August 2029

Dear Jihyun,

It isn't Christmas this time, but I had the thought that I should write you a letter anyway, because I don't want you to forget everything we talked about at lunch last week. Talking to them about business will be the easiest thing you've ever done. It's when they want to talk to you about things like how much they love you even though they have done nothing to prove it that the conversations become difficult. Before I impart my valuable advice on you once again, though, I do have to complain that I still don't understand why you're approaching them for help. Whatever they have to offer you, I can find it faster, secure it better, and pay higher for it. But you've always been a stubborn one.

Jihyun crumples the letter and stuffs it into his pocket. Jumin would cringe at the rough treatment of his words, but Jihyun's already delayed them five minutes in favour of frantic pacing, reciting Jumin's advice in his mind. Keep it short. Avoid jargon. Tell a story.

His head pulses, and he knows he's going to forget all of it the moment he steps into the room.

Breathe, he tells himself, but that instruction doesn't seem any more helpful right now than reveal your aces does. He rubs his eyes, then forces his feet to do their job and walk him out of his bedroom, down the long, painted blue hallway Jihyun's mother's portraits hang on, and into the kitchen where she and Jihyun's father sit together for what must be the first time in the five years since Yunseo left.

Jihyun's parents have elected to sit across from one another, leaving Rem no choice but to sit between the two of them at their square table. His mother's silver hair, arranged neatly in a bun, drapes fantastically around her pointed cheeks, and Jihyun can't help but think she looks like a fairy in a storybook.

Flatter their egos, Jihyun thinks, and he knows Jumin didn't mean retrieving his camera to photograph his mother, so instead he says, "Thank you for taking time from your work to have dinner with me today."

The corner of his mother's lip quirks up. "That's a little formal for a family dinner, isn't it?"

Jihyun's polite smile freezes on his face, and just like that all of Jumin's advice evaporates from his memory.

"How should he know what's too formal for a family dinner?" Jihyun's father murmurs, reaching for the reusable grocery bag sitting on top of the table and distributing its contents — plastic boxes containing various vegetable dishes, and a steak for Jihyun's mother — between them. Three people remaining in the family and none ever learned to cook.

"That's true," his mother concedes. "He's had to learn it all from Chairman Han."

Why are they saying these things? Are they still upset about Yunseo? Every time she calls Jihyun, she asks if they've changed and started acting like a real family yet.

"Seonho," his father says gently, and Jihyun's mother looks at Rem, whose face burns under her scrutinizing gaze. Rem looks away, pulling a tablet from her bag and unlocking it instead of trying to respond to their impossible chatter.

She takes a deep breath. "I want to ask for your help with something," she says in as measured a tone as she can muster.

"Really?" Jihyun's mother's eyes light up. His father's posture also shifts, eyes drifting Jihyun's way curiously.

He busies himself with pulling up the photo album he'd curated to show them. For the most part, he prefers not to keep his real work at home, storing it at school instead, where he spends most of his time anyway. It's not that Rem believed Ms. Jong, exactly, when she told Jihyun that commentary from family can ruin a shot, but something about it did strike her a certain way she couldn't describe. He slides the iPad toward their side of the table. Jihyun's father puts down his chopsticks to pay attention. His mother keeps eating, but moves her hand to swipe through the photos while she does.

"Did you take these?" his father asks, and his mother looks up as though the thought hadn't occurred to her.

That wasn't obvious? Rem wants to ask. Jihyun wears a camera around his neck a good amount of the time, and he requests film and other supplies every Christmas…

"I did," she says, holding her tongue. Has she really not mentioned her interest in photography in all these years?

"These are… they're very good, Jihyun," his mother marvels, slowing down her scrolling. "You used a digital camera?"

"No, these are scans," he explains. "The original copies are at school."

"Mm…"

He licks his lip. It's going well so far. Give them a reason that it would benefit their interests to help you, Jumin's words return with his confidence. Jihyun had wracked his brain trying to think of a way to do this before eventually resigning himself to the idea that there really was no such reason, but… watching them…

"I'm very inspired by the work the two of you do," Jihyun says, only realizing as the words are leaving his mouth that it's true. "I… I guess I take after you… as a fellow artist."

To call himself that word feels haughty, and arrogant, but the harsh lines of his mother's face seem for once to melt away.

"You do?" she beams, turning to Jeong-wu. Then she does something Jihyun hasn't known her to do since Yunseo left: she smirks, an amused light glimmering in her eye. "Well, why didn't you ever tell us so? Here we were, thinking our own children see our work eccentric and off our rockers…"

Jihyun feels lines form around his eyes, pleased she used the term 'children' in the plural. Seonho seems to see what she's done in Jihyun's face, and a wetness creeps into her expression. She presses her shoulder against Jeong-wu's arm, which has taken hold of the tablet.

He licks his lip. "I've been thinking about photography as a potential profession…" he admits. His father finally glances up, the contemplative stare he'd allowed to linger long on each of Jihyun's photos fixing on his face. Seonho's smirk spreads into a wide grin, and she clutches her husband's hand in hers, nodding encouragingly for Jihyun to continue.

Thank you, Jumin. Her friend's tactics, sourced from his father, reminded her at first of Light Yagami's cunning and Higuchi's clueless flattery, and indeed she had worried it would sound that way coming from her — but now, for the first time and thanks to Jumin's advice, Jihyun's parents seemed to see their son.

A sensation she can't place stirs in her stomach, and Rem swallows to clear her mind.

"I haven't quite decided yet…" Jihyun says. "But… it's my last year of high school, and… I'm thinking if I can get a foothold as an artist, I may dedicate myself to the pursuit in lieu of going to college."

"You have a good vocabulary," his father comments. Rem blushes.

"It must be all that time you spend with Mr. Han's boy," Seonho muses. "I guess you don't need college if you keep tagging along with educated sophisticates, isn't that right?"

Perhaps Jihyun was simply too young to understand it before, but it appears to him now that his mother is fond of banter. He offers a small smile back.

"To test the waters… my photography teacher, Ms. Jong, suggested I hold a small exhibit," he says, arriving at last to the focal point of this discussion. The tablet is replaced on the table after his parents reach the last of his photographs. Jeong-wu uses his chopsticks to meticulously rearrange the grains at the top of his bowl of rice. "She offered that I could use the gallery at school, but, I thought, since the two of you are very well-respected in the art world, that perhaps I might turn to you."

"We can get you a much better venue than your high school's gallery," Seonho asserts, the sharp lines of her face punctuating the statement. Jeong-wu gives Jihyun a silent nod of agreement. "I'll speak to my contacts right away —"

"Finish your steak, first," Jeong-wu pulls her gently back into her chair, which she had stood from in her excitement. The gesture doesn't pop the bubble that appears to be lifting her spirits. Her silver-streaked hair shines, and her skin glows with a joy that lights her from within.

For the first time, Rem seems her through the eyes of Jihyun's father. Art is the soulblood that binds them in deep affection. His mother, animate, infinite in her passion as Jihyun watches her spin gold in her mind, compose the venue on table with her eyes. With visual acuity sharpened by a lifetime of painting and the exhilarating buoyancy of pride, she dives headfirst into an idea that an hour before Jihyun was uneasy to share.

October 2029

It's the first time Jihyun visits C International in over a year, but it feels as if he's never stepped foot in the building before. Gone are the marble floors, glossy black tabletops, and indigo accents popping out from seashell-backed white chairs. Renovations have knocked each space wide open, dark varnished hardwood provides a sense of gravitas despite their location on the 76th floor, and potted green foliage hugs the glass walls. But while the company owned by Jumin's father has repackaged its aesthetic into a greenhouse, Rem is unsurprised to see that his personal office remains the same as it was the first time she stepped food into the room: heavy, tasseled curtains are permanently closed three-quarters of the way over the window, royal blue brocade ensures the majority of the light emitting from the crystal chandelier is swiftly absorbed by the walls, and the centerpiece of the room is an antique tortoiseshell and bronze encrusted desk that Jumin once informed Jihyun in a high child's voice originated in 15th century Paris. Mr. Han sits behind it now, marking thick fluid strokes across his memo pad with practiced, elegant motions that remind Rem more of Light Yagami than Higuchi's scrawl.

"Thank you again for your support, Mr. Han," she tells him. To her right, Jumin folds his arms, an expression of deep lack of amusement set on his face.

"You mustn't thank me, Mr. Kim," Mr. Han says, reading glasses falling low on his nose. "This is nothing for my son's dear friend. In fact, I wish that you would have approached me in the first place, rather than burdening your parents…"

"Exactly," Jumin says, not for the first or for the hundedth time since they began to organize Jihyun's exhibit several months prior. "It was a frivolous activity and not worth its symbolism. You know we could have provided anything you need."

"Thank you both very much," Jihyun says humbly though they both just told him not to. Jumin and Mr. Han are the sorts of rich folk, Jihyun has realized, who believe that most everyone is poor, including Jihyun's parents whose pockets are by all accounts incredibly deep. Misa's inconsistently serviced apartment, which was regularly subject to having the water shut off, would probably not have even registered to Jumin as legitimate housing.

Mr. Han tears the page away, sliding it across to Jihyun, then begins writing another phone number. Jumin snatches it off the desk before Jihyun can take it.

"I will have someone type up and email the list to you," he insists. So you don't lose it goes unspoken. Jihyun is about to argue, but it is clear from Jumin's expression that there would be no point, so he nods instead.

"What are your plans for after graduation?" Mr. Han asks as he's writing. "You know, that sister of yours was quite brilliant, if my memory serves me correctly. Mr. Mun sponsored her to go to… Cambridge, was it?"

"Cambridge," Jihyun confirms, and Mr. Han hums appreciatively. The reality was more impressive: Yunseo's education fees were covered mostly by scholarship. Mr. Mun only funded the outstanding balance.

"I hope it goes without saying that I will fund your education as I am funding my son's," Mr. Han tells Jihyun. "He will be travelling abroad for his studies, as you are well aware. I am deeply appreciative of how much your friendship means to him. Even my wife has made the comment that he is lonely whenever he is not with you."

Jumin flinches, but whether it is because of the reference to his stepmother or because he feels embarrassed Rem cannot tell. She doesn't know how to react either, an involuntary blush creeping across Jihyun's face.

Jumin shifts, then straightens, gathering his bearings. "Jihyun has it in his head not to go to college," Jumin says, not bothering to hide his disapproval.

Mr. Han's pen stills above the characters he was writing. He looks up at Jihyun, then removes his glasses to fix him in a serious stare. Jihyun swallows.

"You should not skip college," he tells Jihyun in a measured voice. Jihyun's blush deepens, and a list of bright red things he must look like runs through his head. Tomato. Crab. Mr. Han's favourite wine.

"It was only a thought I was considering," Jihyun attempts to reassure him. Jumin's father looks skeptical, and Jumin straightens with the pride of vindication. "I hadn't made up my mind, still."

"Whatever were you thinking you would do that a college education wouldn't benefit?" Mr. Han shakes his head.

"This," Jumin answers for Jihyun, pointing to the exhibit plans. Mr. Han quirks an eyebrow at him and Jumin is smirking as his father launches into a small tirade on the importance of college education. Jumin and his father don't even care about education for the sake of learning. It's all about status, Mr. Han says, and that is precisely what Rem has never understood about humans. Misa never did anything that she didn't want to, and she was successful in her career. It's those humans like Light Yagami who give reputation constant consideration - but Light was better at keeping a clean image than Mr. Han is.

Mr. Han goes on to explain to Jihyun why he should also give consideration to the family name. This strikes Rem as particularly bizarre because of his praise for Yunseo, who by and large forsook her family and struck out on her own. Apparently such details are trivial in the matter of commanding respect: so long as Yunseo follows the script, she brings honour to parents she doesn't speak to. Jihyun reminds Mr. Han that his parents don't care about college, but Mr. Han shrugs this off as if he'd said they don't care for kimchi. One need not care for something if it's good for them and everyone else cares.

From that conversation on, the subject of names begins to saturate Jihyun's life in a way that reminds her of her past one, and comes to a head when Ms. Jong asks him which he wants to use for the exhibit.

"What… name?" Jihyun asks, perplexed.

"Well, many artists and photographers publish their work under a pseudonym," Ms. Jong shrugs, and Jihyun knits his eyebrows together. Such a thing would be useful in shielding oneself from the death note, but no one worries much about such things in Jihyun's generation, born at the end of Kira's reign and only in their first years of life as all of Light Yagami's influence seeped into the sewers of modern reality. Not even his best laid plans could avert the flow of time and humanity's tendency to forget everything. "It helps to keep one's personal and professional lives separate."

"Ah," Jihyun understands. His parents publish their work in their own names, and sometimes even leverage their status as husband and wife as part of their public image. "I haven't really given it any thought…"

"Well, if you don't mind, I can write 'Jihyun Kim,' and leave it at that —"

"Wait," Jihyun interrupts, and Ms. Jong smiles at him mysteriously.

"I thought so," she says. His confusion must be visible on his face because she laughs. "Well, there's something about you… something preternatural, I guess. A human name like 'Jihyun Kim' doesn't quite suit you."

You could tell? Rem wants to ask, but she supposes that's how she felt when she saw Jumin the first time, his contemplative silhouette before the high schoolyard walls. "Thank you?" she says unsurely. Ms. Jong's eyes twinkle.

He bites his lip. It would be the first time Rem ever uses a fake name — well, why would she have needed to? The first alias to come to her mind is L.

In all her years as Jihyun, 'that person' has only seldom appeared in her thoughts. There was something about him that unsettled her, despite her power vastly exceeding his. His frame was barely more than transluscent skin stretched over bone, blue-purple veins in his hands and neck that appeared to Rem as if no blood flowed through them anyway when she considered how best to go about stopping it. The intensity of his gaze was disconcerting compared with Light or Misa's casual arrogance, regarding her like she were simply another human, or the Task Force's deferential fear of looking at her directly. L Lawliet made her feel — she realizes now, for the first time — claustrophobic, as if he intended somehow to fix her with his stare like humans who pin butterflies by their wings. His curved, slight form was pathetic, child-like, as if he were too afraid to face the world, and he was. Yet his words held such power, soft voice firm with aloof conviction. He spoke his wishes like inevitabilities, spelled threats with even his dying breaths — but so did Rem. In the end L's undoing was not Light Yagami, it was Misa. Her radiance claimed three lives that day. She called it a beautiful way to kill.

But Misa's gone, Rem's heart thuds dully, thinking back to the night she found out the truth. All her remaining years added to Misa's lifespan didn't buy her much time, and if Rem had had any foresight she might've killed more to ensure Misa would live healthy and long. Where Light Yagami would have planned, the shinigami were always procrastinating, to her own and to Misa's eventual detriment and demise. Still, some symmetry remained. Rem didn't know what Valentine's Day was before she read about it on Misa's Wikipedia page. No idea what poetry she was inventing with every life she took.

"What about… V?" Rem suggests.

"A single initial," Ms. Jong muses. "That's bold. There's a lot of Vs in the world, you know. Do you think you can stand apart?"

The roaring success of V's exhibit three months later suffices for an answer. Rem was always more concerned with blending in than standing apart, but Rui, one of Jihyun's favourite photographers who he met for the first time today, insists they step outside. "Everyone else wants to talk to you too," Rui says. "And I hate being interrupted."

In choosing the name V, Rem realizes she'll never outrun L's shadow, echoed in Rui's imperious ordering of the world to conform with his whims. Jihyun doesn't know what to say, so he smiles anxiously. "I'm flattered you've taken an interest in my work."

"Not just in your work," Rui corrects him with twinkling eyes. "I'm interested in you."

Jihyun flushes before he can even attempt to stop himself, and Rui leads him through the side door of the studio.

"You're incredibly impressive, particularly for an amateur," Rui says, pulling a cigarette pack from his pocket. He offers it toward Jihyun, who declines by raising a hand, then shrugs and lights one for himself. In the dark evening, it bathes his light stubble in a warm glow. He watches Jihyun carefully. "I've seen you before, at my exhibits."

"Your work is very inspiring for me…" V admits. "I know I mostly photograph nature, but your portraiture, it's…" He trails off, unsure how to put his feelings into words or if it's foolish to even try.

A cloud of smoke seeps slowly from Rui's pointed lips. "It's easy to capture people after you've honed your appetite for them."

Something in his word choice makes V think of Ryuk. Rem swallows. Embers reflect in Rui's glasses.

"What are your plans following the exhibit?" Rui asks him.

V shifts. Why does everyone keep asking him that?

"I hadn't made any," he divulges. Rui nods with what V thinks might actually be approval.

"Don't waste your time in college," Rui says. "A talent like yours won't be refined in the classroom."

Rui lapses into silence, but it feels as though there's something he hasn't said. V watches him silently, curiously, as Rui taps ashes onto the sidewalk.

He takes a long drag, then sighs, his features seeming to shimmer through the fumes. "Come with me. I'll show you how real people live."