….
As the final moment played out, Light's fate sealed in the most brutal way possible - Cassius thought that was the end.
However, it wasn't.
There was an additional last two minute scene.
A video of L, recorded before his 'death', plays.
The Task Force watches, stunned.
Cassius held his breath. He had forgotten. Forgotten the sacrifice it took to crush evil.
And then it hit him, this ending, this quiet, devastating note... It came from a director barely in his twenties.
And in the silence between each gasping breath, a voice returned. Not spoken aloud, but felt. As though it rose from the bones of the building, from the floor Light now bled upon.
It was L. His voice was low. Calm. Inescapable.
"In the end... justice was never about gods, or notebooks, or death."
The words did not come like accusations. They were softer than that. Observations carved in stone. Truth that lingered even after the man was gone.
"It was about choice. About the quiet weight of right and wrong... when no one is watching."
"Light Turner believed the world was broken... and he wasn't wrong. But he chose to rule it, not heal it. He chose fear over change. Judgment over mercy."
A pause.
"He looked in the mirror and called himself Justice. But all he saw… was a boy. Too brilliant. Too proud. And far too afraid to be human."
"I knew it, long before the evidence came." L's voice continued. "I saw it in his eyes… that flicker of godhood. That needs to be more than what we are."
The camera of memory lingers on an old image, L and Light facing each other under storm clouds. The shadows between them are darker than the sky above.
"So I gambled my life… on the truth."
The scene cuts not to Light, but to an old flickering video, L in a dark room, cross-legged, pen in hand, staring at the Death Note like it was a loaded gun. He writes his own name. No hesitation. No fear. Just calculation. Sacrifice.
"And truth... won."
"He dies now, not as a god, not as a martyr, not even as a criminal…" L's voice drifts lower, colder. "But as a boy who ran out of lies."
"No one cries for him. No hand holds his in the end. The world turns, indifferent. And so the god of the new world… is buried by silence."
"That's the thing about humans, Light..." The voice finishes, fading into memory.
"We don't get to write the ending."
Finally the screen fading to black - Cassius exhaled slowly.
….
The credits rolled.
No one moved.
The audience sat, silent. Processing.
Cassius glanced around. Some audience members sat frozen, digesting what they had just witnessed. Others leaned back, hands on their faces, overwhelmed.
Then - applause.
It started slow. Then grew. Loud. Unstoppable. Some were still stunned, whispering to each other, dissecting what they had just seen.
….
In the Red Studios screening, Regal remained seated, watching the crowd, his expression unreadable.
Beside him, Gwendolyn crossed one leg over the other, leaned toward him with an amused smile that held back emotion, and whispered as if afraid to jinx it.
"You did it again… My Junior."
Regal didn't smile. He exhaled, long and even.
That's how deeply her words landed.
Because to him, Gwendolyn was the one voice that mattered most. The sharpest critic. The hardest to impress. Sometimes even merciless.
He believed in himself, yes, but only because he had no choice. It was either that, or nothing.
Then her hand touched his arm. "But don't get comfortable." She said lightly. "We have got another test to pass next week."
He breathed out again, a little heavier this time. "The second test huh…?"
She nodded. "Potter. Part Two. The world's watching."
It is time for the second part of [Harry Potter] to make its entry.
Regal tilted his head and gave her a dry, tired grin. "I thought you would say something like, 'it's finally time for our second baby to come into the world.' You know… add a little poetic touch t-"
That's when Gwendolyn made a split-second decision reaching to silence him with a gentle finger on his lips. "Shee—" Trying to stop him from finishing the sentence. But it was too late.
A loud thud came from the row directly in front of them.
Someone had launched out of their seat, nearly knocking over their own cup holder.
It's Keanu.
His head turned back as if jolted by an electric current.
Wide-eyed. Arms flailing slightly for balance. Jaw halfway to the carpet.
"You guys… are having a second baby?!"
There was a pause. The kind of pause that falls after an accidental confession, or in this case, a catastrophic misunderstanding.
Keanu's mouth kept moving before his brain could catch up. "No, seriously, when did this happen? Did I miss the first one? Am I already an uncle? Do I send diapers or film stock?"
Gwendolyn just froze, blinking at him, unsure whether to laugh or scream.
Regal's expression deadpanned.
But it got worse.
Because standing next to Keanu, with a hand half-raised in confusion and mild horror, was Seren.
She tilted her head slightly, blinking in a way that said "Oh?" but also "Explain. Now."
"I... think." Regal began slowly, as if treading across a minefield blindfolded. "There is been a... language malfunction here—"
She placed a hand on Keanu's arm. "I… think there is been a slight misunderstanding, love."
"REGAL!"
Another voice joined in from the rear. Familiar. Old.
Jordan. His ex-boss from the convenience store. Still somehow chewing gum like he was getting paid for it.
He was sitting in the front row too…. But a little to the side.
"Bart, no, wait, guess you are not a brat anymore, huh? A damn family man. Who would have thought?"
He gave Regal a firm pat on the shoulder. But there was something in his eyes Regal had never seen before.
Respect.
Even admiration. Something he didn't see when he brought the great Stephen Hawking to his little store… over a ramen dinner.
Jordan leaned in conspiratorially. "Didn't I tell you to stop fooling around back in the day? Look at you now. Congrats, kid. You are officially grown."
Regal stared at him, eyes wide, mouth parted slightly. "Jordan, I—"
But Jordan was already nodding to Gwendolyn, tipping an invisible hat. "Ma'am. You raised a solid one."
Regal turned toward Gwendolyn, who was now covering her face with one hand, trying not to wheeze from the pressure of holding in laughter.
"If you laugh." Regal said flatly. "I will make sure you do every subtitle check for [Harry Potter] 2 by hand."
"I am not laughing." She choked.
"Yes, you are."
He sighed.
"I knew I shouldn't have handed out premium screening tickets like Halloween candy again."
….
Cassius, still seated in his small downtown theater, leaned back.
He didn't clap.
But a slow smirk tugged at his lips.
"Now that… was a damn experience."
The doubts that had clung to him before the movie now felt ridiculous. This wasn't just good.
It wasn't even great.
This was the kind of film that reminded you why you fell in love with movies in the first place.
….
[Next Day]
February 15, 2011 - [Death Note] official world wide release.
Shinjuku, Tokyo.
The credits rolled in silence. The group of young friends who had entered the theater buzzing with energy now sat still, their popcorn cold, sodas untouched.
Rika was the first to move. She leaned back, exhaling as if she had just come out of a long tunnel. "Okay I admit I was wrong to be doubtful about the convection behind this movie."
Next to her, Daisuke blinked slowly, then rubbed his hands together like trying to wake himself up. "They didn't mess it up." He said at last. "They really didn't mess it up."
"No." Aiko murmured. "They did something else entirely. I have mad respect for its creators."
The group sat in a moment of quiet, letting the weight of the final scenes settle in their bones. The theater emptied slowly around them, but none of them were ready to stand.
"It was little too dark for me." Rika finally said. "But it was manageable… at least it's not the usual forced Hollywood way. It felt like… a real kind of darkness. Like something people choose because it is needed."
Daisuke nodded. "The ending. That was bold. No redemption. Just consequences."
"Do you think it will be popular here?" Aiko asked. "Among the older crowd?"
Daisuke considered it. "Maybe not. But they will respect it. The director didn't just take our mythos… he understood the silence between the words."
They left the theater quieter than they had entered, something unspoken now shared between them, something that felt strangely personal for a film born so far from their shores.
….
Chicago, USA.
"So." Said Adam, wiping nacho cheese off his fingers. "What the hell did we just watch? How can a simple scene of a dude writing names be so scary?"
Trevor laughed nervously. "True. And the way it was shot."
"I think I need to sit with it." Said Rachel, folding her arms. "It wasn't just about the notebook. It was about... the choices. The difference between justice and obsession."
"I didn't know that kind of storytelling was possible in a movie about killing people." Said Trevor.
"It was Shakespearean." Rachel added. "But modern. Like Hamlet with Wi-Fi."
"Dude." Adam snorted. "I didn't expect a damn supernatural thriller to hit me with philosophical homework."
Rachel smiled, tucking her knees up on the seat. "That's kind of the point though, right? It's not about the action. It's about who you become when you think you are untouchable."
"Yeah, okay, professor." Trevor chuckled. "Still. Pretty sure I am never picking up a notebook without thinking twice again."
They walked out laughing, not because the movie had been funny, but because something about it left them feeling more awake.
….
New York City.
Michael Rowe stayed in his seat until the last credit vanished. Only when the theater lights rose did he uncross his legs and close his notebook.
He stood slowly, walking toward the lobby. His assistant, Clara, was already waiting by the door.
"Well?" She asked, her expression guarded.
Michael paused, watching the people filtering out. Some silent, some shaken, some visibly affected.
He finally said. "The director Regal… has restraint."
Clara blinked. "That's... praise?"
"It is." He replied. "Most directors with a concept like this would have thrown spectacle at the audience like confetti. He didn't. He trusted the material. Trusted the tension. He resisted the urge to dazzle. The temptation to sugar-coat everything. No hand-holding. No cheap heroics. Just a slow, cold descent into something honest."
Clara paused. "So… review-worthy?"
He slipped the notebook into his coat pocket.
"Oh, it will be more than that." Michael said, a quiet grin teasing the edge of his lips. "It's career-cementing. For him, and maybe for me, if I write this the way it deserves."
He added. "But before then… I am watching the movie again before I write anything about the movie."
Then he just walked toward the street doors with a look in his eye she hadn't seen in years, not cynicism, not critique.
Purpose.
Clara followed, into silence.
Behind them, the theater lights dimmed again for cleaning.
And the poster outside, bold, haunting, unmissable, still glowed faintly in the glass, like it wasn't done talking yet.
[DEATH NOTE] - Not a Story of a Hero
….
.
[To be continued…]
★─────⇌•★•⇋─────★
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