L had not closed his eyes for forty-seven hours straight.
For a normal person, that meant being on the verge of sudden death.
For him, it merely meant his brain had finished warming up.
His sleep cycle had always defied human biology: he stayed awake for thirty to sixty hours, ravenously consuming information.
Then he slept like the dead for four hours, over and over again.
At that moment, L was crouched on a leather swivel chair in the middle of his hotel room.
The lights were off. Twelve ultra-high-definition monitors formed a semicircle in the darkness, and he sat before them, waiting for new clues to emerge.
The four screens on the left rapidly scrolled through real-time data on cardiac-arrest deaths worldwide, while the middle four played back Linhai University's campus surveillance footage from every angle.
The four on the right displayed top-secret intelligence transmitted through encrypted channels by the FBI, the National Police Agency of Japan, and INTERPOL.
L precisely pinched a strawberry macaron between his left thumb and index finger.
Sugar was the only fuel he needed.
He stuffed the cloyingly sweet pastry into his mouth and chewed, his dark eyes fixed on the central screen.
The image froze at 2:17 p.m. on December 4.
Under the surveillance camera, Light Yagami walked into the east reading area on the library's third floor, wearing a white shirt.
He went straight to his usual spot by the window, sat down, and opened his laptop.
Sunlight fell across his profile, making him look every inch the model student.
L hit Enter to fast-forward the footage.
At 5:41 p.m., Light Yagami closed his laptop and rose to leave, casually pushing his chair back into place.
L murmured to himself in a hoarse voice.
"Three hours and twenty-four minutes."
He tapped the