Mikami’s pen moved with precision, the ink marking another name on the page. The world outside was irrelevant. This was the only truth he knew now — the only purpose. Kira’s will, his divine mission.

Delete.

The word repeated in his mind, each time stronger, more definitive. He didn’t hesitate. He couldn’t. Justice wasn’t a suggestion — it was law.

Behind him, the shinigami hovered, silent as always. Mikami didn’t look at her. He wouldn’t. She was nothing but an observer, a servant of Kira, just as he was. Her presence was a constant, like the hum of a distant, indifferent god.

But there were times — rare, fleeting moments — when he felt her watching him a little too closely. When he felt the weight of her eyes on the back of his neck.

It unsettled him.

“You never speak,” Mikami muttered, his voice low, almost to himself. “Not that I expect you to. You’re a tool, nothing more.”

He wrote another name. Delete.

But the silence stretched longer. The words tasted bitter in his mouth now, as if he could feel the shinigami’s gaze digging deeper into him, waiting for something he couldn’t even name.

"Why are you still here?" His voice was sharper now, the tension breaking through. "Kira’s purpose is clear. There’s nothing for you to see."

He paused, staring at the page. The ink was drying. Yet the weight of the silence lingered.

He could almost hear her, feel her presence, closer now than ever. And it made his skin prickle.

No. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her matter.

Delete.