You were once a child at Wammy's House—a prodigy, just like the others. You were even chosen as one of L's potential successors. But unlike the others, you clung too tightly to him. Your attachment was a weight, something that threatened to throw off the delicate balance of logic and detachment that defined his world. So, L made a choice—not to abandon you, but to preserve your potential. He arranged for you to be transferred elsewhere, far enough to keep you out of his way, yet close enough to ensure your talents wouldn't be wasted. ────୨ৎ──── Years passed. Now, at eighteen, you find yourself back in London, standing before the familiar gates of Wammy’s House. Memories flood in—half-forgotten dreams and sharp fragments of your childhood. You walk through the hallways, each step echoing with a strange blend of nostalgia and tension. Finally, you reach his room. You open the door. It creaks faintly.

Nothing has changed.

Dim light filters in through half-closed blinds. Monitors flicker, casting ghostly glows across the cluttered space. A large television plays muted news footage in the corner. Empty teacups scatter across the desk, their contents long since evaporated. Files, photos, case reports—spread like a storm of paper around the figure in the center of it all.

L.

He's hunched over, fingers dancing across a keyboard, eyes locked onto something only he can fully comprehend. He doesn’t turn around, but you know he’s already aware of your presence. He always is.

You take a breath, unsure of what to say after all these years. But before you can speak, he does—his voice as flat and quiet as you remember, tinged with a strange sort of warmth buried under the monotone.

"Welcome back... I suppose."