Chapter 28: The Thief's Den
Clutching the stolen money pouch and wallet, the boy—Akiwa Kyōshun—fled through the town's twisting back alleys. His face, once clean, was now smeared with grime from his frantic escape. He knew these warrens intimately. Even locals who gave chase rarely kept up. They'd lose him in the labyrinthine turns.
He skidded to a halt at a dead end. Cautiously, he peered back. No figures. No footsteps. Safe.
He knelt, grunting as he lifted a heavy, rusted sheet of corrugated iron leaning against the wall. Behind it was a 'dog hole'—a narrow gap just large enough for his small, undernourished frame to squeeze through. He tossed the stolen goods through first, then wriggled in after them, belly scraping the dirt.
Huff… If I get any bigger, this won't work. He got briefly stuck at his shoulders, but with a final shove, popped through to the other side.
The room beyond was pitch black. No lights functioned here. Faint moonlight from two grimy, cracked windows provided just enough illumination to avoid walking into walls. The ceiling was a tapestry of ancient cobwebs. The windows rattled in their frames with every gust of wind, a constant, mournful creak.
The walls and floor were stained with old, char-black marks, telling a silent story of a long-past fire. For Kyōshun, this was normal. This derelict, burnt-out shell was his fortress, his home. It was drafty, filthy, and empty, but it kept the rain off. Most importantly, it was free. For an orphan with no skills, no family, and no future, a roof—any roof—was a victory.
He quickly shoved some debris back into the hole to block it, then scooped up the stolen pouches. He hurried into the next room.
This chamber was marginally cleaner, free of soot stains, but just as barren of furniture. In the center, on a threadbare, yellowed quilt, sat a teenage girl. She was staring vacantly at a dark corner.
Hearing his footsteps, she turned her head slowly. Her eyes were dull, her movements lethargic, as if weighed down by a terminal sickness.
"Sister! Are you alright?" Kyōshun's voice was tight with worry as he rushed to her side, nearly tripping in his haste.
"Ah… Kyōshun. You're back." Her voice was a weak whisper. She reached up, her hand trembling slightly as she patted his grimy hair, a ghost of a smile touching her pale lips.
But then her gaze fell on the bulging money pouch in his hand—clearly not theirs. The softness in her expression froze, then drained away.
"Kyōshun… have you been stealing again?" Her tone was heavy, laced with disappointment and a desperate plea. She dreamed of her younger brother walking a straight path, abandoning his life of petty crime.
"Uh…" Kyōshun scratched his head, avoiding her eyes. "Sis, I really didn't steal it this time…" His voice lacked conviction, though he tried to keep his face earnest.
"Oh? And where else would you get so much money?" Her whisper was like falling ash. One glance told her the pouch held more than a day's honest wages for a small shop. Kyōshun had no trade, no reputation. Everyone in the district knew him as a thief. No one would hire him, let alone pay him this much.
"I… I found it. On the street." His voice grew smaller, his心虚 (xīnxū – guilt) swelling. "Okay, fine! I… I tricked someone into dropping it. That's… that's not really stealing, right?" Picking up dropped money was different from picking pockets. In his own mind, it was a crucial distinction. He fabricated the story on the spot, hoping his sister would accept the funds. Maybe not enough for a cure, but enough for a decent meal, for some comfort.
The girl studied his face for a long, silent moment. Kyōshun met her gaze, refusing to look away. Finally, she sighed, a sound of utter weariness. She opened her mouth, about to tell him never to do it again…
Knock. Knock.
A firm rap on the outer door.
Both siblings froze. No one ever came to this burnt-out ruin. Kyōshun always used the 'dog hole'. Who would knock?
For Kyōshun, ice flooded his veins. The voice outside wasn't the shopkeeper's. It was deeper, calmer. The outsiders. The ones I stole from. They'd found him. They were at his door.
"Kyōshun… could you see who it is?" his sister asked, confusion in her dull eyes.
"Uh… yeah. Okay." Heart hammering against his ribs, he got up. As he moved toward the door, he swiftly scooped a handful of ash from a pile of debris and smeared it across his face, then ruffled his hair into an even wilder mess. Maybe they won't recognize me.
He moved the heavy plank barring the door and pushed it open a crack.
The sight that greeted him confirmed his worst fear. The three figures from the street stood outside, their forms silhouetted against the lesser darkness of the alley. His heart somersaulted. He took a silent, steadying breath, forcing his face into blank confusion.
"Ah. It is you." Shuichi Mayumi's voice held a note of dry amusement. Seeing the boy's pathetic attempt at disguise, he almost laughed. "What, you think a bit of dirt is a disguise?"
Damn it! Kyōshun thought, panic rising. Not enough ash?
"Wh-what are you talking about?" he stammered, pitching his voice higher. "We've… we've never met before, have we?"
"You weren't so timid on the street. I preferred your unruly performance." Shuichi's smile didn't reach his eyes. He planted a hand on the door, preventing Kyōshun from slamming it shut. He could have entered by force easily, but where was the finesse in that?
"Aren't you going to invite us in?"
(End of Chapter)
✨Enjoying the story? You can support me on Patreon —
Patreon.com/MizuSan
✨ Patreon members get early chapter access, bonus content! 🥰
🎉 Plus, I'll release 1 extra chapter for every 5 reviews!💎 Or grab 1 bonus chapter for every 50 Power Stones you send my way! 🥳
🌊 Let's reach 20 Patreon members to unlock 5 extra chapters together!