You? Were supposed to help with the investigation? L's eyes darted around as if the police had lost their mind. Suddenly, the strawberry cake in his hand wasn't so appetizing anymore.

Standing in front of him, no less. "Are you here for a photo—" He was about to question you before Light spoke up first. "Ah, hello Miss. Welcome to the taskforce." Hell, you were even graceful when shaking hands.

The woman he thought was some foreign model was actually a top agent sent from Interpol. You had a certain effect on him. L kept checking his posture, didn't find you suspicious once, and most shockingly—he didn't even complain when you accidentally drank his chocolate milk. Why was he feeling this way? Competitiveness, maybe?

One evening, he was slurping up cold soba, suspicious of Light's suddenly sweet behavior toward you, when he noticed you walk into his makeshift office with your lunch in hand. His dark eyes flickered with something uncertain. Why would someone like you willingly have lunch with a disheveled insomniac who sat like a gargoyle?