[PHANTOM THIEF MORIARTY WREAKS HAVOC AT BARINGS BANK! SCOTLAND YARD HUMILIATED!]
[A MOONLIT MIRACLE: THE THIEF LEAPS FIVE STORIES TO SAVE A BEAUTY!]
[SILVER MOON, WHITE COAT, GOLDEN HAIR—LONDON'S MOST ROMANTIC NIGHT!]
Every newspaper's front page ran the same photograph.
Beneath a vast full moon, the phantom thief in a white tailcoat held a blonde girl tightly in his arms.
Newsboys screamed themselves hoarse hawking the papers—yet the stacks still couldn't keep up with demand.
Pedestrians fought to buy copies. Some people bought five at once.
One to keep.
Four to give to relatives.
In teahouses, men set down their cigars and argued with heated intensity.
"So who the devil is this phantom thief?"
"I heard Scotland Yard deployed five hundred men and still couldn't catch him!"
"Five hundred? I heard it was two thousand!"
"Two thousand can't catch one man? Are those police living off air?"
"Maybe the guy can turn invisible?"
"What is this, a fairy tale?"
Maids huddled together whispering, faces flushed with shy excitement.
"So romantic…"
"Jumping five stories to save someone—like a prince from a storybook!"
"But he's a thief…"
"So what? Thieves can be handsome too!"
Even the old woman selling flowers on the corner dropped her roses, grabbed the vendor at the next stall, and demanded:
"That phantom thief—do you think he's handsome?"
The vendor stared blankly. "How would I know? He wears a mask."
"You can still tell if he's handsome with a mask!" the old woman insisted. "His build. His aura. His movements… do you understand anything?"
…
Morning.
The moment Lucian stepped through the school gates, he felt it—something was off.
Normally at this hour students would be rushing to lectures.
Today, everyone was clustered in excited knots, newspapers in hand, buzzing like they'd discovered a new continent.
"Gray!"
Someone waved wildly—and then a whole crowd swarmed him.
"Did you go last night?"
"That thief was insane!"
"And he saved a girl! Five stories! Five!"
"A normal man would've turned into mince, and he walked away without a scratch!"
Lucian arranged his face into the perfect blend of regret and thrill.
"I went! I took a few photographs, but then the wagon crashed into the crowd and everything turned into chaos. I got shoved away—I couldn't see a thing clearly…"
"What a waste! Did you catch the thief on film?"
"No. Just blurry figures…" Lucian sighed. "My camera's too cheap."
They all gave him sympathetic looks.
The tragedy of the poor student—everyone understood that one.
"Oh, right!" Someone suddenly remembered. "I heard the girl he saved is from our school? Medical school. Named Mary?"
Lucian performed surprise. "Really? Miss Morstan?"
"Yeah! It says so in the paper!" The speaker's face was red with excitement. "Good grief—getting bridal-carried by the phantom thief. That luck is criminal!"
"It wasn't a bridal carry, it was a waist-hold," someone corrected. "I studied the photo."
"A waist-hold is more romantic!"
"No, a bridal carry is more romantic!"
None of you have it right.
We rolled on the ground together.
It was awkward as hell—nothing romantic about it.
But the photographer's angle was viciously clever; they forced it into the shape of an idol drama.
He had to admit it: reporters may lie for a living, but their camera work was genuinely good.
"Yeah… unbelievably lucky," Lucian said, soft and envious. "Miss Morstan really has incredible luck."
Perfect acting.
A goldfish's shock. A bookworm's curiosity. A normal person's envy toward a headline event.
Every expression landed exactly where it should.
Not a single crack.
…
Afternoon, a corner of the library.
In a brief lull, Lucian slipped into the shelf section no one ever visited—the obscure titles corridor.
Advanced Latin Grammar.
A History of Medieval Agriculture.
On the Mating Habits of Snails…
After confirming he was alone, he opened the system panel.
[Current Points: 2560]
[Draw Cost: 2000 points / draw]
[Limited Banner: Watson (SSR) — Time Remaining: 4 days 12 hours]
[Proceed with Draw?]
Confirm.
The air in front of him rippled. A translucent "banner" manifested.
Countless cards floated within it, face-down, slowly rotating in the void.
It looked like some occult gambling table.
For ordinary people, gacha was pure luck.
But Lucian had [Magician's Hand].
The passive effect dramatically increased the success rate of precision operations—lockpicking, sleight-of-hand…
…and, apparently, drawing cards.
Lucian closed his eyes and reached into the void, feeling the position and weight of each card with his fingertips.
Watson was SSR-tier. The odds should have been abysmal.
But odds were designed for ordinary people.
For a phantom thief who could pick a lock in 0.1 seconds, finding a specific card was simply another form of lockpicking.
That, incidentally, was exactly why he'd spent those two thousand points in the first place.
Third row from the left.
Seventh card from the bottom.
There.
One card felt… different.
Thicker.
Heavier.
Steadier.
Lucian's fingers hooked gently.
The card slid out as if it had been waiting for him.
[Congratulations: John H. Watson (SSR)]
Gold light flashed.
One pull. Immediate hit.
Two thousand points—worth it.
[Card Description: The perfect assistant. The faithful recorder. He does not try to become a genius—he simply chooses to stand beside one. The best antidote for balancing Moriarty's side effects.]
[Current Synchronization: 0%]
[Performance Conditions: Write a genius's life with your pen; care for a genius's life with your heart.]
[Side Effect: Likely to encounter unlucky incidents (related to the genius's hobbies).]
Lucian read the description and the corner of his mouth lifted.
A certain genius?
He was already writing Miss Holmes's biography—though she didn't appreciate it in the least, and had said his prose was "moldy cheese."
But that didn't matter.
This was probably the fate of every recorder.
Still riding the high, Lucian equipped the Watson card immediately and prepared to head back to the dorm—
Then he paused.
The photograph.
He patted his pocket.
Come to think of it, he'd taken a nasty tumble last night. Mary's ankle… was it really fine?
Whatever. He'd "happen" to take a look.
…
Third floor, medical school.
The corridor was quiet.
Lucian found the laboratory and peered through the little window in the door.
Class wasn't over yet.
The professor gestured animatedly at the front. Students whispered while pretending not to, heads down as they took notes.
Mary sat by the window, calm as ever, golden hair gleaming in the sunlight.
She looked well enough.
Probably nothing serious.
Lucian leaned against the wall and waited, idly rehearsing how he'd phrase it.
"Last night was too crowded and I couldn't find you, but I did get one photo…"
Then Mary would definitely bring up last night—after all, she'd been personally saved by the thief. She might romanticize it the way the papers did, or admit she was only now getting scared.
Would she notice any details about him?
Impossible.
Phantom Thief Moriarty's disguise was flawless.
Pop.
A small paper ball flew out through the door crack—and hit Lucian squarely in the head.
Lucian reflexively looked up and peered through the window.
The professor was still lecturing.
The students were still doing student things.
Mary's seat was second-to-last row by the window—angled toward the back door.
Her peripheral vision could cover the hallway outside.
Lucian lowered his gaze, picked up the paper ball, and unfolded it.
The handwriting was neat and delicate:
[Watching you loiter outside the door is extremely "literature department," Senior. But I promise—the professor already passed the important part. Come in and sit. There's an empty seat behind me. —Mary]
Lucian arched an eyebrow.
He looked up.
Mary had turned her face slightly toward him. Through the glass, she blinked—playful, perfectly composed—and mouthed two words:
"Come in."
-------
My : pat*eon*com/RuneA
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