London, midnight, Kensington District, the Morstan Estate.
"Click... click..."
The sound of tumblers echoed within the silent collection room. A figure squatted halfway before the safe, body pressed sideways against it, one hand manipulating the dial.
After about five minutes of attempting, accompanied by a distinct click, the safe—which was publicly claimed to be absolutely unbreakable—was opened just like that.
"Let's see what good stuff is inside..."
The thief rubbed his hands together. Once the safe was open, he couldn't wait to start rummaging through it.
"Tsk... Why would this family put cow horns in a safe? And why is there a coffee cup?
What the hell is this silver maiden statue? And this broken arrow, too.
Seriously, can't there be anything actually good? Isn't this the bloody district for mansions?"
Russell cursed under his breath as he tossed the items in his hand onto the floor, then pulled his head back out.
What a garbage safe.
Did he accidentally come to the commoner part of Kensington?
If he stole this kind of stuff and it got published in the newspapers tomorrow, wouldn't he be laughed to death?
Russell, full name Russell Watson, 19 years old, a freshman at Imperial College, and also the phantom thief currently making waves at Scotland Yard.
Since he could remember, Russell realized he was in a parallel world called London.
As for his 'Golden Finger' as a transmigrator, it arrived late, only showing up when he turned eighteen.
Simply put, it was a System that allowed him to harvest Malice Points by doing bad deeds and causing victims to feel negative emotions.
The function of Malice Points was simple—one could purchase items or improve physical attributes.
Of course, while the function was simple, the effects were certainly not.
Although broadly divided into the two categories of 'Stat Allocation' and 'Shopping,' there was much to be said about the details.
The scope for Stat Allocation covered almost all of this body's attributes.
Broadly speaking, it included things like physical fitness, IQ, and lifespan; on a smaller scale, it covered all sorts of life skills.
Such as lockpicking, stealth, eavesdropping, and so on...
As for why these are considered life skills, don't ask.
As for Shopping, the shop provided by the System was also filled with all sorts of things:
Glasses that made you unrecognizable when worn; mysterious little potions where one bottle refreshes the mind, two bottles prevent fatigue, and three grant immortality; and smoke bombs that allow for displacement.
In short, as long as you could afford it, you could buy almost anything in the System Shop.
But what Russell bought most often were actually the Blind Boxes for 10 Malice Points each, which would randomly provide a detailed architectural layout of a household.
Case in point: what he opened today was the home of this Duke Morstan.
But who could have imagined that the dignified Duke Morstan, who held half of the East India trade routes in his hands, would actually stuff a pile of cow horns into the safe of his collection room?
He shouldn't be afraid of becoming a laughingstock if word got out.
Thinking of this, Russell couldn't help but glance at the pile of trash on the floor again.
Boring. Not taking it. If he took it, he'd just have to bring it back. Looking at this junk is just bad luck.
It pollutes my drop rate.
I'll just use that arrow to carve 'Russell was here' on the wall and leave. I still have to attend the opening ceremony tomorrow.
No sooner said than done. Just as he bent down, preparing to pick up the arrow on the ground, the lights in the collection room suddenly turned on.
Someone had flipped the switch.
Russell's movements paused, and then he looked up toward the door.
A slender figure stood in the doorway, holding a pistol in her hand. The dark muzzle was aimed right at him, and her slender finger rested on the trigger, looking as if she might pull it at any moment.
"Please do not make any sudden moves, sir. Put down the things in your hands, then raise both hands and stand up slowly."
The silver-haired girl spoke, her voice cool and clear, like crushed ice on the surface of a lake.
Those eyes, blue as the Aegean Sea, revealed a chilling coldness that made one feel as if they had fallen into an ice cave.
She really would shoot.
At the first moment of eye contact, Russell confirmed this.
So, he did as she said, putting down the items in his hand, raising both hands high, and slowly standing up.
"Don't get excited, beautiful young lady. It would be a pity if your wonderful youth were marred by indelible scars due to a moment of impulse, wouldn't it?"
"I don't feel that shooting a thief who breaks into a house late at night would leave any regrets in my youth," the girl said indifferently.
"Who knows? Maybe Scotland Yard will even award me a Good Citizen Medal."
"I tend to think Scotland Yard would just let it pass with some verbal praise." Russell shrugged. "Better to spend that money on some good tobacco for yourself."
"I don't deny that." The girl smiled, seeming to be amused by his words.
The originally tense atmosphere eased considerably because of this.
"So, Mr. Phantom Thief, could you please remove your mask?" She waved the gun in her hand slightly.
"Why? Are you a fan of mine?" Russell asked with a smile, though his hands remained still.
"Whether I am or not depends on seeing your face first. If you're ugly, for the sake of your other fans, I might just have to shoot you."
"Judging by looks? That breaks my heart, beautiful young lady."
Russell sighed, then slowly placed his hand on his face, gradually lifting it as if revealing the secret behind a magic trick.
The girl's eyes narrowed slightly, staring unblinkingly at Russell's face, completely failing to notice that in his other hand—which was still raised high—something had suddenly appeared out of thin air.
[Item: Twilight Shroud. Purchase successful. Cost: 100 Malice Points.]
[Twilight Shroud: Upon use, you may designate a location (maximum range within 10m) and teleport yourself to that designated position.
When moving within the smoke, you will not produce any footsteps or presence, and your vision will not be obscured by the smoke.]
Just a moment before the mask was completely lifted, accompanied by a notification sound only he could hear, Russell's other hand abruptly smashed the object onto the ground.
With a "poof," smoke instantly filled the collection room, completely obscuring Russell's figure within it.
The composed expression on the girl's face instantly froze, her gaze searching rapidly through the smoke.
"Where did the smoke bomb come from... When did he..."
The smoke dissipated, and the collection room was empty. Only the open safe and the cow horns scattered on the floor proved that someone had visited.
The girl stood dazed at the door of the collection room, her gaze sweeping across the interior.
The only exit from the collection room was the door she was standing in; where did he escape from?
And what was with that smoke bomb just now? Where did that guy pull it from?
The girl's gaze moved slowly, sweeping over the entire collection room. Nothing was missing from the room.
Just then, because of her movement, something white fell from her person.
The girl subconsciously looked over. It was a white card. Just as she prepared to bend down and pick it up, she caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye—the brooch on her coat was gone.
That was something she intended to use for the opening ceremony tomorrow.
Was it stolen? When?
The girl frowned slightly, then let her gaze fall upon the card.
On it, a name was written cleanly and neatly in black letters on a white background:
—[Moriarty]
The handwriting was neat and beautiful, revealing an elegance that matched what the name represented.
Looking at this name, the girl raised her eyebrows. She felt a touch of absurdity, yet at the same time found it quite interesting.
James Moriarty.
The Napoleon of Crime in London, the consulting criminal unique to the underworld, scheming for every criminal yet never letting his own hands be stained with blood.
It should have been a name that made people tremble with fear, yet right now, it was used by a petty thief.
Was this a provocation, or a declaration of war?
"Moriarty..."
The smile on the girl's lips deepened a few degrees, but there was no warmth in her eyes.
Her finger gently traced the name on the card, whispering softly, as if muttering to herself, or perhaps asking that name:
"If you are Moriarty, then who am I?"
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