'Perhaps you were cornered into it,' L says at last.
'By who? The only person I can think of who could corner me, L, is you.'
'The Second Kira—'
'You seriously believe Misa could've manipulated me into this?'
'...Nevertheless,' L says.
'Nevertheless nothing, L. At this point, either you're Kira, or he's pulled the wool over your eyes the way he almost did to me.'
'...That is the only logical conclusion,' L admits. 'I do not like to think you've pulled the wool over my eyes, Light-kun… but it seems you have. For now.'
'That's not what I—'
He's already turned off the connection.
That damn Ryuzaki.
April 12, 2004. John Maynard Keynes, founder of keynesian economics, once wrote:
Even apart from the instability due to speculation, there is the instability due to the characteristic of human nature that a large proportion of our positive activities depend on spontaneous optimism rather than mathematical expectations, whether moral or hedonistic or economic. Most, probably, of our decisions to do something positive, the full consequences of which will be drawn out over many days to come, can only be taken as the result of animal spirits—a spontaneous urge to action rather than inaction, and not as the outcome of a weighted average of quantitative benefits multiplied by quantitative probabilities.
"Since we're already in conversation," Ryuga says smoothly as you gather up your bags at the end of class, "perhaps you'd like to have coffee again, like last week?"
"Well—"
"Unless you have something important you need to do?" he says, with a wide, earnest look your way. "Something that involves watching the news?"
You roll your eyes. "Sure, Ryuga," you say, with long-suffering magnanimity. "Let's have coffee." Two times doesn't make a pattern, anyway.
You go to the café and find the same booth as last time and like last time, Ryuga orders coffee; this time along with okoshi, a sweet dessert rice-bar. You decide to go for oyakodon, a bowl with chicken, egg and rice, since it's actually lunchtime by now.
« May 27, 2004. You're angry at Ryuzaki, you're angry at Misa—can't she follow even a simple instruction? and you know your situation is untenable. Without being able to kill her, you have to kill L, and quickly. You can't keep playing games or he's going to have your head, just because of this stupid woman.
In your room, with two shinigami and a copycat killer, you lose every bit of playacting ability you'd shown around Ryuzaki and the rest of the task force. Who cares? In here, everyone knows who you are, what you are.
Everyone knows you don't love Misa, that you only want to use her. Even she knows that.
"You're helping Misa, right?" you ask Rem. You're about to say something about letting her here to see you being a pretty bad idea as far as helping her, but Rem's words turn your thoughts in a completely different direction.
"Yes," Rem says, with that constant strain of disaffected sadness that seems to live in her voice. "I've watched Misa from the shinigami realm for a long time, and I've developed feelings for her. It looks like you didn't take kindly to my threat to kill you," she adds, as if that needs mentioning.
Feelings?
Well, well.
She admits it. (You've already known since Rem said she'd kill for Misa, and die doing so, but to have it said out loud so blatantly…)
So you go for the crudest method of manipulation you've ever attempted, just to make Rem have to deal with seeing the model hanging off your arm.
It doesn't feel very good, does it? you think. When you want to do nothing else but kill me, and all you can do is play along.
You hate Misa. You hate how she's a piece you don't know how to control with precision, but only as though you're aiming a grenade. You hate how impulsive she is. How she's not on your level. You hate how she's professed her devotion to you and how, for all intents and purposes, it seems real.
(You hate that as long as you live, for the rest of your life, you'll have Misa hanging off your arm.) Fine then, Rem. Watch me. Feel the same resentment as I do.
"So if Misa is happy, you are too?" you ask, full of taunting venom.
"You could say that," Rem says, as phegmatic as ever. "I don't want her to suffer."
"Look at her," you say softly, yanking Misa close to you. You still want to hit her. You're pretty sure if you did, Rem would strike you dead on the spot. "It's only been two days… she likes me so much that she can't even go without seeing me." You pull her against your chest like she's some kind of moveable puppet, looking darkly at Rem the whole time.
"Light…" Misa says, with a swoon in her voice. Her cheeks have gone pink.
Just from mere proximity.
It's disgusting.
"Misa…" you say, gentle and kind.
"Yes?"
"If I were happy, would you be happy too?" you ask, gazing soulfully down at her.
"Yes," Misa agrees, the word a breathy sigh.
Ryuk chuckles.
"Then," you say, "would you ask Rem… to kill L?"
"Hn?" Ryuk says, surprised.
Why would he be surprised? This is what you've wanted, ever since the beginning.
"Rem wants you to be happy," you explain, "and if either of us were caught by L, then how can we be? Shinigami are forbidden to tell humans anyone's name and lifespan, but they can kill whoever they want as long as it doesn't lead to their own death," you say. "If you do this," you add, "I'll only love you more, and feel grateful to Rem. And most importantly, we'll be happy together."
"Rem…" Misa says, softly, "I want to be loved by Light. We'll both be happy. That's my wish."
Rem stares back, implacable.
Yeah, if I were you, I wouldn't buy that either, you think.
You let go of Misa with a huff.
"Fine," Rem says. "I'll do it. I'll kill L for you. L means nothing to me. But I don't like you, Yagami Light, so even if I extend your life, I won't die."
In the distance you can hear Misa squealing and clapping. Maybe she's even jumping up and down. You don't know. Her, and Rem, and even Ryuk suddenly seem very far away, as though you're hearing and seeing them from the end of a long corridor, where the walls are warped strangely; or maybe from underwater…. Distantly, you realize that Rem surprised you.
L will… die… you think. That's… all it took… »
« May 31, 2004. There's a game in behavioral economics called the Investment Game.
There are two players in this game: (1) a sender, who receives an initial amount from the experimenter; and (2) a responder, who the sender can choose to invest in by giving them any percentage of the initial amount.
Whatever amount the sender chooses to invest will be tripled before being given to the responder. The responder can then choose how much money to give back to the sender and how much to keep.
It's a gamble—if you give, you're quite likely to lose money. And yet though the rational option is for the sender to keep all the money, it's often found that the sender doesn't keep all of it. Interestingly, payback increases as the sender's investment size does. If the sender invests fully in the responder, the sender tends to break even or make a profit.
Under the social preference model, this could explain why people choose to gamble on trust. Because though you can lose through it, there is a good possibility that you will instead gain.
This type of reciprocity is not accounted for in classical models of economics.
There's another game called the Prisoner's Dilemma.
In this game, two prisoners are separated and told that each can gain by selling out the other one.
If both sell out, both lose.
If prisoner A sells out prisoner B, prisoner A can get a lightened sentence.
Similarly, if prisoner B sells out prisoner A, prisoner B can get a lightened sentence.
From a self-interested point of view, both prisoners are motivated to sell out the other one. But if they both act from self-interest, they both lose.
However, if both prisoners stay quiet, neither lose.
The problem is that, since the prisoners cannot be in contact with each other, there's no way to guarantee that you won't be the one screwed over.
The further problem is that since L knows that Misa is the Second Kira, he'll try anything in order to get her to crack. You know she doesn't want to give you up… but there's a point during torture where that won't matter anymore.
You're running out of time. »
April 12, 2004. "Oh, by the way," Ryuga says, as though it's just occurred to him. You're both at the exit of the café, about to part ways. "You should have my number, in case you ever feel the need to confess," he says blandly. "Or just to talk about the case. I'm up most of the night, so feel free to call any time." He pulls a pen out of his pocket. "Do you have paper on you?"
Of course you have paper, you've got your school notebooks, but somehow you find yourself wrong-footed enough that you can't answer for much too long.
« It's just a coincidence. It's just paper, for god's sake. No one but you knows that can be a murder weapon, not even Ryuga. »
"Uh…"
"Never mind, here," he says, grabbing your hand and quickly scrawling a number on your palm.
"Ryuga—what the—"
You want to snatch your hand away but to be honest, you're too shocked to move. Ryuga's hand is cool to the touch, but not clammy. You remember, unfortunately, that he had pressed his finger inside the almost-empty sugar packets, and used it to scoop up the last few grains before licking his fingers.
"It's a private line, so don't tell the rest of the taskforce, okay?" he says drily. "Bye now!" he lets go of your hand, and you stare down at your palm, where the bluish-black ink now glistens. He
waves at you even though you're standing only two feet apart, and then walks away, pulling out his phone, presumably to call his limo.
"You know," you say irritably, sticking your hand in your pocket, "you could've just typed the number into my phone."
Ryuga looks up, in exaggerated thoughtfulness. "Oh," he says. "That's right. I didn't think of that."
You would've believed he didn't think of it, this is Ryuga after all—until he said it in that way.
What is this? you wonder, uneasily. It doesn't fit the pattern of casual, tennis-playing friends. This is too intimate. Purposefully so. Just to throw you? Or is he leaving open an opportunity for another interpretation—?
June 17, 2004. Day seventeen of confinement.
"Ryuzaki," you say.
The camera doesn't answer you, but you can hear the soft presence of noise that indicates L has opened the connection.
"I want to catch Kira as much as you do. If you'd let me out, we could work together—"
He sighs. "You know I can't do that, Light-kun."
"Then what are you planning to do?" you ask. "Have you come up with a way to defeat Kira alone?"
There's a small noise of disgruntlement, a huff that only translates through the microphone because it's blown out. "Perhaps I already have defeated Kira."
"But what if you haven't?" you say. "What if Kira's still out there? Are you really prepared to sit here watching me forever? What if that's exactly what he's waiting for? For you to get distracted…?"
The social preference model is not the only model of behavior. There's another called the norm-based model, and it includes the fact that choices are usually influenced by the context in which they occur. (For example, referring to players as partners instead of opponents was found to increase trust and trustworthiness from 33 to 68 percent.) What does this imply? That people's decisions are in large part influenced by how they perceive their situation… by what game they think they are playing.
L cuts the connection. You lean against the side of the bed, and close your eyes.
.
.
.