The night in the city never truly fell into darkness.
Streetlights burned like man-made stars, casting a golden glow over puddles, shop windows, and the hoods of vehicles that passed without end. Laughter, street music, vendors calling out, blaring horns, and the roar of engines all blended into a single chaotic rhythm, yet that was precisely what made the city feel alive.
The city was always crowded, even when most people should have already been home.
And for someone who did not want to be found, a crowd was the perfect place to hide.
Among the endless stream of people moving from one place to another, there was a figure who walked differently. The figure was neither hurried nor overly relaxed. Each step was light and measured, matching the rhythm of the people nearby without ever truly becoming part of them.
The small body was completely covered in black.
A hooded jacket concealed the figure's head, while the long pants and layers of clothing left almost no identifiable part of the body exposed. From a distance, anyone might have mistaken the figure for nothing more than a child walking alone through the nighttime crowd.
But the eyes beneath the hood were not taking in the city.
They were searching.
Several meters ahead, a woman in her thirties stepped out of a store with a bag hanging from her left shoulder. She walked casually, occasionally glancing toward the display windows to examine the merchandise behind the glass before continuing with the flow of pedestrians.
Her bag was slightly open.
The edge of a wallet was visible inside.
The small figure watched her without changing expression. There was no sign that a target had just been found. The figure merely shifted course by a few degrees, as though the change had happened naturally after being carried along by the movement of the crowd.
One step.
Then another.
The distance between them gradually closed.
A man coming from the opposite direction passed between them. At the same moment, a street vendor pushed a small cart along the side of the road, causing the flow of pedestrians to shift and several people to bump against one another.
The hooded figure used the disruption.
Someone's shoulder struck the figure's shoulder, nudging the small body slightly forward.
A hand moved.
Fast, light, and almost impossible to see.
The fingers brushed the edge of the wallet before pulling it free with such a smooth motion that it almost seemed to be part of the figure's stride. In a single movement that blended seamlessly into the crowd, the wallet was already in the figure's hand.
The woman noticed nothing.
The small figure continued walking without looking back, without quickening the pace, and without showing the slightest hint of nervousness. The wallet disappeared beneath the clothing, hidden somewhere difficult to see.
Done.
Yet only a few seconds later, the figure's eyes began moving again.
Searching for the next target.
A man carrying an expensive phone, holding it far too loosely. A woman carrying a bag with its zipper left open. A young man so absorbed in a phone conversation that he was barely paying attention to his own belongings.
Those eyes observed everything.
Choosing.
Calculating.
Waiting.
Then—
"THIEF!"
The shout exploded through the crowd.
The small figure stopped instantly.
The woman whose wallet had just been stolen stood several meters behind, panic written across her face as one hand frantically searched through the contents of her bag.
"Help! My wallet was stolen!"
Several people turned.
The crowd that had been moving without a care began to slow, then break apart as curiosity took hold. The woman raised her hand and pointed toward the hooded figure.
"That one! The person in black!"
Everything changed in an instant.
People who had previously been absorbed in their own affairs began searching for the person she had indicated. Heads turned. Fingers pointed. Voices rose from every direction.
The hooded figure did not wait.
The figure ran.
Fast. Extremely fast.
The small body slipped between people who were still struggling to understand what was happening. The figure did not choose the emptiest path. Quite the opposite—the figure headed straight for the densest part of the crowd, where bodies pressed tightly together and visibility was easily blocked.
Someone reached for the figure's shoulder, but their hand caught nothing but air.
Another man stood directly in the path. The figure lowered the body, slipped past his side, and continued running without losing much speed.
"There!"
"Catch them!"
"Don't let them get away!"
Shouts erupted from different directions.
The small figure kept moving. A woman nearly collided with the runner, but the figure twisted aside and slipped past her. A food cart blocked the path, and the figure vaulted over one side without slowing down. Two people stood too close together ahead, but the figure squeezed between them with such agility that neither had time to understand what had just happened.
Not a single movement was wasted.
Not a single step was taken without purpose.
But this time, the figure was truly visible.
The body was small and slender, perhaps around 135 to 140 centimeters tall. No one could say for certain how old the figure was. Even the figure's gender was difficult to determine.
The hood concealed most of the face.
Black clothing covered nearly the entire body.
Only a pair of eyes remained visible, constantly shifting as they studied everything ahead, as though every object and every person on the street had already been calculated.
Then two figures appeared from the side of the road.
Police officers.
Both had seen the direction of the escape and moved to cut off the route. One of them spread his arms, attempting to block the remaining path.
"Stop!"
The small figure did not stop.
The distance between them closed.
Five meters.
Three meters.
Two.
The officer prepared to grab the runner.
But at the final second, the eyes beneath the hood dropped toward the ground.
There was an opening.
Narrow, but enough.
The small body dropped low. The shoes scraped against the pavement as the figure slid beneath the gap between the officer's legs.
"Ah—!"
The officer lost his balance and nearly fell.
The small figure was already behind them.
The officer immediately turned his head.
"What—?"
His partner tried to give chase, but the crowd had already closed the path again. Panicked pedestrians moved in every direction, getting in one another's way and making the pursuit increasingly difficult.
The hooded figure ran several more meters before turning into a narrow alley between two buildings.
When the two officers reached the alley, there was no one there.
Only the sound of vehicles from the main road, the damp smell lingering between the walls, and a shadow disappearing farther down the alley.
This was not the first time it had happened.
For the past several years, reports of pickpocketing in crowded places had remained a persistent problem for the police. Markets, terminals, shopping centers, tourist districts, and even nighttime entertainment areas had all become locations where people reported losing their belongings.
Most cases were eventually handled.
The perpetrators were arrested.
The stolen property was recovered.
Yet one pattern kept appearing in certain reports.
A pickpocket dressed in black.
No name.
No identity.
No address.
No face that could be clearly recognized.
Only black clothing and a small frame.
At police headquarters, a meeting room was filled with the bluish glow of a large screen displaying CCTV footage. Several officers stood in front of the screen, while others sat around a long table with open files spread before them.
The first recording showed a hooded figure walking through a market.
The second showed the same figure at a terminal.
The third came from the downtown district.
The fourth showed the incident that had occurred that night.
All four recordings played side by side.
"Slow down this part."
The operator slowed the footage.
The figure in black walked through the crowd. The movement appeared ordinary, almost indistinguishable from that of everyone else nearby.
An officer pointed at the screen.
"Watch closely."
The footage was enlarged.
The figure passed a man. Several seconds later, the man reached into his pocket, then frowned when he found nothing there.
Only then did he realize his wallet was gone.
"There was no obvious physical contact," one officer said.
"That's precisely the problem," another replied.
The footage changed.
At a different location, almost the exact same pattern occurred. The black-clad figure approached a victim, the crowd shifted, someone's body blocked the camera, and the victim's belongings disappeared.
"He uses the crowd as cover."
"It's more than that."
The officer pointed toward the latest recording.
"Look at how he moves once he's discovered."
The footage played.
The small figure ran. Instead of taking an empty route, the figure plunged into the densest part of the crowd, where pursuers would struggle to move and could easily lose sight of the target.
An officer frowned.
"He knows they'll have trouble chasing him there."
"Exactly."
"So he planned it?"
"At the very least, he makes those decisions instinctively. He reads his surroundings quickly."
The room fell silent again.
Someone opened a file filled with notes.
"Does he work alone?"
"From every recording we have, we've never seen anyone helping him."
"No communication?"
"None."
"No vehicle?"
"None."
The officer let out a long breath.
"So he works alone."
"Apparently."
The recording stopped again.
The small silhouette in black froze on the screen, caught in a single blurry frame. One of the officers stared at the image for a long moment, as though looking harder might reveal an answer that had escaped their attention all this time.
"What interests me is his size."
"Approximately 135 to 140 centimeters."
"A child?"
"Not necessarily."
"With a body that small?"
"Body size doesn't determine age."
Another officer spoke from the other side of the table.
"If he really is a child, how could a child carry out thefts with a pattern like this?"
No one answered.
The question had no answer yet.
Another officer opened several sheets of reports.
"Night market. Terminal. Downtown district. Three locations in the last two months."
He paused before adding in a heavier voice,
"And tonight, we got our clearest footage yet."
One of the officers gave a faint smile.
"At least now we have a description."
"A description isn't enough."
The smile disappeared.
"We still don't have a name."
"No face."
"And we don't know where he lives."
"All we know is that he's dressed in black and very fast."
The senior officer who had remained silent until then finally spoke.
"Then let's stop chasing the clothes."
Every eye turned toward him.
"Let's find the pattern."
He pointed at the screen.
"He always chooses crowded places. He avoids direct contact. He uses his surroundings as cover. And when he's discovered, he doesn't run randomly."
The officer enlarged the footage until the small figure filled the screen.
"He chooses routes that make pursuit difficult."
Another officer slowly nodded.
"Which means he observes before he moves."
"And if we really want to catch him, we have to make sure he has nowhere left to run."
The debate began again.
Some officers wanted to deploy more personnel to patrol crowded areas. Others considered such a move excessive for a pickpocketing case, especially since there was no evidence the perpetrator was involved in any more serious crimes.
Others were concerned that excessive force could create problems if the suspect turned out to be a minor.
"If we send ten officers just to catch a pickpocket, the public will question our competence."
"If we send too few and he gets away again, the public will question our competence anyway."
"If he really is a child, we have to be careful."
"And if he's not?"
"His clothing and size aren't enough to determine that."
"One thing is certain. He's escaped us repeatedly."
The room filled with voices once more. Conflicting opinions collided while the large screen continued displaying the black-clad figure whose face had never been properly captured.
Until finally, one of the officers spoke.
"We don't need ten people."
Everyone stopped.
"We don't?"
"No. We need someone who can read the pattern."
He picked up another file from the stack of documents on the table.
"Maria."
The name made several people exchange glances.
"That young officer?"
"That's right."
"She's still new."
"New doesn't mean incapable."
The officer opened Maria's file and flipped through several pages.
"She has a strong record in field analysis. She's also helped identify patterns in cases where there weren't many clues."
Someone shook his head.
"This case is different."
"Of course it is."
"That suspect is extremely fast."
"Which is why we need someone who can think faster than he can."
Several people still looked uncertain. One officer leaned back in his chair before asking,
"What if she fails?"
"If she fails, we evaluate."
"And if she succeeds?"
The officer closed the file in his hands.
"Then we finally have a way to catch the suspect who's been slipping through our fingers all this time."
The room fell silent.
No one answered immediately.
But this time, no one objected.
At last, the senior officer leading the meeting nodded.
"Good."
He picked up Maria's file.
"Give the case to her."
Elsewhere in the same building, a young woman sat at her desk. Her name was Maria.
She was much younger than most of the officers in the meeting room, but her expression showed no sign of nervousness. She looked calm as she read through reports filled with tiny details and witness statements that contradicted one another.
Several files lay open in front of her.
She was reading when an officer approached.
"Maria."
Maria looked up.
"Yes?"
The officer placed a thick file on her desk.
"This is for you."
Maria looked at the cover.
There was no name for the suspect.
Only a still image from CCTV showing a small figure dressed in black standing in the middle of a crowd.
Maria picked up the file.
"What case?"
"A pickpocket."
Maria opened the first page. Several more photographs appeared inside, each taken at a different location.
Night market.
Terminal.
Downtown.
All of them showed the same figure.
Maria studied the photographs one by one. She said nothing at first. Her gaze moved from one image to the next, examining the figure's posture, the direction of movement, the density of the crowd, and the distance between the figure and each victim.
The officer watched her.
"You have time?"
Maria was still looking at the final photograph.
"For what?"
"To catch him."
Maria finally looked up.
"How long?"
"No deadline."
Maria calmly closed the file, then stood.
"Then I'll start now."
The officer gave a faint smile.
"Good luck."
Maria walked away from her desk.
In her hands, the file on the black-clad pickpocket remained open to the first page. The small silhouette was still frozen in the photograph, captured from a poor angle and under insufficient light.
No name.
No face.
No address.
Only a pair of eyes hidden beneath the shadow of a hood.
Maria looked at the image one more time before heading toward the archives.
For the first time, the case had someone who would truly hunt him.
And somewhere out there, unaware that his name had entered a police file, the small figure in black continued moving through the nighttime crowd.
He did not yet know that from that night onward, his way of life would begin to change.
Not because he would stop being a pickpocket.
But because, for the first time—
someone had begun studying him.
To Be Continued...