Makeup? Check.
Hair? Check.
Mask..?
She knotted the satin ribbons around her head. A new, mysterious figure reflected in the mirror.
Check.
Rachel smiled hesitantly. For the first time in a long time, she felt the euphoric sensation of excitement and curiosity. The last time she'd dressed up was prom. It felt kind of nice to have a reason to look nice again, pretty even.
The International Summit of Kira Investigations was today. All that was left to do was go. Before trepidation was the reigning emotion she assigned to thoughts about the event, but after spending what seemed like hours of preparation at the mercy of her mother's makeup brush and curling wands, her anxious thoughts melted to naive anticipation.
Maybe she could have a good time afterall.
"Rachel, we're leaving!" Her Dad's voice boomed from down the hall.
"Coming!"
Her heels clicked against the floor as she rushed toward the door, trying (and failing) to walk gracefully. She barely made it before her dad steadied her. "Thanks," she muttered.
"You look beautiful Rachel," He said approvingly.
"Thanks Dad." She blushed. Praise from him was rare so she knew it was genuine.
"Shall we?" He offered his elbow, and after a moment of consideration she took it.
A short elevator ride and a brief walk later, they slid into the cool leather seats of the limo. Rachel noticed the reinforced doors and plexiglass windows. It wasn't just for style—it was protection.
"Just a precaution," her dad said, as if reading her mind. "Better safe than sorry."
She wanted to ask safe from whom? but the answer was obvious—Kira supporters.
"I thought the location wasn't published to the public.." She said instead.
Her dad clicked his tongue. "It isn't, but they always find it" As if sensing her unease, he turned to say " No one's ever gotten hurt."
Yet.
Nodding in response, Rachel suddenly felt awkward under his gaze.
Rachel couldn't remember the last time they'd talked like this—just the two of them, with no interruptions or distractions. It felt almost alien, like a piece of their relationship had been buried under layers of time and distance, and she was suddenly unearthing it. The sensation was strange, uncomfortable even, but not in a bad way.
For once, she wasn't competing for his attention. She wasn't brushing off his disapproval or struggling for acknowledgment. They were simply sitting there, together, in silence.
After a few long moments, her dad cleared his throat, the quiet hum of the limo's engine the only sound between them. "So, how's school?"
"It's good. I got my grades back from last semester." Rachel hesitated, then added with a little pride, "Oh! I made the Dean's List." She glanced at him, searching him for some sign that he was impressed.
"Congratulations." Her dad's tone was warm, but there was something guarded about the way he spoke. His gaze was still focused on the passing city lights outside, face half-lit by the streetlights.
Rachel felt the urge to keep the conversation going. "And... my art's going well, too. In the first year, we mostly focus on the basics—light, shadow, composition, painting. A lot of work, but it's fun. I like it." She didn't really expect him to care about the details, but it felt good to say it out loud.
"That's good." He nodded, his eyes still fixed on the city beyond the window. "You're still set on Illustration?"
Rachel nodded, the weight of the question sinking in. She could feel him studying her, even though he wasn't looking at her. "For now, yeah. I don't have to make a decision until next year. It's such a broad field. I'd have to specialize eventually."
"Just like law," he observed, his voice soft but firm.
"Exactly," Rachel said, her chest loosening a little. "I was thinking about looking into children's book illustration or maybe package design. Something practical."
Her dad turned slightly in his seat, his gaze now on her. "What about editorial?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine curiosity.
"Editorial?" She blinked, surprised by the question. Editorial illustration wasn't something she'd really thought about. "I don't know… It doesn't really interest me that much." She paused, thinking about how to explain it. "I just want to draw simple, nice things, you know? Things that make people smile. I don't want to be caught up in controversy or current issues."
Her dad's brow furrowed slightly, his gaze shifting to the road ahead. "I see." There was a long pause before he spoke again. "You have a lot of potential, Rachel."
The words were well-meaning, but they carried weight. Don't waste it, was the message that hung in the air between them, unsaid but loud.
"I know," Rachel replied quietly, the words heavier than she intended. She hadn't expected her father to say anything different. His vision for her art was always meaningful in a way that made her uncomfortable. Art is a weapon, he always said; Images have power.
She had argued with him about it before, reminding him that people needed happiness, too. That just because he wielded his voice through the law didn't mean she had to do the same with her artwork.
But today, she didn't feel like reopening that argument. The weight of her own desires and his expectations clashed in a way that was exhausting. So she just said, "Thanks, Dad."
He didn't respond immediately, just sat there in his thoughts, before his voice softened again. "I just want you to understand the power of your voice, Rachel. That's all."
"I know," she said again, this time with more certainty.
"There's more than one way to change the world." His tone was quiet, almost contemplative, as though he was trying to impart something bigger to her.
"I know." The words were automatic now, almost a defense mechanism. She was used to hearing them. But this time, they felt hollow, like a wall between them.
Her father sensed the shift in her, the conversation running its course. With a soft sigh, he changed the subject. "Your mom told me about the study-abroad program."
Rachel froze. She hadn't expected him to bring it up. "I—I was going to tell you. I just wanted to wait," she said, scrambling for the right words.
She remembered the flyer she'd seen for the program last month: Study art in a semester-long exchange in your country of choice! The escapism it promised was hard to resist—away from her family, away from expectations, just focusing on her passion. The idea had called to her like a siren's song.
"It's kind of dumb, I know. I probably won't get in anyways so—"
"I think it's a good thing," her dad interrupted, "At your age, you should want to expand your horizons. You have my blessing—if you get in."
Rachel's mind spun. Really? She stared at him, blinking in disbelief.
"Really," he nodded, his expression softening.
If they hadn't been buckled in by seatbelts, Rachel would have hugged him. She didn't even realize how badly she needed this validation until the words left his lips. "Thank you, Dad," she said sincerely, feeling the weight of the moment settle over her.
The limo sped through the streets, but it felt like time had slowed down, as if the world outside didn't matter anymore.
The rest of the ride was quieter, the conversation drifting into comfortable silence. Rachel felt something lighter inside her—like a small, hopeful spark.
The moment Rachel stepped out of the limo, the overwhelming sense of security around the event became impossible to ignore. The building ahead of them was unremarkable—its facade unassuming, without so much as a banner or advertisement for the summit. From the outside, it could have been any other corporate building. Only the long line of limousines and the heightened security at every corner hinted at the significance of the event.
Still, no amount of precautions could shield them from the distant echo of jeers and calls, faint but unmistakable. Kira's supporters had found them. And from the volume of the noise, it wasn't just a handful of them.
Rachel's heart dropped, her throat tightening. She quickly pulled the mask a little tighter on her face, grateful for the anonymity it provided. At least I'm not the only one hiding tonight, she thought, clinging to the small comfort. She glanced up at the security guard motioning them toward the entrance, eager to step away from the protestors and into the relative safety of the building.
The lobby inside felt nothing like the grandeur she had imagined. Instead of elegance and refinement, it was more like stepping into an airport—cold, impersonal, and laced with an eerie tension. Body scanners and bag checks were a sharp reminder that, while they were here to attend an event, they were also in the middle of a high-security zone. It felt a little ironic to walk through the scanner while wearing a mask, but she couldn't bring herself to care.
"Well, at least the precautionary measures end here," Rachel thought to herself, relieved that the most intense part of the night was behind her.
As they walked up the grand marble staircase, Rachel glanced over at her father. His eyes crinkled with amusement beneath the white mask he wore, his shoulders relaxed as he looked around, clearly more at ease than she felt.
"So, what do you think so far?" he asked, his voice light, almost jovial.
Rachel couldn't help but smile a little, though it was mixed with an undercurrent of discomfort. For once, he wasn't distant or preoccupied, but genuinely enjoying himself. The banter between them felt oddly... normal. It was the kind of moment she hadn't realized she'd missed—his easy, unaffected demeanor filling the space between them.
"I think this is the weirdest thing I've ever seen," she whispered, the words carrying a tinge of disbelief.
He laughed, his voice warm and free, without the usual weight of tension that had often marked their conversations. "That's the spirit. It's going to get stranger from here, I'm sure."
For the first time in what felt like ages, Rachel felt like he was really here with her—like he was happy, not just performing the role of "Dad" but genuinely enjoying the night. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make her chest feel a little lighter.
As they made their way deeper into the hall, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The tension Rachel had felt earlier—the unease from the protests and the security checks—began to dissipate, replaced by a sense of grandeur and spectacle. The soft murmurs of the crowd, the clinking of glasses, the shuffle of feet on polished marble—it all seemed to come together in a way that was almost intoxicating.
Rachel's gaze swept across the room, taking in the lavish decor, the rich burgundy curtains draping the stage, and the sparkling chandelier hanging overhead. It was more than just a conference; it was an event, one that had clearly been designed with opulence in mind. She hadn't expected the scale of it, nor the atmosphere that made everything feel slightly unreal.
That feeling only increased when they stepped into the main hall.
Wow.
Stunning. That was the only word to accurately describe it. The hall's interior was like an opera house, with a high ceiling and glittering chandeliers. The unmistakable focal point of the room, the center stage, was framed by luxurious burgundy curtains, overseeing the bustling crowd of waiters, speakers, and guests. Each table was meticulously arranged, crowned with intricate place settings and beautiful floral centerpieces.
Certainly, Rachel had imagined what the night might be like, but this—this was beyond anything she could have predicted.
Bethany's going to be so jealous, she thought with a small smile, the sense of luxury and exclusivity sinking in.
They quickly discovered there was no seating chart. In an effort to preserve anonymity and avoid any direct identification, guests were free to select any table they wished. Her father, eager to be close to the action, chose one near the stage, where the grandeur of it all felt palpable. Within a half-hour, the entire hall was seated, a soft hum of conversation filling the space.
The burgundy curtains parted, signaling the beginning of the evening. As the crowd quieted, Rachel's gaze followed the movement on stage.
A middle-aged man with receding brown hair emerged, his bold red mask sparkling under the stage lights. The audience's applause broke the silence, a ripple of energy coursing through the room as he stepped forward to address them.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer's voice boomed, "Welcome to the fourth annual International Summit for Kira Investigations—our largest one yet. Before we begin, I'd like to take a moment to acknowledge our sponsors, organizers, and you, without whom none of this would be possible."
Applause rippled through the room like a wave of energy
"Tonight, you will hear insights from a range of speakers about Kira Investigations worldwide. We'll cover current laws, social strategy, and ongoing detective efforts to restore order to our systems of justice. It is in this fight against injustice that we are all united."
The announcer then began listing the order of presentations, her father's name coming up somewhere in the middle. Rachel caught a brief glimpse of his expression—reserved, but undeniably proud. It struck her just how significant this moment was for him.
And he chose to share it with me.
She quickly refocused on the stage, not wanting to get caught staring.
"Now, to kick off our banquet, I have the pleasure of introducing our special guest of the evening. He flew all the way across the Pacific to be here with us tonight. At just 25, he has already made an impressive career heading Kira Investigations with the Japanese National Police Agency. He's a valedictorian from both his high school and alma mater, To-Oh University," the announcer added, eliciting a few impressed "hmmm's", "Please welcome Mister Light Yagami!"
A figure stepped out from the wings, and the crowd gasped.
Woah. Rachel thought, her eyes widening in surprise.
It wasn't just his youth that caught everyone off guard, though that was striking enough. It wasn't the confident stride, nor the gracious handshake he gave the presenter, or even the sheepish, dazzling smile he flashed at the audience.
What held everyone's attention—what truly had the crowd transfixed—wasn't what Light Yagami had.
It was what he didn't in the space between his eyes and mouth...because Light Yagami wore no mask.
Rachel's gaze sharpened.
"Before I begin, I'd like to apologize for my English," Light's deep voice cut through the air, his words laced with the faintest accent. "I haven't practiced since high school. But I am truly honored to be here tonight, standing alongside all of you under our shared goal: preserving justice."
Being near the stage, Rachel couldn't help but observe him closer. His light brown hair was impeccably styled, and a red satin pocket square peeked out from his blue blazer, which was trimmed in black velvet. As he raised his arm to speak, a flash of metal revealed golden cufflinks that curiously resembled…apples?
"Bold," someone whispered near her. Rachel couldn't help but agree.
No. Not just bold. Fearless.
He continued his speech.
"I come from a long line of public servants," Light said, his voice unwavering. "My father is a police officer, and he taught me the importance of standing up for what you believe in. That is why I refuse to hide my face; because I am not afraid to fight for what's right—even if my life is on the line."
"Although this has been a long fight," Light continued, his voice steady and resolute, "I know it is one we are all committed to pursuing. And for that reason, I am so excited to work with all of you. Thank you for having me."
With those words, Light bowed to the almost deafening applause that filled the room. The sound was thunderous, the admiration of the crowd unmistakable.
Rachel, completely mesmerized, watched as Light rose and made his way off-stage, his movements graceful and controlled.
"Impressive man, that Yagami," her father murmured into her ear, his voice carrying a note of approval that felt different than usual—almost personal. The waiters, moving silently around them, returned to refill glasses with wine, the clinking of crystal briefly breaking the spell of the moment.
Rachel could only nod in agreement, her mind still reeling from the intensity of his words, the gravity in his gaze. She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd just witnessed something far beyond what she had expected. Something... important.
The banquet was mostly uneventful. Rachel found the food far more interesting than the speeches, though she made a point to listen when it was her dad's turn. He was explaining a proposed law—PDPR (Prisoners Data Protection Regulation)—that would privatize information on suspects in ongoing cases. Apparently, Japan had implemented something similar years ago.
Other speakers included an ex-CIA agent who had worked with L, and David Hoope, the current mayor of New York and, more importantly, the leading democratic presidential candidate for this year's election. Rachel found his mask pointless—she had seen his face plastered on countless posters around the city.
He was seated two tables to their left, accompanied by a woman who was presumably his wife and three very intimidating men. Her dad, spotting the proximity, wasted no time excusing himself to make their acquaintance as soon as the buffet opened, leaving Rachel to fend for herself.
She quickly excused herself, hoping to avoid the inevitable awkward conversation with their seat neighbors.
Navigating through the maze of silk and satin, Rachel noticed the ex-CIA agent getting up and heading toward David Hoope and her dad. Guess Bethany was right about the networking, she thought with a sigh. It just wasn't going to be her doing it.
As it turns out, making conversation in a room of people where half of them are supposed to be anonymous is harder than you think.
After narrowly dodging a few waiter trays and stepping on only one expensive dress, Rachel finally found her way back to the entrance hall, where a few guests milled about, catching their breath or chatting quietly.
In the distance, two hallways stretched from the lobby—presumably leading to the restrooms. Left or right? She paused, then chose the latter. It seemed like the right direction. She smiled at the accidental pun.
Her gamble didn't pay off, though. With each step, she found herself deeper in an increasingly deserted hallway. You'd think they'd have some signs around here, she mumbled to herself, ready to turn back. But just as she began to retrace her steps, a faint sound stopped her.
It was soft, almost like a whisper—a low mumble of conversation. Curious, she crept closer, peering down the next hall. A shadowy figure stood with his back to a large window, the faint glow of moonlight casting an eerie reflection. It was clear he was the source of the murmuring.
Oh, he's talking to himself, Rachel thought.
In the window's reflection, he raised his arm, the golden apple cufflinks on his sleeve catching the light.
Apple cufflinks. Wait a second.
Rachel's mind snapped into focus. I know who this is.
Light Yagami.
He turned abruptly, and for a moment, their eyes met. She could've sworn she heard him say company? as if someone had told him she was there. But that was impossible. His face showed a flicker of surprise before quickly smoothing into a neutral expression.
Rachel froze, caught like a deer in the headlights.
The silence stretched for a few long moments, awkward and thick, before Rachel realized he was waiting for her to speak.
"Ah, sorry if I startled you!" she blurted, her voice a bit too loud in the quiet hallway. "I was looking for the bathroom and must've taken the wrong turn." She deliberately left out the part where she'd been eavesdropping.
"No worries," he replied smoothly, his tone diplomatic but oddly warm. "I'm Light. Nice to meet you...?"
"Rachel." She said it quickly, and then mentally cursed herself. Shit, should I have given my full name? Too late now. She forced a smile. "And yeah, I saw your speech. You really made a statement up there."
Light smiled, a low chuckle escaping him. "Yes, that was the intention," he said, his eyes sparkling with a mix of humor and something else, something that made her flush beneath her mask. He was far more handsome up close than he had been on stage, and he knew it.
"Glad to know it worked," he added, the hint of satisfaction in his tone unmistakable. She couldn't quite tell if he was joking or if he actually believed in the power of his words. Either way, he was clearly at ease, completely in control of the situation.
Rachel cleared her throat, trying to shake the awkwardness. "Totally. Um... What were you looking at out there?" She gestured toward the window, desperate for a change of subject.
Light raised an eyebrow, glancing back at the window, then back at her. "Well," he said with a small, inviting smile, "Why don't you take a look for yourself?"
Rachel felt the pull of curiosity too strong to resist. She stepped closer to where he stood, peering out the glass. The twinkling city lights below were beautiful, but what caught her attention was far more unsettling.
At first, the view was deceptively peaceful—just the usual evening bustle of the city streets. But as her eyes adjusted, she noticed the crowd. Dozens, hundreds—no, more—of Kira supporters had gathered in the shadows, their dark clothing blending together like a single mass. The distant glow of streetlamps illuminated signs they carried, but they were too far away for her to read.
Her eyes dropped to the perimeter, where a small trashcan fire burned, the flames flickering eerily in the night. The sight of so many bodies packed together, so many eyes focused on the building, made Rachel feel suddenly very small.
So many eyes.
Instinctively, she stepped back from the window, her breath hitching in her throat. A shiver ran down her spine. There was something unnerving about the sheer number of people—like they were all waiting for something, something dangerous.
"They can't see you from here," Light said, as if reading her mind. "They tint all the windows before we come."
The words precautionary measures echoed in her mind.
"Thank God." Rachel let out a shaky breath, her pulse still racing. "There's so many of them."
"Amazing, right?" Light hummed in agreement, his eyes fixated on the crowd below, his expression almost detached. It was as if the sight didn't faze him at all. If anything, he looked mildly entertained-like this was just another day at the office.
"More like horrifying," she muttered, her stomach twisting into a tight knot. The only thing standing between them and the growing mob were flimsy metal barricades and a few NYPD officers. It felt dangerously inadequate.
The silence that followed settled between them, thick and heavy, the weight of their surroundings closing in.
Rachel shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of the silence hang between them like a thick curtain. She couldn't stand just standing there, staring at the chaos below or the Rachel shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of the silence hang between them like a thick curtain. She couldn't stand just standing there, staring at the chaos below or the unsettling calm of Light beside her. Before, when he'd spoken on stage, there had been confidence and purpose. But now, up close, she noticed something else—an almost eerie composure, as if he were unfazed by the tension around them.
It made her feel small. She wasn't used to being in the presence of someone so... unshaken. He seemed so comfortable, so entirely in control of the situation. Of course he is, Rachel thought, her anxiety rising. He's the head of Kira Investigations. This is probably nothing new to him.
It was like she was in the presence of someone who wasn't quite human—like he didn't feel fear the way she did.
"Well," Rachel cleared her throat, breaking the quiet. "I should... probably get back to my table."
Light didn't respond immediately. He just kept staring out the window, his expression unreadable.
She shifted on her feet, eager to escape the tension, her mind searching for any excuse. "I'll... I'll leave you to it."
He nodded, still absorbed in the crowd below. "Take care, Rachel."
"Right," she said, a little too quickly, and turned toward the hallway, needing to put some distance between herself and the unnerving calm of the man in the suit.
As she walked away, the muted sounds of the banquet filled her ears again—clinking glasses, hushed conversations—but it didn't help with the anxious thrum of her pulse. She couldn't shake the feeling that something about tonight was about to shift.
After a few more turns and a couple of wrong directions, she finally found the bathroom.
3 New Notifications.
A hazy-blue glow flickered from her phone, casting a faint light across the bathroom stall. This was the first time Rachel had checked her phone since arriving, a reminder that beyond the walls of the conference, she still had a normal life to return to.
The first notification was a campus alert, reminding her about the registration deadline for next semester's classes. She deleted it without a second thought.
The second was a message from an unknown number, claiming she'd won a big prize. She rolled her eyes and ignored it.
The third was from Bethany. Rachel hesitated before opening it.
Did you get your grade back for the Kira assignment?
Underneath, a second text followed: Hope you're having fun (;
Rachel smirked, then rolled her eyes. Leave it to Bethany to remind me about school when I'm at a party. She quickly typed a reply, hoping to keep it brief:
I am having fun. A half-truth.
She mulled over mentioning her untimely rendezvous with , but decided it could wait for the inevitable debriefing Bethany would put her through.
Instead she typed: I didn't even know they'd been graded—what did you get?
A lie.
The truth was, her paper had come back covered in red ink. "Needs more support," Diaz had written in unforgiving script. He'd even asked her to stay after class, telling her that he knew she had more conviction inside her. Conviction. She still wasn't sure what that meant.
The people here had conviction. Her dad had conviction. Light had conviction. There he was, standing boldly on stage, commanding the room. His father must have been so proud. And here Rachel was, uncertain of what she even wanted to do. Would she ever have that same confidence?
Rachel unlocked the stall and caught sight of her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her lips cracked. She looked pale, and the harsh light above only accentuated the tiredness in her face. Funny how a few hours could make such a difference.
After the bathroom detour and her unexpected encounter with Light Yagami in the hallway, the evening suddenly felt longer. Her earlier excitement, her naive anticipation, had drained away with the sight of the Kira fanatics outside. Now all she wanted was to go home.
Sure, the glitz and glamour were fun. Sure, the masks were cool. The food was amazing. But in the end, it all came back to Kira.
Kira. Her father's obsession. Kira. Her peers' idolization. Kira. The sole reason for this event. Kira. The one thing she couldn't escape.
...If only she knew she'd just met him.
She took a deep breath. Remember, this night will be over in a few hours. Then you can go to bed, and everything will be fine.
All she had left to do was sit through a few more speeches, pretend to listen, and make it to the end. No big deal. She was a college student. Pretending to listen to lectures when all she really wanted was to stay in bed—that was her life. The next few hours would be no different.
No different at all.
Rachel slowly washed her hands, taking her sweet time. She gave herself one last inspection in the mirror before leaving.
Mask. Check. No rogue toilet paper stuck to my shoes? Check. No lipstick stains on my teeth? Check.
She flashed a wide, fake smile at her reflection and gave her cheeks a small pat. I can do this. I can.
Here we go.
Her heels echoed sharply against the bathroom tiles as Rachel hurried across the room. Just as her hand reached for the bathroom door-
BOOM!
The building shuddered.
The floor vibrated under her feet, a violent thud shaking the walls. Rachel stumbled back, her pulse spiking as adrenaline flooded her veins. She threw open the bathroom door, her wide eyes scanning the hallway. A few lingering guests exchanged confused glances, their expressions mirroring the fear spreading through her chest.
What the hell was that?!
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The next explosion was closer, followed by a piercing scream somewhere in the distance. That's when Rachel's heart truly began to race.
Somewhere in the building, glass shattered, its sharp crack echoing through the halls. Rachel's mind flashed to her earlier conversation with Light, the eerie calm of the crowd outside, the feeling that something was wrong. The only thing standing between them and the mob—the thin metal barricades, the scattered NYPD officers—couldn't hold them back if the crowd was frantic enough.
A disgusting, nauseous feeling gripped her stomach, her breath catching. No way, she thought, hyperventilating. This can't be happening, and then, I have to find Dad.
And then the sprinklers went off, their high-pitched screech drowning out everything else. Water poured from the ceiling, adding to the madness.
…and the chaos truly unfolded.
