Morning sunlight spilled over the rooftops of Arden Vale, painting the city in a soft, golden haze.
The year was 1938, and the streets were already alive—cars rattling over cobblestone, shopkeepers unlocking wooden doors, people rushing to work with coffee in hand.
Cafés buzzed with chatter, the smell of fresh pastries drifting through open windows.
And right in the heart of one busy street, a small crowd gathered around a makeshift stage—just a wooden crate and a boy in a mask.
He wore the mask like a second skin: half-smirk, half-mischief, a promise of trouble behind painted eyes.
"For my next trick," he announced, voice smooth and theatrical,
"I'll need a brave volunteer!"
He didn't pick at random.
Of course he didn't.
His gloved finger pointed straight at the wealthiest-looking man in the crowd—polished shoes, expensive coat, confidence leaking out of every seam.
The man stepped forward, amused.
The masked performer bowed deeply.
"Excellent choice, sir. Now, as you can see…"
He lifted his wide-brimmed hat and showed the audience the empty inside.
"No tricks. No secrets. Just a perfectly ordinary hat."
He held it toward the volunteer.
"Please place your wallet inside."
The man did so, oblivious to the glint in the performer's eye.
"Wonderful," the masked boy said, snapping the hat shut.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen… abracadabra!"
A burst of smoke swallowed the stage.
When it cleared—
the performer was gone.
The wallet was gone.
Only the mask remained on the crate, with a small note pinned to it:
PHANTOM WAS HERE.
High above, on the rooftop of the nearest building, Phantom materialized out of the smoke, landing lightly on the ledge.
He spun the stolen wallet between his fingers, grinning to himself.
"Works every time," he murmured, slipping it into his coat.
He walked along the rooftop's edge without even looking down.
When the tiles suddenly crumbled beneath his foot, he didn't flinch—
he simply dropped straight into a conveniently placed pile of old cushions in the alley below.
He dusted himself off as if it had all been planned.
It probably was.
Phantom stepped back into the bustling street, blending with the crowd like a ghost. His fingers moved lightly, almost dancing, and people never felt the subtle weight leaving their pockets—
a necklace here, a watch there, a wallet slipping away without a sound.
Then he saw her.
An elderly woman standing at the curb, struggling to cross the busy road, her hand trembling around her cane.
More importantly—
a shiny gold ring glimmered on her finger.
Phantom's eyes sparkled.
"Jackpot."
He smoothed his coat, adjusted his hat, and approached with the charm of a prince.
"Allow me, my lady," he said, offering his arm as if escorting royalty.
"Oh! Thank you, young man," she beamed. "You're a lifesaver!"
They crossed slowly.
Phantom bowed, lifting her hand to his lips with gentlemanly grace.
"A wonderful day to you, my dear."
The moment he vanished into the crowd, she sighed dreamily.
"What a lovely boy… now where did my ring—?"
Phantom ducked into a narrow alleyway, giggling under his breath as he pulled the ring from inside his cheek—he had hidden it in his mouth the entire time.
He flicked it between his fingers before slipping it into his pocket.
He pushed aside a broken brick wall, revealing a hidden corner of a forgotten building—a tiny, dusty room with a mattress, a blanket, and scraps of old posters.
Waiting for him on the windowsill was a sleek, black raven—Nyro.
Phantom dropped his haul on a crate and exhaled, suddenly much less cheerful.
"Look, Nyro…" he said softly, running a hand through his messy hair.
"A good day, yeah? I'll sell all this in the black market tonight."
He forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Maybe we can afford a real meal for once…"
The raven tilted its head, and Phantom's voice cracked just a little.
"Honestly? I'm tired of this life."
He sat on the floor, leaning against the cold wall, the ring rolling between his fingers.
"Tired of running.
Tired of pretending.
Tired of being… alone."
Nyro hopped onto his knee.
Phantom managed a small smile.
"At least I've got you." A few hours later, as the afternoon sun warmed the city's brick walls, Phantom slipped back into the streets. His pockets were full, his stomach still empty, and his grin sharper than ever.
Arden Vale was always easier to navigate after noon. People were tired, distracted, careless—the perfect playground for someone like him.
He spotted his next target almost immediately.
A well-dressed man strutted down the sidewalk, wrist glittering with an obscenely expensive gold watch. Phantom's eyes lit up like a kid at a candy shop.
"Too easy," he whispered to Nyro—though the raven wasn't there.
Habit.
He moved with liquid grace, sliding through the crowd, reaching out—
His fingers brushed the watch.
Click.
A hand snapped around his wrist.
"Got you," a deep voice growled.
Phantom froze.
Then slowly turned his head.
Standing behind him, tall, broad-shouldered, coat perfectly pressed and jaw set like stone—
Rowdn Elias.
A man who looked like he'd been sculpted out of rules and seriousness.
Phantom blinked.
"Oh. Hello."
Rowdn tightened his grip. "You're under arrest. Theft in broad daylight. Really?"
Phantom sighed dramatically. "You've got the wrong guy."
"Oh? So whose hand is this—"
Rowdn looked down.
Phantom's arm ended in a—
plastic dummy hand.
Still attached to the watch.
Rowdn's eyes widened.
"What the—"
By the time he looked up, Phantom was already halfway across the street.
"HEY!"
And so began the chase.
Phantom darted through the city like a streak of white and gold. Rowdn followed, cursing under his breath, pushing through crowds, knocking over a fruit stand.
Phantom glanced behind him, winked, then grabbed the nearest woman by the waist.
She gasped—just in time for Phantom to pull her close and whisper,
"Sorry. Emergency."
And kissed her.
Hard.
Rowdn skidded to a stop, face twisting.
"Oh, COME ON."
Phantom peeled away, bowing mid-run.
The woman, breathless, placed a hand to her chest.
"I'll wait for you!" she called after him.
Phantom laughed. "Please don't!"
He slipped into a clothing store, straightening his posture, arms stiffening, eyes blank.
He transformed into a mannequin in under a second.
Rowdn burst inside, panting.
Phantom didn't blink.
A long moment of silence.
Then Phantom's foot twitched.
Rowdn pointed. "YOU!"
Phantom bolted through the emergency exit.
The final stretch of the chase led them straight into a massive crowd gathered for a fan-event. Dozens of people dressed in long coats, hats, and masks—
all imitating the same popular magician character.
Unfortunately…
they all looked exactly like Phantom.
Rowdn's frustration reached biblical levels.
He pushed through identical coats and masks, muttering,
"This city is cursed. This is a joke. This is an actual joke."
He finally spotted the real Phantom because, of course, Phantom was the only one stealing a snack from the concession stand.
Rowdn lunged forward.
"Got you!"
He tackled Phantom to the ground, twisting his arm behind his back with precise, police-trained anger.
Phantom groaned dramatically.
"You know, if you wanted to hold my hand, you could've just asked."
"Quiet."
Rowdn hauled him up, cuffed him tight, and dragged him out of the convention.
Later — Arden Vale Police Station
The holding cell was cold and dim, lit only by a flickering bulb overhead. Phantom sat on the floor, hands cuffed to the bars, mask still on, legs crossed as if he were at home.
Rowdn stood outside the cell, arms folded.
"So…" he finally said.
"Your name is Phantom?"
Phantom tilted his head. "That's what the streets call me."
"That's not a name."
"It is if you say it with confidence."
Rowdn exhaled through his nose. Hard.
"Why do you steal?"
Phantom shrugged lightly. "Why do you chase?"
"Because it's my job."
"And mine," Phantom said sweetly, "is staying alive."
Rowdn hesitated, eyes narrowing—not in anger, but in study.
"You don't talk like a criminal."
"And you don't talk like someone who smiles very often."
Rowdn ignored that.
"For someone who runs so much… you came quietly at the end."
Phantom leaned forward, mask gleaming.
"Yes," he whispered. "Because you caught me."
"Don't mock me."
"I'm not mocking," Phantom replied. "If I didn't want to be caught… you wouldn't have touched me."
Silence stretched between them.
Phantom finally smiled—gentle, tired, real.
"So, Inspector… what now?" The tension in the holding room broke with a sharp knock.
A young officer rushed in, almost tripping over his own boots.
"Inspector Elias! There's been another one!"
Rowdn stiffened. "Another what?"
"T–The diamond shop on Westwick Street. Sir… that's the fourth time this month."
Rowdn swore under his breath.
"Fourth?! Did anyone see anything? Anyone at ALL?"
The young officer swallowed hard. "N–No, sir… no witnesses."
He backed out of the room as if afraid Rowdn might explode.
Silence.
Until Phantom's voice drifted lazily from the cell.
"I know who did it."
Rowdn slowly turned his head.
"…Excuse me?"
Phantom shrugged as if the mystery were trivial.
"You heard me."
"And why," Rowdn said tightly, "should I trust a single word you say?"
Phantom offered a mischievous grin.
"Well, my dear inspector… you have no leads, no clues, and absolutely zero hope.
And I—" he rattled the cuffs on his wrists "—am the only one who can help you stop this."
He paused.
"Now, if you'd be so kind… these handcuffs itch terribly. Would you mind—"
Rowdn actually laughed.
"Yeah, sure. I'll just free the thief I arrested five minutes ago. Great idea."
Phantom sighed dramatically.
Then—
click.
The cuffs fell to the floor.
Rowdn froze. "What—"
Phantom dissolved into flickering smoke—
—vanished—
—and then casually walked back in through the doorway holding a wine glass.
"Well? Come along, inspector." He swirled the wine. "We have a case to solve."
Rowdn staggered back, fumbling for his gun.
"H–HOW DID YOU DO THAT!? WHAT ARE YOU—"
Phantom didn't answer.
He simply took a sip. "Calm down."
Rowdn aimed—
And blinked.
His gun…
was now a banana.
"H–How—?!"
Without warning, Phantom twirled the real gun effortlessly around his finger and offered it back with a flourish.
"I believe this is yours."
Rowdn snatched it, furious.
"I am DONE with your tricks!"
Phantom gently set the empty glass on the desk.
"Oh, good. Anger means determination. You'll need plenty."
Outside, the street was cold and quiet.
Phantom walked ahead as if taking a nighttime stroll rather than leading a police inspector into potential danger.
Rowdn stayed close, gun drawn, eyes glued to Phantom like a hawk stalking prey.
"You vanish on me again," Rowdn muttered, "and I swear—"
Phantom raised a hand. "I heard you the first twelve times."
They moved down narrow alleys, past flickering lamps and boarded windows, until Phantom finally stopped.
A dilapidated warehouse loomed before them, metal door rusted, broken shutters creaking in the wind.
"This is the place," Phantom said.
Rowdn's grip tightened.
"How do you kn— Phantom?"
Silence.
Phantom was gone.
Rowdn spun around.
"PHANTOM!?"
Only echoes answered.
Then, faintly—
a whisper from deeper inside the warehouse.
"Try to keep up… inspector."
Rowdn swallowed hard and stepped inside The boss's gun glinted under the moonlight, aimed squarely at Phantom's chest.
Rowdn inhaled sharply.
Phantom didn't.
In one smooth, almost lazy gesture, Phantom reached out—
grabbed Rowdn's coat—
and yanked them both behind a stack of crates just as a gunshot cracked through the air.
Wood splintered.
Diamonds rattled on the metal table.
Rowdn pressed his back against the crate, heart pounding.
"You insane maniac— you could've—"
"Yes, yes," Phantom waved him off.
"Tragic, terrible, emotional speech later. He's reloading."
Another bullet dug into the crate inches above Rowdn's head.
Rowdn peeked around the side, firing two controlled shots.
The boss ducked behind a pillar, returning fire instantly.
The warehouse echoed with sharp bursts of gunfire.
Rowdn's breathing steadied; his stance sharpened.
This was his world.
But Phantom…
Phantom wasn't even hiding properly.
He leaned casually against the crate, humming to himself, fingertips tapping the wood as if thinking through a puzzle.
Rowdn hissed, "What are you DOING?!"
Phantom didn't answer.
Instead, he drew a line on the dusty floor with his boot, then pulled a handful of glittering diamond dust from one of the open bags.
"Improvising."
"Phantom—"
"Shhh. Genius at work." A bullet whizzed past.
Rowdn fired again, pinning the boss down.
But he knew he couldn't hold this angle forever.
He turned to Phantom again—
only to find Phantom crouched low, spreading diamond dust in a precise curved shape on the floor.
"What the hell are you—"
"Setting the stage," Phantom whispered.
He snapped his fingers.
The dust glimmered.
Lifted.
Swirled.
And then—
A second Phantom appeared beside him.
Perfect copy.
Same coat.
Same mask.
Same smug expression.
Rowdn's mouth went dry.
"There's two of you— why is there two of you— WHY?!"
Phantom winked.
"It's only an illusion. But HE doesn't know that."
The duplicate Phantom sprinted out from behind the crates, darting across open ground.
Bullets followed immediately—
every shot aimed at the illusion.
The boss cursed loudly, emptying his magazine.
Rowdn watched, stunned.
"So that's your plan? A decoy?"
"Not exactly."
Phantom reached into his coat—
Pulled out a single glass bottle.
It was filled with colored liquid.
Nothing dangerous.
Just dye.
He flicked it toward Rowdn.
"Catch."
Rowdn did.
"What am I supposed to—"
Phantom put a finger to his lips.
"Wait."
The boss realized too late that the decoy hadn't fallen when shot.
His aim faltered.
For one breath, the warehouse fell silent.
Phantom whispered,
"Now."
Rowdn rose from behind the crate, quick and precise, and hurled the bottle straight at the boss.
It shattered across the man's face—
a burst of blinding purple dye exploding into his eyes.
The boss screamed, stumbling back, firing wildly at nothing.
Phantom stepped out calmly, brushing dust off his coat.
"Violence is boring," he said.
"But distraction?
That's art."
Rowdn lowered his gun, chest rising and falling.
"You're… impossible."
Phantom bowed.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Rowdn grabbed the boss, slammed him against a crate, and cuffed him.
Still blinded by dye, the man cursed furiously.
Phantom just watched with a hand on his hip, pleased.
"You see?" Phantom said softly.
"You fight your way out of things.
I think my way out." The moment they stepped outside, the night exploded with blue and red lights.
Police sirens wailed.
Three patrol cars screeched to a stop in front of the warehouse, officers spilling out with weapons raised.
Rowdn lifted a hand. "Stand down! Suspect apprehended!"
The blind, purple-stained boss was dragged out by two officers, still shouting curses that made absolutely no sense. A forensics team began collecting the diamonds Phantom didn't steal. Bags were labeled, evidence markers dropped, every cop buzzing with chaotic energy.
Rowdn finally exhaled, shoulders relaxing for the first time all night.
He turned.
Phantom stood off to the side, half in the glow of the police lights, half in the shadow of the rundown building.
For once, he wasn't posing, joking, or teasing.
He was just… still.
Rowdn took a step toward him.
"You," he said quietly, "didn't have to help back there."
Phantom tilted his head. "Of course I did. You were tied to a pole like a decorative plant."
"That's not the point."
Another step.
The noise of the police faded into the background.
Rowdn swallowed.
This was ridiculous. Insane. Career-ending.
And yet…
"Phantom," he said, voice steady,
"come work with me."
Phantom blinked.
Rowdn continued, straightening his coat.
"In the police. As my partner. I need someone who can think… like you do."
The world stood still.
For the first time in a very, very long time, Phantom didn't know what to say.
He felt something unfamiliar — a warmth in his chest, a strange, dangerous feeling.
Being wanted.
Not for stealing.
Not for running.
Not for vanishing into shadows.
But for who he was.
Slowly, a genuine smile — the kind that had no trick behind it — spread beneath Phantom's mask.
He stepped forward and held out his hand.
Rowdn didn't hesitate. He shook it firmly.
"Good," Rowdn said. "Tomorrow morning, eight sharp—"
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Phantom was gone.
In Rowdn's hand no longer rested Phantom's handshake —
but a single white glove.
Rowdn stared at it, stunned, somewhere between anger and laughter.
"Unbelievable…"
Lights flashed. Officers worked. The city breathed.
And far above, on a rooftop touched by moonlight, Phantom perched lightly on the ledge, watching the scene with a grin.
"Partner, huh…"
He twirled his empty hand where the glove should've been.
"Maybe."
Then he vanished into the night.