She was the ripe age of forty-four when she died.
It wasn't very sudden. She'd known about the cancer for two years at that point, but she wasn't exactly happy to go.
Her parents cried in their senility, even though she stuck them in a nursing home together and left them there, out of the way.
Her son cried too, in his busy life, even though he hardly spoke to her once she paid for college. Her tiniest grandson was the only one who didn't shed a tear, but he was just confused because he was only one. He didn't know what death was.
Her parents had conceived her at a very, very old age, only her, and a stillborn older sister two years before. She had conceived her own at the very young age of sixteen. Her son had picked a more responsible age. Only married once to her two.
His oldest, Samantha, was her favorite person in the world. Grandmothers weren't allowed to play favorites, but then again, she broke the rules on a regular basis.
Sam was the opposite of herself. She had always been lacking in the grade department, but she knew and saw how the world worked. She had her street smarts. Her granddaughter was sheltered, only smart in the classroom. She tried to teach Sam as much as she could about the real world; some things couldn't be taught in the classroom.
Sam wasn't all that pretty, but she wasn't bad looking either. She would probably grow into her looks. She was the only one she talked to more than two days a week, when she came over after high school hours to watch television and cartoons with her. Those times had been a blast.
Cancer of the lungs from smoking was not an easy way to go. Her life sparked, sputtered, and smothered out like the cigarettes she had used. One of her ex-husbands smoked too, and he was healthier than a horse. Fat, but healthy. Karma meant nothing to her.
She wondered why she ever let him knock her up. Or why she had stuck with him for as long as she did, even after the first few strikes.
She died in a white hospital bed with all of her descendants surrounding her. She was hyped up on morphine, so she didn't feel anything when she took her last breath.
And then she was suddenly taking another. The darkness in her consciousness exploded into a blinding white. She breathed once more, her voice cracking like thunder, and then she was gasping for air, and it was all so confusing.
Her sight was ruined, but she could see no sign of her family by her bedside. She was still in the hospital, if the stench of chemicals and morbid whiteness told her anything, but something was different about the room. Why was the window facing east? Hadn't it been on the other side? Had she switched rooms?
A sudden sting on her backside choked her up. In the distance, a baby started crying.
Her balance was thrown, making her panic and fling her arms and legs and-
Her legs were like lead and her arms were short and stubby. She was clueless, once again, of the state of being she was in.
Someone really needed to shut that baby up. It was getting on her nerves.
She felt a warm softness envelop her like a blanket. She blinked and realized her eyes had fallen shut. They were too heavy to hold open long enough to decipher what she saw.
Eventually she realized, in her tiny, heavy form, she was in the arms of a woman. There was a murmuring in her ear that she didn't understand.
Oh.
A burning in her throat told her she was using her vocal cords.
She was crying. She was crying like a baby.
She was a baby.
Someone, shut her up. She was annoying herself.
She never believed in reincarnation. Rather, she didn't believe in much of anything. But a second chance at life? That seemed like a pretty good deal to her. Some nights, as a single mother living in a cruddy apartment with two cruddy jobs, she often wished to start over, to begin again with a blank slate. She remembered the helplessness she had felt during those hard times and she decided she would gladly accept this new opportunity. There wasn't anything left but improvement.
The sun came for the first time since her rebirth, a mere hour after she was introduced to her new mother. She could see it through her east-facing window.
She could also see thousands of people crowding the streets, and she knew she was in a city. A big one, at that. She noticed as well that everyone had dark features. She was in an Asian country.
Interesting.
More sounds were babbled by the woman. She heard "watashi," and "namae," but she could not string the entire sentence together. At least she knew it was Japanese. She was good at guessing languages and accents by sound.
It looked like she'd have to start from scratch in the language department. All she knew of Japanese was hello and a few words scattered about from all the anime Sam watched when she babysat her.
She would miss Sam, if she missed anyone.
She was in her new home after what felt like a blink. It was small and dark and not very welcoming. It was also in rough shape, and needed a serious cleaning. It would probably pass exactly zero health inspections. She couldn't believe they expected to raise a child there.
It was still better off than her old house.
Her staff of adults included the young woman from whom she came from and an ancient man who must have been her grandfather. There was no younger man that could have been her father. It was just the three of them, and occasionally a shady landlord who looked at her mother with hungry eyes.
Her mother was a sweet woman and never rejected his advances with words, but her body language did not send any mixed messages. She rejected him. He simply refused to cease his harassment.
Whenever her grandfather was gone, his pushes did not relent when she slapped his hands away.
It happened countless times, in front of her.
She was a baby, the landlord figured, she wouldn't understand what was happening. Besides, it was better this way; her mother didn't cry as much so as not to scare her.
But she could understand and it made her angry beyond belief. She wanted to slug him. Worse, kill him. She fantasized about choking the life out of him. In her old body, that is. There wasn't much she could do now.
Time passed quickly because she spent the majority of her days in dreamland. Her attention span was too broken for her to become restless or bored with her adult memories. That was probably for the best.
She was crawling and walking before too long, probably too early for her muscles and motor skills to catch up. She recklessly forced her legs to push and her knees to work. In the end, she was alright, and a mighty fine walker if she did say so herself.
Talking was hell at first; working through sore jaws and blubbery lips wasn't easy, especially with a new and completely unfamiliar language.
And then one day, everything just somehow clicked in her head. New words were easier to pick up, old ones were permanently etched into her mind, and pretty soon she was the most fluent one and a half year old she knew.
She potty trained herself at the same time. Her mother was ecstatic at her rapid development, especially in that department. Of course, she had done it mostly for herself. It would be humiliating to have to be retaught how to use a toilet. She was a woman, dammit, she could go to the bathroom. The Japanese toilets, which went under ground level, were strange, but easy to figure out.
She didn't need to start over, she just needed adjusting.
Her grandfather never held her or took care of her. He didn't like her, and she didn't like him. She had a sinking feeling he knew what the landlord did to his daughter when he left, and he did nothing about it. He looked at her like she deserved it, like it was punishment.
In her old life, she would have called him a dick. But young Japanese girls didn't know such foul language.
Any play dates that she was forced to go to were awkward for both her and her mother. She was too advanced to be stimulated mentally by other toddlers, and the woman had nothing she could relate to with other moms. She was too young, her life was too unstable. All that was given in terms of consideration were upturned noses at their way of life.
Park visits were better. The homeless man who slept on the slide was very entertaining. She would approach him when her mother wasn't looking, and he would in turn make silly faces and act out comedic plays in an attempt to make her laugh. She actually did, a few times, and he was very high on her very short list of 'acceptable human beings'. It was just him and her mother.
It was an unfortunate day that her mother caught their exchanges, although an inevitable one.
One moment she was giggling at a poorly translated Romeo and Juliet, and the next, her mother plucked her off the ground. The woman froze as she caught the man's startled gaze, but eventually broke her trance and quickly scurried off.
She waved from her mother's arms. He waved back.
They didn't go to the park much after that.
Reiko Matsumoto knew that she had a very atypical daughter.
She never played with other children—not that Reiko could ever get any of the other mothers to agree to a playdate—and only talked to a grand total of two people (one being her, and the other being the homeless man who slept on the slide in the park, a fact that, quite frankly, made her very nervous). But when she held conversations with her daughter, Reiko didn't see a mere three years in her eyes. She knew things, knew the world like only an adult could. She was jaded. Her own daughter treated her like she was the child. Reiko didn't know how she felt about it, or how to handle it. Sometimes it was hard. Sometimes it was much easier that way.
Her father did the same thing; treated her like a child, that is. He didn't trust her with her own decisions, with her own life. With her own mistakes.
He forced her to leave her childhood home. He forced her to stay in hiding, to accept his money and his occasional presence.
He couldn't just let people know his daughter had a child outside of marriage, could he? Or, even worse, that the father had run the second he had heard Reiko was of child. Her father couldn't let such rumors tarnish his reputation as a dojo master. It'd be the end of his pride.
He watched her like a hawk each time he was there.
On the days her father wasn't there, He was.
He was flabby and had facial hair over his acne. But worst of all, he smelled. And it never came off, even when she bathed.
And she was drowning in his stench, and she couldn't breathe, and all she needed relief.
She was four years old, and her old life was still at the forefront of her mind. She mostly thought about Sam, how she must have graduated high school by then, how she must have found a boyfriend. She clung onto the times they spent together, on watching her grow up, on the shows they used to watch together. It was hard to let go. She found comfort in reading. Or rather, books distracted her from her inner thoughts. The challenge of deciphering this new language was a welcome one. She couldn't tell whether her rather advanced hobbies made her mother proud or scared. Was she a genius, or was she a freak of nature?
It was slightly funny that Reiko would never find out that her daughter really was a freak.
Because she wasn't a genius, that was for sure.
She woke up one day, and Reiko didn't get out of bed.
There was red soaking her shirt front and sheets. Silver gleamed by her wrists.
Reiko Matsumoto's final thoughts were on a piece of notebook paper. She placed it on her pillow, next to her head.
'He smells so badly. I'm sorry, Kaho.'
Reiko slept. Kaho moved in with her grandfather. He didn't cry.
She didn't either.
By the time she was five, Kaho was so ready for school that it almost hurt. Her grandfather walked her to the opening ceremony, which was a very uncomfortable stretch of silence. She was just glad she wouldn't have to spend anymore days trapped in that bloody home, all alone. She had run out of books to read, and grandfather said she couldn't go into the dojo until she was old enough to learn what he taught.
She found the opening ceremony boring, and was forced to swing her feet back and forth in order to stay awake. Her legs didn't even reach halfway to the ground.
"Sit still," her grandfather ordered.
She ceased swinging her feet and sat perfectly still for at least thirty seconds. She didn't notice when it started up again until a stinging on her cheek told her she had been struck.
"I told you to do something, girl," Grandfather scolded.
Kaho attended her first three days of school with a bruise under her eye.
Judo was an interesting art, to say the least. You didn't have to be bigger or stronger than your opponent to throw them, but you did need to be big and strong. Kaho was neither.
She was rather dexterous, especially for her age of eight, but she was still no match for the other students, the boys. She hit the mat countless times, her own attempt at a throw countered and used against her.
That was unacceptable. She was the granddaughter of Master Matsumoto. She had to win to uphold her family's honor, even if it was practice or a warm-up.
When regular Judo classes ended, Grandfather gave her private lessons.
This time when the teachers asked where the bruises were from, she could say, 'from Judo practice,' without completely lying.
It'd been nearly a decade since she'd seen Sam. She had probably gotten married by now.
Thoughts of her old life were rarer and rarer these days. Sometimes she found herself having normal ten year old thoughts, almost forgetting her secret. Almost forgetting her age.
It scared her. Forgetting Sam scared her.
She began to write things down. Every little detail she could think of or recall about Sam; their tedious conversations, and what type of coffee they shared.
And the television shows they had watched.
Sam was a huge fan of Death Note. She had gotten her young grandmother into it as well, and together they had a 'thing'. Their thing.
She, personally, could get behind Light, but Sam had eyes only for L.
Before realizing it, Kaho had written down almost the entirety of the show. It surprised her how much she remembered some details and forgot others. Strange, how the mind worked. Her new, Japanese studying techniques had increased her memory's capacity, she believed, but not all things could be recovered after they are lost.
She was Japanese now. She could watch Death Note in its original language and understand it without subtitles.
Anything, to never forget Sam.
Grandfather didn't believe in television or computers, so she went to the library.
"I had an assignment that required the Internet," she told the old man when he interrogated her of her whereabouts the last twenty minutes. "Tanaka-Sensei suggested everyone research what happened on the day Hiroshima was bombed."
"And what did you learn?" A test. He didn't trust her.
"The Allied Forces had just defeated Germany in Europe, and had then turned their focus of the war to the Pacific. The American President, Harry S. Truman, had just authorized the use of the Atomic bomb-"
"Very well. Go to your room and change into your gear," he ordered sternly. "You're late for your lessons."
It would have been embarrassing if a Matsumoto had arrived the next day as the only one who hadn't done their research.
She had only been at the Library for ten minutes, anyway. The anime and manga known as Death Note had not appeared in any search engine. It simply did not exist.
Kaho liked school. She may have forgotten some of the material she had known as an adult, but it came back to her after a refreshing lesson. To her teachers, she was a bright kid who picked new things up quickly. To her classmates, she was hardworking. Kaho had plenty of friends, and a pleasantly small amount of girl drama, but just enough to keep her entertained.
School was a haven.
After a certain amount of time, however—eight of their entire thirteen years of life—her school friends wanted to know about her home life.
Kaho had a response for most, if not all, of the prying questions. Learning to lie was second nature to her.
"I live with my grandfather. He's the master of a Judo Dojo. My parents were killed in a train crash. It was tragic. When? June 21st. In Shinjuku. They were on a small get-together with friends. I was four. I don't remember them much. This bruise? Judo, of course. I'm working on obtaining my green belt, but the test is so difficult."
She chose an all-girls high school. It was prestigious, which would definitely affect her University options, but it also had on-campus dorms. She couldn't pass that opportunity up.
"Does the school you picked have a Judo club, Senpai?" her classmate, Jun Masashi asked her as they swept the middle school's Judo dojo. Kaho was the current captain of the Judo club, so even though they were both third years, she was still "senpai"'. She stayed after practice most nights to clean and prep for the next day. Her friends would often help her and make things move along more quickly.
"Yes, they have a large one," Kaho answered him.
"Will you try for captain there?" Jun asked eagerly.
"No, not my first year."
"I think you're good enough to be one already!" he insisted. "There's no point in waiting if you could do it now."
"You're too kind."
After cleaning, she went home. Grandfather had known about her decision for a long while by then, but he kept thinking up new questions to ask each time she walked through the door.
She couldn't tell if he was suspicious of her intentions, or worried about her. He was stern as always, but he voiced a few out-of-character questions.
"What is the curfew?"
"Nine," she answered shortly. Maybe he was worried.
"You're curfew is seven. I'll inform the faculty of these arrangements, and they will inform me of any disobedience." Nevermind.
"Yes, Grandfather."
Kaho felt stupid.
She was always aware that the date she had been reborn on had been in the past of her old life; she had died on December 11, 2013, but her new birthday was December 11, 1977. And, in 1992, at the age of fifteen, it finally occurred to her that Death Note just hadn't been written yet. She had always figured she was just in a whole different world, as her old mother had no records to be found—but the technology she had access to, wasn't very reliable, so it could be that she didn't have the means to find her.
She had the 'Back in Time' theory for a while.
And then she heard some news at school.
After Judo practice, Kaho showered with the other girls. It was nice to feel clean, and she got a chance to get to know her classmates. It was no strange thing to start up a conversation in the locker room.
"Did you see the story on the news last night, Kaho-chan?" Yuka Arakawa asked. She was referring to when they were allowed to watch T.V. together on the dorm's first floor, every Thursday. The other days allowed for no electronics, unless they were needed for homework. It was a treat bestowed upon the girls by the dorm supervisors.
"I can't watch the news," Kaho answered simply.
"Why not?"
"It starts at eight."
"Well, anyway, they caught the Sandman!" Yuka squealed excitedly.
"I don't know who the Sandman is. I can't watch the news," Kaho reiterated. She rinsed the shampoo from her hair.
"Oh, well, it's a nickname. There were a string of murders in the Kitaguchi Hotels in Ikebukuro. A man was breaking into locked rooms and strangling couples in their sleep. Like ten people were killed," Yuka explained. Kaho figured she'd make a good reporter; she was smart, articulate, and pretty. And she beat around the bush quite a bit.
"Anyway, as it turned out, the area's head manager would schedule himself for the night shift at different hotels each night, then sabotage the security cameras so they wouldn't work. Then he'd pick out a couple on the room logs and choke them to death with janitor gloves. Everyone thought the victims were random."
"So he was arrested?"
Yuka grinned, lathering soap onto her legs. "Not quite. See, the manager was only following orders. It turns out that the president of the entire hotel company made him do it!"
"That's terrible," Kaho commented.
"It is. And they were only really targeting one couple; apparently the president had a secret mistress who broke up with him for someone else. He gave her and her new boyfriend a free week's stay at one of his nicest hotels as a way to make amends with her, but that was just bait to get them in one of his businesses. The other victims were just cover-ups."
Kaho sighed, an appropriate amount of relief on her face. "I'm glad the police caught them."
"They didn't, actually," Yuka continued with a flourish. "Some young, up-and-coming detective solved the whole thing by himself. In one day!"
Kaho regarded Yuka with raised eyebrows.
"That's very impressive. Let's hope he keeps up the good work. Maybe he'll become an officer in Ikebukuro one day. I'm sure he is needed."
"I doubt it. He works mostly in England and Europe. He has his own brand practically made up for himself already."
"Oh, I assumed he was Japanese," Kaho said. She couldn't imagine the Ikebukuro detective force hiring someone outside of Japan. Pride was a folly but it was also prevalent.
Yuka's face lit up. "Well, I can't say he isn't. No one has any idea who he is or what he looks like. He might even be more than one person. Or he might just be the police, and they use his name to break laws and such in order to put the bad guys behind bars. Either way, I think he's pretty sold on the independent detective thing."
Kaho nodded at each suggestion. "They all sound plausible. What does he call himself?"
Yuka thought for a moment. "It was... L. Just L, I think."
She wasn't absolutely sure she was in the same world until... Well.
For a while, she convinced herself that this 'L' could have been the inspiration for the character. Maybe the character had been based off a real person, who she just hadn't heard of because she lived in the backwater parts of the States. Her 'back in time' theory was still in for the running.
L's name grew with each successful case. She snuck out of her room on Thursdays to watch the news.
And then happened the incident that completely blew her first theory out of the water.
She had just started her third year of high school. She would be graduating at the end of the year, as well as the rest of her class. In preparation, several figureheads in a variety of career fields were invited to her school to give speeches.
Kaho sat properly in the crowd as a man was warmly welcomed to the podium.
"Hello, thank you for having me. My name is Soichiro Yagami. I've been recently appointed Chief of Police at my department, and I now have the honor to educate you young ladies on what it is like to be an officer of the law. "
"Are you sure you want to enter the Police Academy, Kaho? It won't be easy," Misao Ishikawa said. "Physically or mentally. That's a lot of stress."
Kaho held the submission slip in her hand, enveloped and stamped. She had filled it out months ago. Now, the Academy would finally be accepting applications. She opened the mailbox.
"I mean, I'd miss you too much! You should come to nursing school with me," Misao continued, half-joking, half hoping it would work.
Kaho smiled. "I'm not looking for easy. Besides, nursing school would be much harder."
Misao sighed, skipping beside the girl she considered her friend as she walked away from the mailbox, her letter safely inside, mixed with other girls' hopes and dreams for the future.
"Alright, alright. Knowing you, it won't be hard enough," Misao poked at Kaho's side, giggling. Kaho grinned back, genuinely in sync with the emotions she was trying to portray, for once; she was giddy, and excited.
"Oh, I'm sure it will be interesting."
AN: Hello, and thank you for reading until the end of Chapter 1! Please let me know what you think, especially about Kaho. How did she come off as? What kind of person do you think she is?
Kaho lives in the Kanto region of Japan, in Tokyo, which is coincidentally where the Yagami Family lives. Of course, she doesn't go to the same school that Light will when he eventually gets to high school. Unless he decides to enroll at an All-Girl's school, in which case, I feel we would have a completely different fanfic on our hands. She is older than Light, if that wasn't clear.
This is labeled as an Oc-Insert. I do not see Kaho as myself. Frankly, I'd die in this world. As for romance, I do see it happening, though as to with who, that is up for debate. :D
The time skips are many in number and close in distance, I know, but it won't be that way forever.
Also, if there are any wrong facts from the manga or anime, or if I completely contradict myself, please let me know! Again, thank you for reading!
~Lin