The Missing Money
The rain poured down in heavy sheets, drowning the city in gray. Most people were curled beneath thick blankets, safe in the warmth of their homes, perhaps holding someone close. But not him. Tonight, beneath the storm, the tall young man in his student gown stood apart from the world, alone, restless, and burning with defiance.
Graduation day was supposed to be a celebration. For him, it was a reminder. His parents hadn' t shown up—they claimed an important meeting. He wasn' t sure whether they were truly busy or simply ashamed that their son, the only child of Congressman Somkit, could barely scrape passing grades. Politics had devoured the family long ago. Personal milestones no longer mattered, only power, only image.
He never wanted the life they had mapped for him—inherit the seat, play the dirty games, become a mirror of his father. It suffocated him. Every word, every demand, every command from his father felt like chains digging into his skin.
"Why do you draw the line for everything I do? Are we even father and son?" he once spat, bitterness thick in his throat. His father' s cold stare had been answer enough.
But behind his recklessness burned something else. He was not dull. He had the kind of intelligence that could twist systems apart. His escape was the screen—strategy games, hacked code, digital blueprints. The virtual battlefield was the only place he could breathe.
Until one night, the phone call came. His father' s voice echoed through the house, low but sharp, talking about a billion baht—dirty money siphoned from public projects, donations, construction schemes. Money meant to secure a political dynasty for generations.
That was the spark.
For three days and nights, he shut himself away, drowning in glowing monitors, piecing together plans with the precision of a soldier. The bank his father and his allies had built—he knew its guts, its skeleton, its vulnerabilities. From blueprints he' d once played with, from the demo security systems installed at home, from his own obsession with tearing things apart just to see if he could.
He mapped every route, cracked every card key, studied every camera, rehearsed until there were no flaws left. The vehicle of choice: a white garbage truck belonging to the bank, normally seen only at dawn when no one bothered to look twice.
On the final night, rain hammered the city. The garbage truck rolled quietly from the bank' s underground bay, engines low, wipers sweeping at steady intervals. Sheets of water blurred its shape. The storm swallowed it whole.
The rain fell so heavily that the truck blended perfectly with the night. Its pale body became just another smear of light and shadow, invisible against the curtain of water. By the time it slipped out of the city limits, no one had noticed. No one ever would.
It headed straight for the landfill at the city' s edge—a pit deep and black, the smell of rot thick even beneath the storm.
He sat on the edge of the truck' s open back, student robes soaked through, rain dripping down his face. Around him were black bags, heavy with the weight of stolen billions.
One by one, he lifted the bags, opening them slowly, deliberately. Money spilled out like confetti—paper that once meant power, greed, corruption—now nothing more than soggy scraps falling into filth. Rain plastered the bills together, turning them to pulp as they disappeared into the sludge below.
They had called it strength. But here, in the mud, money looked fragile, weak, useless.
What was strong was the hand that let it go.
Each handful sent his pulse racing. His heart pounded like he was winning the most dangerous game he' d ever played. This wasn' t theft. This was obliteration. A refusal to let the weight of his father' s empire chain him forever.
When the last bag was empty, he sat back, breathing hard, chest heaving. The landfill swallowed the fortune, and the truck was nothing but an empty shell.
The rain still fell. He climbed down, stepping into the deserted road. His soaked shoes slapped against wet pavement as he walked away, the city' s neon bleeding into puddles around him.
A black car rolled by, headlights cutting through the storm. For a moment, its light brushed across his pale, dripping face. Inside, another pair of eyes caught his. The world seemed to pause—two strangers locking gazes through rain, silence louder than thunder.
The car braked, slowing, then pulled over. A door opened. A man stepped out, holding a black umbrella. He walked closer, shadows and rain wrapping around him. His presence radiated warmth, impossible warmth in this cold night.
"Isn' t it freezing out here?" the man asked softly. Just words. Yet to the young man, it was as if he' d been offered fire, a blanket, a home.
His lips trembled. He whispered back, raw, broken:
"…Can I stay with you?"
The man studied him quietly. Then, with a small smile, he tilted the umbrella, extending the circle of shelter. Their shoulders nearly touched, breaths mingling in the space between.
"Come with me."
And together, they disappeared into the storm.
—The ..
Epilogue – The Echo of Shadows (Yuu & Pyramid)
Brrr… Brrr… Brrr…
The phone had been ringing nonstop.
"Pyramid, your damn phone' s been buzzing forever. How long are you gonna stay in the shower?" Yuu called out.
Shaa—Shaa—Shaa—
The sound of water kept pouring. No reply.
"Guess he can' t hear me. But shit… who the hell is texting him this much? Don' t tell me he' s got a side chick hiding somewhere…"
The screen lit up again.
Your contract has been completed.
Your contract has been completed.
Your contract has been completed.
Yuu frowned. Contract? He couldn' t open the messages without Pyramid' s passcode, but the previews alone were suspicious. Why was Pyramid still messing with the dark web? Wasn' t everything supposed to be over?
Ding—ding—ding—ding—
Payment received in RR-coin.
Payment received in RR-coin.
Payment received in RR-coin.
Payment received in RR-coin.
"…Wait. Why the hell is he getting swamped with crypto transfers? And this amount… let' s see… XXX plus YYY equals Z… in Thai baht, that' s—"
His breath caught. A billion baht. Sitting right there, clean and untouchable.
Then another message flashed across the screen, bold and chilling:
'Your revenue share of one billion baht has been transferred, Little Prince. Thank you for always trusting us with your contracts.'
"…The fuck? Did Pyramid steal someone else' s phone or something? Why the hell would anyone call him Little Prince?"
Dark web… contracts.
RR-coin… a billion baht.
Another notification pinged.
'Don' t forget to take your meds, or you' ll lose track of your assignments again, Pi-sa.'
Yuu froze, staring at the screen. His pulse raced, his throat dry.
What the fuck is going on here?
"That crazy billion-baht mess isn' t over yet? Or… is it only just beginning?"
THE END.