Hayashi Yoshiki had no real interest in the three athletes standing proudly onstage, but he kept up his sociable facade.
Ray Curtis, the football goalkeeper, was explaining the name behind "3K World Restaurant."
"The first 'K' stands for KO—knockout—in boxing.
The second is for a strikeout in baseball.
And the third 'K' represents the keeper—goalkeeper, of course."
The audience responded with polite applause. But just as the cheer rose—
"Isn't there another 'K' they conveniently forgot to mention?"
A mocking voice cut through the air.
All eyes turned.
The moment Ray Curtis laid eyes on the speaker, his face twisted into a scowl.
A man stood there—suited up, but no clothes could hide his sleazy, self-satisfied aura.
"For three guys who've made headlines more for their scandals than their skills, I've got a better K—'jerK.'"
Ed Michael.
The notorious tabloid journalist smirked as he pulled out an invitation card.
"I was invited, see? Not sure who sent it, but I sure appreciate them. This sushi? Pretty damn good. Hahaha!"
With that, he swaggered off like he'd just scored a personal victory.
Ray Curtis and the other two founders stood frozen, their expressions soured.
"Who was that guy?" Ran asked quietly.
"His name's Ed Michael," Mouri Kogoro replied, frowning. "An American gossip columnist. He specializes in sensational stories—half-lies, half-imagination—and his writing's slick enough to dodge lawsuits."
"Ugh… even among sleazy reporters, he's the absolute worst," Hayashi Yoshiki muttered with a faint smile.
The disruption passed quickly, and the cocktail party resumed.
The buffet table was packed with exquisite dishes, each more tempting than the last. Even Ed Michael, having insulted the hosts, now munched happily on a plate of sushi—utterly unfazed by being shunned by the other guests.
Nobody greeted him.
He didn't care.
His gaze darted around the venue, eyes hunting for prey. It was Ray Curtis he'd come to provoke—but in a place filled with stars and secrets, anything could make for juicy copy.
Meanwhile, Hayashi Yoshiki remained calm and composed, exchanging lighthearted banter with Yoko Okino.
Their easy conversation didn't attract suspicion—after all, Yoko had spoken favorably of Hayashi Yoshiki many times in public, even recommending his novels during talk shows. Everyone assumed they were just good friends.
Kogoro Mouri, however, kept throwing suspicious glances their way from across the room.
"I'm stepping out to use the restroom," Hayashi Yoshiki said with a casual smile as he set down his drink.
But the moment he left the venue, Ed Michael noticed—and followed.
In the restroom, Hayashi Yoshiki stood at the sink, calmly washing his hands.
Ed Michael strolled up beside him and did the same, rinsing off the rice grains from his fingers as he glanced sideways.
"You're Hayashi Yoshiki, right? The mystery novelist?" he said, voice oily with false familiarity.
"...What do you want?" Lin asked, not bothering to look.
"They say you're a brilliant detective. Always solving cases ahead of the police," Ed said with a sly grin. "Rumor has it… you can do that because you're constantly thinking about murder. Always imagining ways to kill people. That true?"
Hayashi Yoshiki said nothing.
Ed chuckled.
"So you're not denying it."
Still no response.
"I also heard," Ed added casually, "that you've seen a psychologist. At the same clinic as Kyosuke Fudo, right? The guy who went on that cop-killing spree…"
"...What's your point, Mr. Michael?"
"Oh, I'm not here to say anything. I'm here to write, Mr. Hayashi."
He grinned, the sort of grin that made most people's stomach turn. His reputation preceded him—whenever Ed said those words, people got nervous. Rightly so.
He's digging for dirt to spin into a headline, Hayashi Yoshiki thought.
Much of what Ed said was already public. Hayashi Yoshiki's past therapy visits had come to light during the fallout of the Fudo incident. His name had appeared briefly on patient records—it was enough for the vultures to circle.
But Hayashi Yoshiki wasn't like most people.
"I've heard some gossip journalists are paid to write smear pieces," Hayashi Yoshiki said coolly, wiping his hands with a folded handkerchief.
"Others blackmail their targets with secret photos… all under the guise of 'hush money.' Sound familiar?"
Ed Michael shrugged.
"Comes with the territory."
Hayashi Yoshiki folded his handkerchief neatly and dropped it into the wastebasket—then turned, eyes locked on Ed's.
His smile was still there. Gentle. Calm.
Too calm.
"Just now," he said, voice silky, "you said I'm always thinking about how to kill people."
"That's right," Ed answered, still smug.
"Then I must thank you," Hayashi Yoshiki said softly. "Because that was an extremely interesting thing to say."
He stepped past Ed Michael slowly.
His smile never changed.
But his eyes—
Cold.
Unmoving.
Unnaturally hollow, like a pane of black glass.
Ed Michael stood frozen.
The man before him wasn't angry, or defensive. He didn't scowl, didn't raise his voice. He smiled too politely… and that smile didn't reach his eyes at all.
It was so perfect it felt pasted on.
It was wrong.
(…He figured me out.)
Just as Ed Michael's thoughts began to turn, he caught Hayashi Yoshiki's lips move—
(You really discovered it.)
No sound.
Only the silent movement of his lips.
Then he walked away.
Ed Michael stood rooted in place.
A chill crawled down his spine.
Outside the restroom, Hayashi Yoshiki checked his watch.
19:41.
Still a bit early.
Just as he rounded the corner, he ran into Heiji Hattori and Conan.
"Brother Yoshiki!" Conan greeted, beaming.
"You're in a good mood tonight," Hayashi Yoshiki noted.
"Of course!" Heiji chuckled. "This kid's idol—Ray Curtis—is standing right up there."
"Ah, I see," Hayashi Yoshiki said, smiling gently.
Then I guess I've just saved his hero from falling…
Hayashi Yoshiki had always remembered the infamous incident surrounding the 3K Restaurant.
Ray Curtis, betrayed by false allegations from Ed Michael, had planned to kill the man at this very event.
Michael had published a fabricated report accusing Ray of drug abuse. The resulting media storm drove Ray's wife to suicide. Though Ray eventually cleared his name in court, all he received was a half-hearted apology.
It wasn't enough.
So Ray, consumed by grief, plotted revenge.
But this time… I got to Ed first.
And Hayashi Yoshiki's fingers had already danced across the pages of the Death Note.