“…….”
Behind his gas mask, Astar’s gray eyes flickered like a lantern caught in a sudden breeze. His elegant handwriting paused, and his sentences lost their flow. Yet for the Phantom Thief Astar, crisis was a familiar companion, a friend with whom he navigated life, which meant he could regain his composure faster than most in the face of the unexpected.
Astar completed the sentence in ornate cursive, replaced the counterfeit chalice in its vault, then closed the safe, rose with an air of feigned nonchalance, and turned to leave.
The man stood motionless until Astar had finished his actions. Peering from behind his gas mask, Astar scanned his environment. Earlier, there had been no indication of life. Any hidden presence would have succumbed to the potent incense within a minute.
Astar was acutely aware of the consequences of removing his gas mask here. He would likely lose consciousness instantly, only to awaken in a jail cell.
He lowered his defenses, lured by the incense’s overpowering potency, which was strong enough to make someone faint from its scent. The possibility of someone being immune had never crossed his mind.
Astar observed the man intently, noting his lack of caution. The man’s short, meticulously groomed black hair was combed back smoothly, and his attire was too modest for such a glamorous banquet. His clothes were all black except for a white shirt and a bolo tie, which was embellished with a dark green brooch.
The man showed no reaction to the phantom thief before him. Typically, anyone who saw Astar either screamed, ran away, or fainted. This was the first time Astar had encountered someone who did none of those.
The man, after eyeing the chalice in Astar’s hand for a while, finally spoke.
“If it’s a fake, then where is the real one?”
“If the Ashtarte favors me, then the original must be where I am,” Astar replied.
Before the man could notice, Astar had concealed the chalice within his arms.
“Indeed, where there’s an imitation, you’re there as well.”
The man hinted that Astar had always encountered counterfeit Ashtartes, as though he had been a witness each time.
“I don’t understand why I’ve been spurned this time. The caprices of the Ashtartes are beyond my comprehension.”
With a fluid motion, Astar concealed the safe’s front with the book and returned it to its original spot. The man had remained motionless, observing Astar the entire time.
Astar adjusted his collar and straightened his attire, casting a glance at the man. The man appeared at ease, more like an old friend than a witness to Astar’s transgression.
What on earth is this guy up to?
Despite his calm facade, Astar was internally churning with confusion. Their brief verbal exchange had revealed nothing about the man’s identity.
Astar had meticulously researched the Count to rob the mansion. He knew the Count’s associates, the manor’s blueprint, the origins of the Ashtarte, the guests at his banquets, even his preferences. Yet, this man was absent from Astar’s extensive database.
Astar was familiar with everyone from the police force to the palace staff, particularly those esteemed enough by the Count. But this individual, unaffected by the soporific incense, was a complete mystery.
The success of a heist hinges on the richness and detail of the information. Much like a clock that halts when a single gear is misplaced, Astar’s crimes resembled a finely crafted masterpiece, each piece of data spinning like a cog in perfect harmony.
In an emergency, a swift escape was paramount, yet Astar never showed his back to the audience. Embracing a philosophy of living and dying in the moment, he simulated calmness with a subtle curl of his lips.
“You’re the first to arrive backstage with a shredded first-class ticket to the dreamland I’ve orchestrated.”
“Tired of first-class ferries,” came the reply.
I’ve got a third-class ticket – want one of those?
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
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“If that is the audience’s desire.”
Astar, donning a gas mask, lifted his right hand to his chest and bowed slightly. This gesture mirrored that of an actor acknowledging the audience after a performance. Naturally, Astar’s mind was brimming with countless potential replies to the situation.
The man was subtly flirting with him. Astar, adept at gauging people’s emotions, wouldn’t overlook such a detail. However, this didn’t mean he could lower his defenses. Had he been that type of person, he would have been known as Prisoner Number 3924, not the elusive Phantom Thief Astar.
“Why do the police insist on capturing you alive? Wouldn’t it be simpler for them to just kill you?”
“That is a question better suited for the imperial court issuing the commands, not for the one being pursued.”
Okay, now I’m certain he’s neither police nor from the imperial court.
“When will the curtain fall on Astar’s play? Is his aim Dawn?”
He speaks in terms of stages, curtains, plays—he’s quite skilled in conversation. Shan would’ve already told me to cut the nonsense and scram.
Astar continued responding, impressed by the man’s ability to craft his words to fit the theme.
“Dawn is an Ashtarte too, so eventually, I will become its master since it’s the supreme Ashtarte.”
“Why are you gathering Ashtartes?”
“Ashtartes are the world’s most valuable treasures. As a phantom thief brought into this world, shouldn’t I aspire to rise to the top?”
“Interesting. Then, do you know where Dawn is?”
Are we back to discussing Dawn now?
Astar fell silent at the man’s last question. He took pride in being accommodating, so he attempted to answer most inquiries, but this one stumped him. Of course he knew nothing about Dawn, except for a guess that it was likely located in the imperial palace.
Yet, this did not mean Astar, the icon of mystery, could admit to not knowing. If anyone possessed courage in the Empire, it was Astar. He brought his index finger to his lips and whispered cryptically,
“Even behind the scenes, one cannot know everything about the play. Knowing it all takes away half the enjoyment.”
“That’s unfortunate,” came the reply.
“There he is! Astar’s here!”
A police officer must have scaled the wall to the study, wrapping his arms around the window and bellowing outside. It was only a matter of time before Astar was found.
A policeman who went into the parlor next to the study to inspect the windows did not return after several minutes, prompting the guards outside the study to investigate. They fought with the locked door to the parlor, and upon opening it, they found only an open window with curtains billowing in the breeze.
The cop, who had been shouting, crawled into the study, grunting as he lunged for Astar but failed to grasp him. Collapsing to the floor, he immediately fell asleep, a clear sign that the sleeping incense near the window was still potent. The dramatic incident only heightened his curiosity about the man’s identity.
What kind of constitution must he possess to withstand it?
The study’s locked door started to shake violently as the guards outside labored to force it open. Astar observed the noisy latch and bid the mysterious man a final au revoir.
“It’s time to close the curtains on this act before more police show up.”
“Until we meet again, farewell.”
Astar added, “You’re quite the character. These days, it’s the fervent wish of nobles to avoid me. Are you not of noble birth as well?”
“Think as you please. And whether you desire it or not, we shall meet, for as long as you draw near to Dawn, our paths shall intersect.”
“What do you mean?”
The man placed his index finger upon his lips and whispered, just as Astar had done.
“I cannot reveal it to you, my inquisitive Astar, I choose not to, so you must unravel it on your own. After all, knowing it all takes away half the enjoyment.”
The man insinuated with a casual air, as though time was not of the essence. Before Astar could protest that his own words had been echoed, the double doors to the study flew open and a multitude of police officers flooded into the space.
“Astar is here! It’s Astar!”
“Capture him!”
“There is no need to raise your voice. Everyone present is already familiar with who I am.”
It is often said that fans and haters are equally invested, just expressing it differently. With a low chuckle at the fervent fans crowding around him, Astar retrieved something from his sleeve and hurled it to the ground.
A cascade of metallic flashbangs hit the floor, filling the room with a blinding brightness. Onlookers outside the room shielded their eyes from the intense light. As the flashbang’s glow waned, Astar vanished, leaving only silence behind.
The man faced the window. The phantom thief had neatly stowed his sleeping sachet and was gone. Right after the flashbang, the thief slipped through the window and murmured something into the man’s ear. The man responded to the welcoming night sky that had embraced the phantom thief.
“I wonder if you’ll ever bestow upon me the unimaginable…”
***
“Can you believe that Count addressed him with honorifics?” asked Astar.
“Indeed, that is quite surprising.”
“Plus, he said we’d meet again someday, ‘as long as I draw near to Dawn!’”
“Is that so.”
“Vivianne, are you even paying attention?”
Vivianne, the woman with dark pink hair, perched on her knees on a wooden stool, engrossed in examining something. In her hand shimmered the golden chalice that Astar had pilfered the day before.
Despite the chalice being labeled a counterfeit Ashtarte, its jewels were genuine. While Vivianne evaluated its worth, the man beside her kept chirping irritatingly. She adjusted her reading glasses, stretched out, and reclined in her chair.
“You’re well aware that you’re disrupting my work. No matter how hard you try to distract me, I won’t make a mistake.”
“Do you think I would be so selfish to do something like that?”
“I don’t know, you always complain when I set the price low.”
Isn’t it obvious I would?
Astar—no, Chloe—scratched the tip of his nose, pondering whether to counter Vivianne’s words. Opting for silence, he remained quiet. That was the right choice. Had he retorted, Vivianne would have likely made an empty threat to reject the stolen goods.
Vivianne, who had been bent over evaluating the jewelry, rubbed her sore shoulders and shifted her focus to Chloe’s concerns.
“Maybe I should take a break. So, what does this man look like? He’s not a noble, yet the Count addressed him with honorifics. Is there anyone like that, you ask? How could I know just from those words? Here, sketch him for me—he might be someone familiar.”
Vivianne snatched a piece of paper and a quill nearby and extended them towards Chloe. Chloe accepted the paper, dipped the quill in ink, and began to draw without any hesitation.
With such detail and speed, it’s just like the photography that’s become popular in the city recently, Vivianne mused to herself from a distance, observing as if she were a spectator at a performance. The man’s portrait rapidly took form under Chloe’s deft fingers.
Vivianne’s eyes widened as the man’s hair, the clothes draping his torso, the contours of his face, and his eyes came together in harmony. As soon as Chloe completed the portrait, Vivianne snatched the paper from him, her gaze fixed upon it.
“This… this person is…”
“Vivianne, do you recognize him?”
“…….”
For some reason, her previously dull eyes grew wide and lit up like an oil lamp. Chloe grabbed her arm and shook her, urging her to respond. But Vivianne just stared at the picture. Chloe’s temper flared.
“Vivi? Can you hear me? Vivi!”
“… This person…”
“This person?”
“-is totally my type.”
The tension melted away, and Chloe’s whole body lost strength. He released Vivianne’s forearm, scratched the back of his head, and sighed dryly. Vivianne was teasing him. She giggled and waved the painting around, amused by his reaction. Chloe snatched the fluttering picture from her.
“Stop messing with me. This is about Dawn, so let’s be serious. You don’t know who this guy is either?”
Vivianne wiped the smile off her face and examined the drawing again. The plain, formal attire, the dark eyes, and hair color. The portrait’s lack of expression lent it a somber air. It was difficult to gauge his age, as some people appear young while others look older. Vivianne tapped the drawing with the back of her hand and replied.
“There’s no way I’d forget a man like this. Besides, if the Count honors him, he must have some considerable influence that can’t be ignored.”
Vivianne’s assertive tone was unequivocal. Known for her exceptional memory and keen observational skills, she affirmed she did not recognize the man.
Vivianne was employed by the munitions firm, Fog. Ostensibly a legitimate company, it was common knowledge that Fog actually operated the Empire’s largest black market. Vivianne’s role was that of an appraiser, evaluating items that came through the black market.
In the shadowy realm of this business, information is a prized asset. To the world, Fog represented an ocean of intelligence, a place where all manner of data converged like ceaseless tides. Vivianne was an appraiser associated with Fog, charged with verifying the veracity of all that entered its domain—not only tangible goods like jewels but also intangible assets like information.
Hence, Vivianne’s lack of recognition was a significant hint. He was a man unknown to Fog’s appraisers, dubbed the ‘birds of day and mice of night,’ and he certainly didn’t appear out of thin air or emerge from the ground.
Vivianne, who had been scrutinizing the painting with a furrowed brow, extended it towards Chloe.
“Well, he mentioned you’d meet again, so you’ll discover the truth sooner or later.”
“If even you don’t know, the only alternative is to sift through the company’s archives.”
“…What?”
Vivianne’s deep pink eyebrows ascended heavenward. Chloe’s words were straightforward, yet she flung her hands into the air and rambled as though she had been forewarned of an impending apocalypse.
“I’m just a rookie appraiser, regardless of my acknowledged competence. I lack the authority to delve into the organization’s secrets, and you’re aware of Fog’s stringent policies. Even if that man alluded to Dawn, it might have been mere flattery to capture Astar’s interest! It’s excessive to jeopardize my career by delving into the organization’s heart based on a stranger’s remarks…”
“Vivianne, please, calm down. Did I ever imply that you would be undertaking it?”
“…Then how do you plan to gain access?”
Extracting a lighter from his pocket, Chloe set the drawing ablaze. The flames rapidly consumed the portrait of the man, reducing it to a wisp of black ash. With flames flickering in his eyes, Chloe declared confidently,
“I’m going to stage a play.”
So dramatic 😂 I’m loving vivi and Chloe’s banter!