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It’s hard to maintain human form. You use your lifespan to sustain it, and it runs out fast. Constant killing using the Note is required.
But that wasn’t what he was most concerned about.
It was harder to find the right skins to wear.
Young skin needed extra care; they were fragile. Old skin was too close to its expiration date. Near-adults were best.
Eighteen-year-old Light Yagami became his target.
On a quiet midnight, the Shinigami wrote the teen’s name in the note. The boy died in peace. Soon, the Shinigami was skinning him, wearing the flesh, and shapeshifting into the prodigy.
He walked to the bathroom mirror and gently touched his new, soft skin. No blood flowed beneath it, but it held a natural hue. No cracks, no scars, no peeling—just a perfect fit.
He tried to smile. Raised each corner by fifteen degrees. Still a bit stiff—it would get better. He practiced a few more expressions, getting used to the face.
All was set.
All the others knew he wanted to do this—a no-name Shinigami trying out life as a human for a few years.
“Bet he wanted a name and couldn’t come up with one,” Zellogi cracked.
None of them stopped him that day.
They all stood around the observation hole, waiting for the show to begin.
The main character is Light Yagami, played by a nameless god of death.
Names. Write another. Name. Another.
The fun wasn’t in the killing. No, killing was just a way to keep the skin fresh, to make sure he could stand as a human, live like a normal human. Or else it would crumble into ashes within few days. Yet, regardless of how many people he kills, this skin will still eventually crumple, age, and one day he has to abandon the skin. It will be inevitable.
Just like a human. Human lifespans were short and fragile, like flames on a candle, easily snuffed out. In such a short lifetime, they hate, love, feel agony, rage, joy.
It was far more interesting than the realm of Shinigami.
Humans go on dates. He would do that.
They eat and sleep. He would do that.
Smart ones study hard. He would do that.
Exams? Of course. He was exceptional at history. They felt like yesterday.
He felt the thrill.
He never gave a second thought to killing. Pigs were slaughtered as needed. No one would criticize him for committing murder. It was necessary. All Shinigami did this every single day, except for the ones too lazy to bother.
“Come and kill me!”
One letter. The first to challenge him.
Light grinned at the television, replaying the Kira coverage and the detective’s announcement. This is getting more and more interesting.
“Nii-chan, why are you smiling?” Sayu tilted her head. “Was it that?” she pointed at the screen.
“Oh, nothing,” said Light. “Just thought of something funny.”
“Tell me! Tell me!”
“It’s nothing,” said Light, as Sachiko brought another dish to the table.
“Light, please share with us,” smiled the mother.
“Is Dad not coming home for dinner?” Light tried to change the subject.
“He said he’d be late. The Kira case is keeping the police busy,” said Sachiko, taking a seat across him. “You know your father—don’t worry, we’ll start without him.”
“Itadakimasu."
“Itadakimasu."
“Itadakimasu."
“Nii-chan! You haven’t told me what you were smiling at!” Sayu nudged him as Sachiko served karaage onto plates before them.
“Now, now, Sayu,” said their mother. “Focus on dinner and stop bothering your brother.”
“Alright, alright,” said Light. “I went on a movie date. Pom Poko.”
“Huh? Isn’t that old?”
“Shiori said she hadn’t watched it before,” said Light. “Do you remember what it’s about?”
“…Tanuki?”
“Yes,” said Light, smiling. “The ending suggested that some tanuki shapeshift into humans and live among us. Isn’t that funny? It’s impossible.”
Sayu hummed. “Like Kachi-Kachi Yama? The tanuki who killed the old woman and wore her skin… and fed the old man soup made from her?”
“You have a good memory,” Light said, chuckling softly.
“I don’t like that story,” Sayu huffed. “It gave me nightmares when I was little.”
“Don’t worry,” said Light, grinning.
“Folk stories aren’t true.”