Upon arrival at the D-Cube Link Arts Center, I noticed many male audience members — the highest ratio of men I’ve ever seen at a musical in Korea. I suddenly realized that men do not dislike the genre itself but rather the themes of most shows, and thought how the market could grow if productions created stories that appeal to male audiences. The men were not shy at all; they took photos at the photo zone and actively discussed the plot and the anime. On a lobby screen, I could see the stage view and took a picture — since photography is prohibited inside, I assume this was not breaking the rule.

This Korean production is presented by OD Company under license from HoriPro — the original creator and rights holder of the musical — and it feels unmistakably Japanese through and through. Many stereotypical Japanese motifs and narrative patterns remain evident, even though the musical itself was written by an American team — music by Frank Wildhorn, lyrics by Jack Murphy, and book by Ivan Menchell — and based on the manga by Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. Light’s discovery of the Death Note and his decision to test it on a criminal is staged very clearly, so even first-time viewers grasp his descent immediately.

The LED staging was a brilliant idea. It made the show feel like a modern Japanese drama — a live-action manga in motion, reminiscent of Detective Conan adaptations with real actors. The panels mimic the visual rhythm of animation: panels, grids, and bursts of light at every death. The main deck is slanted toward the audience, with the top frame angled upward. The geometry is carefully planned for balcony and side visibility; projections remain readable even from the upper tiers. Rather than immersive, the space feels contained — a controlled arena for the battle of minds, probably because the D-Cube theatre’s orchestra pit and fixed proscenium limit thrust extensions. I kept thinking how wonderful it would be if the LED panels could extend beyond the fourth wall and wrap around the audience seats.

Still, the overall effect is sleek and intellectual. Cool blue lighting envelops L’s deduction scenes, while red pulses follow Light’s killings. The slanted floor and overhead panel make the world itself seem to tilt — a visual echo of moral imbalance.

The sound system was exceptionally well-balanced — crisp, resonant, and powerful enough to fill the D-Cube auditorium without distortion. The mix carried Wildhorn’s orchestration with clarity; reverb was present but controlled, creating just enough depth without washing out diction. Every voice, especially Lim Kyuhyung’s, projected cleanly across the hall. I also noticed the speaker arrangement: a short arc array in the middle and two longer ones on each side. Interestingly, some speakers had been removed from the center, leaving only the steel frame. It seemed deliberate — perhaps to avoid phase interference or excessive reverb in the middle range — and the result was excellent balance throughout the hall.

Lim Kyuhyung as Light was a revelation. His dense, resonant voice and precise diction gave the character both authority and danger. He carries the text cleanly, every consonant audible through Wildhorn’s sweeping orchestration. He looked convincingly like a high school student, his voice fittingly youthful yet powerful — moral confidence at first, turning into arrogance as the show progressed.

Sandeul as L provided the perfect counterpoint. His tone was crisp and agile, almost mathematical. Acting-wise, he was completely convincing — the hunched posture, the sideways glances, the cynical half-smile. At the very end, when his face finally lifted into the light, it shone like an angel’s. Only then did I realize how little of his face we had truly seen until that moment. Their duel numbers were highlights of the show, both men carrying them like warriors in battle. The tennis court scene was the pinnacle — where emotion and logic collided in musical form. I feel almost apologetic to say that I heard L’s audible breath intakes several times, something that distracts me in musicals.

Lim Jung-mo played Ryuk, and I was pleasantly surprised. I’ve seen him in other shows where he performed well, but here he truly transformed into a dark angel. He sang and moved with natural command and even refrained from bowing during the curtain call, maintaining the god’s composure — which made me smile.

The story still fascinates but feels compressed. The musical lacks the inner turmoil that defines the manga’s psychological depth. Light crosses the line too quickly; the rot begins the instant he writes the first name. The notebook’s design makes even an “experiment” irreversible — thought becomes action with no room for regret. That moral trap is the most terrifying part of the story, and the musical hints at it but doesn’t dive deep. Perhaps it’s better not to overexplain, since the pacing is fast — I can understand the creative choice of omission.

Misa’s arrival breaks that tension. Her singing style is deliberately cute — idol-like, with decorative vibrato and rounded vowels. It feels authentic to Japanese television but disrupts the psychological tone. Yet I find that her pure and submissive character is not entirely a Japanese invention. She resembles a Victorian fiancée from Jekyll & Hyde — devoted and self-effacing, a double cliché drawn from both Japanese idol culture and Western melodrama. Her number ends Act I with an almost TV-drama twist: she picks up the Death Note, revealing the idol’s dark side. I found that pattern too familiar, and it broke my concentration.

Yet the duel between Light and L brings everything back. Those deduction scenes — narrowing the suspect by time of death, by region of broadcast — are pure pleasure. Short but brilliantly logical, they recalled the Sherlock Holmes tradition I love in Japanese mysteries: reasoning as aesthetic performance. They instantly re-engaged me. I wished they lasted longer, though perhaps that would have disrupted the pacing.

I kept thinking how much potential this show would have in a purpose-built theatre. There, I felt inside the stage; here, the orchestra pit and fixed frame kept the world at arm’s length. If Death Note had its own custom venue, the LED panels could extend beyond the proscenium, Ryuk’s voice could move through the auditorium, and the moral weight of the story could surround us. For instance, Maybe Happy Ending on Broadway reinforces the fourth wall so that the audience feels as if they are peeking into Oliver and Claire’s private world. In Death Note, extended lighting like the musical Back to the Future could make the story feel alive around us.

Still, within its contained box, the OD Company production achieves a kind of high-tech minimalism — a stylized chessboard for two minds and one corrupted soul. Death Note remains a fascinating cultural hybrid — based on a Japanese story, it is an American-written musical realized through Japanese visual intelligence and Korean precision in staging and performance. Both Lim Kyuhyung and Sandeul were superb, and Wildhorn once again delivered his signature grandeur. Even when the show’s psychology thins under its fast pace, the music and design keep the tension alive.

I left thinking that the moment Light first wrote a name, he became a rot.