"If one's life is threatened and they take measures to stop the unlawful infringement, causing harm to the offender, that is considered legitimate self-defense."
"But there are clear limits to what qualifies as self-defense…"
At the late-night snack table, under the dim glow of the kitchen light, Kisaki Eri calmly explained the concept of self-defense law to Hayashi Yoshiki.
"First," she continued, "the person must be facing an ongoing illegal threat. Second, the defensive act must directly counter that threat."
"If the offender is already unconscious or seriously injured, and the victim continues to attack, that crosses into retaliation, which is no longer self-defense. That's excessive defense, which is punishable under the law."
"That's why it's important to learn these boundaries," she concluded.
Japan's laws regarding self-defense were nuanced and strict. A justified act could easily become criminal if it exceeded necessity.
In Wakamatsu Toshihide's case, despite Yokogawa Naoya having committed an illegal home invasion, his final behavior—screaming for help and appearing defenseless before death—would complicate the case.
To the public eye, it wouldn't matter that he stabbed himself in the throat.
The sound of his desperate cries would likely outweigh the truth.
"Learning a bit of legal knowledge would definitely help," Kisaragi said.
"Especially if you're planning to become a detective, Yoshiki. Memorizing legal terms might save you one day."
"I'll make time to read about it," Hayashi Yoshiki replied with a faint smile.
He took a sip of his tea and stared into the cup.
Yes, his setup had been crude.
Controlling Yokogawa Naoya through the Death Note to commit a home invasion, instigating a chaotic scuffle, and ensuring he ultimately killed himself—it wasn't his most elegant plan.
But he'd relied on Mihua City's police force.
More specifically, on their predictable incompetence.
Besides, the intelligence Gin had sent him was so detailed it even included whether the apartment hallway had surveillance cameras. It had made the task easy.
Still, Hayashi Yoshiki noted mentally—he should avoid using this tactic too often.
Once might be brushed off.
Twice might be overlooked.
But if too many suspects begin insisting the deceased "killed themselves during a fight," people might start to notice a pattern.
Not that he had that many people left to frame… probably.
Meanwhile1:12 a.m.A classic Porsche 356A cruised down the near-empty highway.
"After maintenance, my brother's car really does drive smoother…" Vodka mused from the driver's seat.
In the passenger seat, Gin lit a cigarette with the car's built-in lighter, exhaling smoke in slow, controlled streams.
"Deliver the new materials to Sherry's lab by 2 p.m. tomorrow," he said without looking up.
The Organization's research into APTX4869 was progressing. Specialized materials were regularly needed—most of which couldn't be obtained through normal legal means. Gin handled that.
"Tomorrow's the deadline for the novelist, right?"
"He said five days, but he promised to finish in two."
Gin chuckled, then reached for his phone to check reports from his subordinates.
One message stood out:
"Mr. Gin, Wakamatsu Toshihide is suspected of excessive self-defense resulting in a death. He's been detained for investigation.""The deceased was identified as Yokogawa Naoya."
Just this afternoon, Hayashi Yoshiki had asked him to investigate Wakamatsu Toshihide—a college student.
He hadn't asked for a reason.
But just in case, he'd told his men to keep an eye on the kid.
And now? The other name in the report—Yokogawa Naoya—was one of the two targets Gin had assigned Hayashi to eliminate.
He calmly composed a reply:
"Follow up with the full investigation."
"Yokogawa Naoya is dead."
"Huh?" Vodka glanced over.
"Killed by some college student. Claimed it was self-defense."
"Wakamatsu Toshihide?"
"Yeah. Same one Hayashi asked about earlier."
Gin rolled the window down and flicked his half-finished cigarette out into the night air.
Vodka swallowed hard.
He'd wondered if the novelist had just been lucky—that maybe one of the targets had died by coincidence.
But now? That wasn't luck.
That was orchestration.
The new recruit Gin had taken a personal interest in was far more dangerous than expected.
Vodka refocused on the road, letting the Porsche accelerate smoothly.
In the rearview mirror, a red car came into view.
Definitely over 150 kilometers per hour, and still gaining.
"What the hell? Is that guy drag racing at this hour?"
Vodka frowned and steered closer to the middle lane to let the car pass.
The red vehicle flashed by like a red shadow, signaling to change lanes. But—
The car swerved suddenly to the right, violently jerking side to side.
"Obstacle ahead," Gin muttered.
Vodka was already hitting the brakes.
The red car spun wildly, skidding across the road before slamming into the right guardrail—specifically into a steel pipe inexplicably tied to it.
The crash echoed like thunder.
The red car came to a dead halt, smoke curling from its hood.
Inside, blood splattered across the windows.
The steel pipe had gone straight through the driver's window, impaling the driver's head.
Gin and Vodka slowed to a crawl.
"Brother…" Vodka's voice was hoarse.
They both stared, eyes unreadable.
The scene was horrific, but not random.
And then, Gin's phone buzzed.
"Mission accomplished."
It was from Hayashi Yoshiki.